AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes, I can, and I don't want them to take me seriously for now,” He doesn't know about the letter yet. I'm still trying to suck the punch in before sharing. To him, I'm only looking for a way to take out the frustration of seeing my mother married to my uncle.
“We have to talk, and I hate to let you know brother, but you will be talking and this time for real.”
I scratch the back of my head, “I know, we will,” I grunt.
“Are you sure the problem here isn't because you haven't gotten some pussy in a while?”
“What is it with you and trying to piss me off?”
“Brother, you looked horrible when I saw you.”
“We cannot all be manwhores.”
He chortles. “Birds of a feather, brother, just because you've been celibate for two days doesn't mean you can give me advice.”
“Two months,” I correct him.
“Even worse, how are you?” he whispers into the phone.
“Doing fucking great, thank you,” I roll my eyes. I'm not fucking great. Maybe I do need to get laid. Maybe finding someone else will help me stop thinking about knocking on her door and claiming her
“You are not. If you don't get some this week, we are seeing a shrink.”
God damn it, I hate him.
“How is it going with Lawrence and Paul?” I switch gears, needing to talk about something neutral. Something that doesn't involve Claudio or sex.
“We are on our way,” he replies and then flicks his tongue, “We are close to the manor.”
After what I did to Rosaline yesterday, I needed something to act as a balm. I called Orazio and told him to get them and bring them to the Manor before breakfast this morning.
I begin walking down the driveway, “Good,” I nod, bracing up to face my mother. It's always a piece of work with her.
“Try not to burn down the house before I get there,” he teases, but he probably means it because there's a possibility that could happen.
“I can't promise you that,” I tap my Airpod to end the call and continue my hop into the compound.
I have in mind to walk past my mother and return to my quarters but I know that is unlikely to be a successful transition. Not when she is standing there with her electronic cigar and holding what looks like the cutouts I had pasted in her room when I saw her and Claudio sitting on the porch last night.
I didn't only put them in her room, I put them on the walls of her quarters, the kitchen, the sitting room, the handrails of the stairs, and by the window where she likes to sit and have breakfast.
She begins walking toward me, baggy denim pants, a white chiffon shirt, and her hair neatly fitted in a bun. The drizzling drops add an extra sheen to her olive skin and clip her shirt to her skin.
“Benedetto,” her benign tone surprises me as I meet her halfway.
“Mother,” I throw the step to walk past her but her hand grips my upper arm, stopping me.
“What is the meaning of this madness?” She lifts the cutouts in my face and turns to face me.
“What do you mean?” I shrug, bunching a little to make the height difference bearable.
“Don't play dumb, is this your way of processing or should I be worried?” she drags from her cigar, blows it out, then comes to stand in front of me.
“You don't like to see the face of your first love anymore?” I smile.
“He is dead, nothing any of us do will bring him back,” her pitch increases, and her eyes water.
“But something one of us is doing is making him turn in his grave.”
