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Bright blue water, beautiful pink bougainvillea, all the amazing foods that Maria prepares, and so many stunning historical landmarks. A place I can only fantasize about visiting one day.
“You’re still awake, Little Red?” Dante says in surprise as he walks into the room with his nightly glass of whiskey. For a big man, he can be extremely stealth, because I didn’t even hear him enter the room. As my eyes flick to his, my lips part at the sight of him, and I feel a flush overtaking my cheeks.
Tall, menacing, dressed all in black, looking exactly like a man who conducts his business at night. He stands at the end of the bed and gazes down at me, his dark eyes roaming over my body with a hunger I’m sure I’m imagining.
“Is it late?” I respond, while my eyes search the clock, noticing that it is after midnight. Late for me, but early for Dante.
“No,” Dante sighs, looking worn from his day as he walks a few steps across the room and takes a seat in his chair. He places his whiskey glass on the side table and begins to roll up his sleeves, his posture relaxing.
“Tough day?” I ask, placing the book down on my lap, deciding to start a discussion. I’m excited to see him, to spend more time with him. To learn more about the man who has locked me in his house with no release date in sight. I have been here for a few days now, and with no idea how long I am here for, or what he is going to do with me, I might as well try to get to know the man who watches me sleep every night. He looks at me for a few moments before he answers, and I think back to the way he touched me yesterday, wondering if it will happen again.
“What are you reading?” he asks, expertly dodging my question, which makes me smile. I don’t particularly want to know what he gets up to when he is out, but clearly what he does will only be discussed on a need-to-know basis, and we are not at that base as yet.
“I found this in your library. I hope you don’t mind?” I show him the front cover, suddenly not sure if taking one of his books is something I am allowed to do.
“Ahhh… Sicily. Have you been?” His eyes light up at the topic, and he watches me intently, already knowing the answer as he takes a sip of the amber liquid.
“No, but it looks amazing. Tranquil. Colorful. Relaxing…” My voice wanders off as I get lost in the images on the pages again.
“It is all of those things,” he says as he leans his body back into what is his usual sitting position, head back, eyes focused on me, shoulders relaxed, legs apart. I wonder what it would feel like if I were to curl up on his lap? The safety, security, and comfort he may offer to a dying small town girl like me...
“Tell me about it?” I put the book to the side and snuggle into the blankets, placing my head on the pillow as I look at him expectantly.
“The blue of the water is unmatched to anything I have ever seen before. The fresh summer breeze has the most delectable scent, and the sound of the water lapping on the cliffs is what lullabies are made of. It is a place that I love. I grew up there.” His lips now form a small grin as he reminisces.
“It sounds so beautiful. Do you go back much?” I ask, my eyes growing heavy, but wanting to hear his story.
“Not as much as I would like. I would like to be back there permanently, but my work and family are here,” he says, taking another sip of his whiskey, and I nod in understanding.
“Do you fish?” I ask at random, and by the look on his face, he is surprised by my question. However, I was just reading about the amazing seafood and ocean lifestyle, and I can’t imagine a man like Dante doing something so domesticated as fishing.
He tilts his head, and his lips form a smile. “I like to take the boat out on the water. Leo and I often spend time fishing when we are there.” His eyes glisten at the memories, and I can tell it is a special place for him. I wonder again about Leo’s mom, who she is and where she is. Dante hasn’t mentioned her, and I don’t want to ask.
“Leo is lucky to have you,” I say genuinely, and he huffs.
“Did your parents never take you fishing, Little Red?” He sounds playful, and that makes me smile.
“No, I never knew my father, and my mother was sick for a long time before she died. Fishing was not something I ever got to do,” I answer honestly, bringing our lighthearted conversation crashing back down into reality with a thud.
“What was wrong with her?” Dante asks, his eyes turning serious, staring right at me.
“Cancer. But to be honest, I am not sure if it was the cancer that killed her or the drugs.” I don’t miss the slight flinch he makes or the stiffness in his shoulders that reappears. “She wasn’t really the mom I remember since she began treatment. She became addicted, and couldn’t go a day without something in her system. To start with, it was to ease the pain, but it soon turned into more than that for her. I worked to pay her medical bills, which included her medication. I worked every day for years just for her to get her drugs. In the end, she loved the drugs more than she loved me, and she told me so each and every day of her last few months.” I don’t catch the tear before it drops from my eye.
I am sad, but also angry. Angry at her, at myself, at the situation. When you grow up poor, it is really, really hard to keep your head above water and working 16-hour days, seven days a week becomes the norm. My life has been tough, and although I never want pity or charity, I need to rest. My body, mind, and soul are weary.
“Drugs change a person, Little Red. They are not the people we thought they were before. They will do anything for their next hit. Lies become their truths, but those lies bury them in the end. They become dangerous to themselves and to others, and if they can’t get better, then we need to let them go.” I can’t help but feel like he is speaking from experience.
“Sounds like you know a lot about it too?” I ask, knowing that I won’t get an answer, but prodding anyway.
“I hate liars, Little Red. Even small little white lies fester and grow until all that is left is an explosion of pain and destruction.” His hands clench onto the arms of the chair, and I know not to push the topic with him anymore. Looking straight at me, he continues. “We need to let them go, Little Red, otherwise the pain becomes too much for everyone involved.”
I nod, letting his words seep into my mind. He is right. I need to let it go. I can’t hang onto the feelings I have, the memories of the past, the hatred for the drugs, the hatred for her or what she became. I am also acutely aware that I haven’t told him of my ailments, not that I was planning to, but he does appear to want honesty and that makes me unsettled.
But when does someone broach that subject with a man that is still mostly a stranger? Especially since I don’t know what will come of me staying here. Does he really need to know?
When I look back at him, his eyes are still firmly on me. Watching, piercing me, like he is looking for an answer. His deep eyes are nearly hypnotic. Like they are looking into my soul and uncurling me from the inside out.
“Why do you watch me every night? Do you think I will escape?” I ask softly, and I am shocked when he lets out a loud laugh that vibrates around the room. And between my legs.
