I still don’t know how I feel about him. Part of me wants to slice his throat and be done with the uncertainty once and for all. But another part—the stupid, restless, starving part—wants him to stay. Because whatever is happening between us, whatever strange pull coils in the space where instinct and desire tangle, it keeps the emptiness at bay. It’s something, even if it’s twisted.
After what feels like an entire lifetime of walking, we finally spill into the flea market tucked between two narrow, sun-drenched streets. My eyes sweep across the maze of stalls, a riot of color and texture. Vintage clothes hang crookedly from rusted racks, silk scarves billow like soft flags in the breeze, and clusters of jewelry and trinkets glitter beneath the daylight.
And then we see them—the thing we came for. Old movie records, stacked unevenly, waiting for someone like me,someone who still believes in the weight of a story you can hold in your hands.
I shift the lollipop to the inside of my cheek. “We made it,” I murmur on a tired exhale, picking up my pace as if momentum alone could keep my focus anywhere but on him. He’s seeped into my thoughts, saturating them, clinging like something venomous that refuses to be shaken off.
A quiet laugh slips out when the comparison paints itself in my mind.
A spider. That’s exactly what he is. A big, cunning creature lurking in the dark, waiting for the moment you’re distracted so he can slip beneath your clothes and sink his fangs in. You don’t notice the bite at first. But then the venom begins to drift through you, softening your senses, clouding your mind, hollowing out every thought until only its poison remains.
“¡Oh, hola, cariño!Oh, hello, darling!” Manuel, the owner of the stall, exclaims, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile, which I return. “No te he visto por aquí desde hace un tiempo. I haven’t seen you around for a while.”
I tilt my head, pulling the lollipop from my mouth with a soft smack. Sunlight flashes against my brass jewelry, glinting off the rings and the bracelet, scattering tiny sparks.
“Estaba ocupada matando gente. Como siempre. I was busy killing people. As always,” I answer lightly, the smile holding steady on my face.
Manuel laughs, the sound roughened by at least a decade of chain-smoking. My gaze drifts to the table covered in what he’s selling—old vinyl, tapes, postcards, and a pack of cigs—and I shake my head to myself, once again realizing the weight of his job. Standing here all day under the scorching sun, talking to strangers, sounds like the worst thing in the world; anyone would be a smoker because of it.
Still, I hate how everything he sells reeks faintly of tobacco. The thought of that smell clinging to my skin makes my stomach twist.
“¡La más divertida, como siempre!The funniest, as always!” he exclaims, a note of pride in his words. His teeth catch the sunlight, glinting and nearly blinding me with their polished surfaces. I guess his business is going well enough.
I’ve never lied to Manuel about my work. The fact that he thinks I’m joking every time only amuses me.
His gaze shifts to Dante, brows knitting as he extends a hand to him.“¿Y quién es este maravilloso caballero?And who is this wonderful gentleman?” he asks, his voice turning high-pitched at the last word.
Dante reaches out, and they exchange a quick handshake. Before he can answer, a brilliant idea flashes through my mind, and I cut in. “Mon cousin. Il a... un handicap.My cousin. He has... a disability,” I say, switching to French, the words tight and teary as I place a hand over my heart, pulling a sad grimace.
Manuel used to live in Paris, and he knows French, while Dante doesn’t, so not using it at this moment would be criminal.
The old man’s eyes go wide, turning into giant saucers, and he slowly withdraws his hand. His expression softens with pity as he looks at Dante, then back at me. “Oh, je suis vraiment désolée, chérie.Oh, I’m so sorry, darling.”
“Ça va aller. Je suis sur la voie de la guérison.It’s okay. I’m on the path to healing,” Dante says, nodding solemnly.
The wicked smile that had been tugging at my lips a second ago vanishes like smoke. My eyes widen, round and startled, as a jolt of shock punches through me. I turn to Dante, the feeling swelling as he stands there—too close, too steady, calm as a monk, his expression impossible to read, a tiny smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.
Manuel starts rambling about something, but his voice dissolves into a muffled blur. My gaze stays locked on Dante as that smug, infuriating smirk of his stretches even further.
Asshole.
Smartasshole. Smarter than I thought.
My mouth twitches with irritation, and I snap my attention back to Manuel, desperate to wrench the focus away from Dante. “Quiero una película nueva. De cualquier género.I want a new movie. Any genre,” I say, the words tumbling out too fast. Shoving the lollipop back into my mouth, I try to pour all my anger into biting down on it.
“C’est une soirée cinéma romantique. Il nous faut quelque chose de torride.It’s a romantic movie night. We need something steamy,” Dante pushes.
The sun beats down, scorching my skin, but the heat in my cheeks burns even hotter with pure adrenaline, staining me deeper than my fake blush. My mouth parts, and a wave of shame rolls in, swiftly morphing into amusement that has no business settling inside me right now.
Manuel will never look at me the same again.
He hesitates, lips pulling into an awkward, fragile smile before he turns to the pile of tapes. His fingers tremble slightly—whether from age, exhaustion, or from what he just heard, I can’t tell. I can only guess it’s all of the above.
He sifts through the stack until he finds a black plastic case, its corners worn smooth over time. No label. No clear name. Just a strip of faded red tape with a single smudged word, as if someone tried to erase it but lost their nerve at the last second.
Manuel quickly slips it into a paper bag and hands it to me. I take it without a word while Dante pulls out a twenty, muttering that he doesn’t need the change.
An extra fifteen euros won’t get Manuel the mental help he needs after encountering a pair of in-love relatives, but still—it’s something.
