“No!”
I lean back with everything I have, not caring if it pops my elbow right out of its socket.I will not go another step.Not one inch.Not without him.Not while he lies there, his breath slowing at a terrifying rate that makes me think that I’m the one who’s dying.
“Christ,” Alessandro says through gritted teeth.I’m barely aware of the swing of his arm, the flash of dark metal like an omen, until the gun strikes my temple.For a shattering second, I think maybe I’ve been shot after all.There’s no pain, only a bright spasm of white that goes across my eyes, like a shooting star through my head.Stunned, I feel my legs buckle seconds after it actually happens.By the time my stuttering brain catches up, Alessandro has hauled me all the way to the train car’s exit.He’s got a thick arm around my waist, dragging me bodily down the little metal steps that lead to the train’s platform at Union Station.
My vision shutters, winding down to blackness before blinking back in.The scene is nothing but streaks of colour and dizzying motion.More stairs, pale and leading upwards.I don’t even know how I get up them.My vision wrinkles, black like scrunched silk, black like his hair, and suddenly we are at the top of the stairs.
There are so many people.
I scream at them.Scream that I have left something behind, something so fucking important, but I can’t remember what.
When no one stops, I realize the screaming is only inside my own head.
“Nice and easy,” Alessandro murmurs, keeping my side pinned to his as he maneuvers me through the faceless people.Why can’t I focus on any of their features?All I’m aware of are scarves and coats and shiny shoes.
I don’t have a coat.
Is that what I have left behind?
That can’t be right.My mind thrashes as if against quicksand.It feels like I am swimming inside my own head.
Cold air hits me.It’s a sobering slap.I gasp, choking, sucking it down.Wintery night stretches above us while downtown Toronto surrounds us below.Streetlamps and buildings and cars and snow.Snowflakes are falling, settling on my hair like a blessing, on my skin like a curse.
Curse.
I manage to make a sound then.A real one.It’s nothing but a whimper of complaint, but I know it’s real.Because Alessandro hears it.And he reacts.
“Shut the fuck up or I will hit you harder next time,” he snarls close to my ear.“Maybe I can’t put a bullet in you yet.But I’ll still marry you even if you’re too fucking concussed to say ‘I do.’”
I barely hear him.Barely care.Curse.
I’ve left him behind.
Memories batter me then.Because there, emerging from a car on the street before me, is a face I haven’t seen in more than twenty years.That face is older now.Harder.Scarred.But it’s him.
“Elio!”It comes out as nothing more than a scratch of sound.Quiet as a child tearing the corner off a piece of paper.But he hears me.He fucking hears me.His eyes slice through the milling crowds, landing on my face with vicious focus.He stalks across the pavement, flanked by three men and all in black.His hand shoves beneath his jacket and I know he’s got a gun.
“Leave me!”I scream hoarsely.My tongue feels too big for my mouth.“Curse!Curse is on the train!He-”
I fall, colliding with leather that makes my soupy brain think that somehow I’m back in the train car with Curse.Back on that bench with him.But no, this is a regular car.A taxi, with a driver who’s now twisting to peer at me curiously.
“Start driving,” Alessandro snaps, slamming the door shut.The cabbie seems to know better than to ask where he wants to go right now and pulls away from the curb.My heart is in my throat, stuck there and throbbing.My eyes burn, but not with tears.They feel like cracking embers in my head.We’re getting further and further away from Union Station.Further and further away from Curse.My head is sore and slow, but my mind feels at least a little clearer now.Like a train that’s found its way back to the correct track.I know what’s happening.
I know who I’ve left behind.
My hand goes to the door handle.Breathing hard, I scan the street outside.I’ll jump out.Make a run for it.Try to find my way back.
“Don’t even think about it.”Alessandro slides closer, grasping me firmly by the back of the neck, the way you’d grab a dog.The tips of his fingers sink into my hair, loosening my bun.Fingers just like Marco’s.Just like Carlo’s.I want to climb out of my own skin.“Do not make a fucking move.”
What should I do?Alessandro has a gun, and if I try to get help from this taxi driver, he could just end up getting threatened or shot.I can’t jump out of the car with Alessandro holding me, either.But I can’t keep going.Can’t remain passive.Because the path that Alessandro has me on now will take me all the way back to New York if I let it.
I don’t want to let it.I don’t want to let things just keep fucking happening to me.
If I could just get the gun…
I don’t get far with that thought, because the entire world seems to jar violently, like the axis of the planet has been punched off its correct angle.My body wrenches, and without a seatbelt on I’m sure I would go flying if not for all of Alessandro’s considerable weight slamming into me, pinning me to the car door.The car is sliding unnaturally, fishtailing on the icy street.We’ve hit something.
Or something has hit us.
