“It was fine,” I said. “I’m just getting some things.”
“Oh, you’re spending the night?” she asked. “Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”
I must’ve been beet red. This was the first time we’d ever interacted like this. We’d never spoken about boyfriends or me being gay. It was just understood that neither of us spoke about our relationships, mostly because she’d only had the one tumultuous one with my dad—at least, that’s what I was led to believe, and I didn’t really need to know if or who she was seeing.
“I’m just—we’re just—” I fanned my face with a hand. “I’m gonna get some things. And you can’t stay up all night, because you’ll be asleep all day, and then when Monday comes, you’ll just be exhausted.”
“I’ve managed so far,” she said.
Her mood could turn sour at any moment, so I kept it at that, telling myself that she hadn’t managed at all. She needed me to come and make sure she was getting the help she needed. After I filled a small bag with some things, mostly from my travel suitcase I hadn’t unpacked, I reminded her that I was just a single digital speed dial away from her.
“I will not be ruining your night,” she said.
“Well, you could at least call one of your friends,” I said. “Speed dial two and three.” Both of them were also directly to me. I’d told her they were for her friends, because I knew she hated bothering me—at least, sometimes she hated it, other times I swore she enjoyed it.
I gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she told me to be safe, calling to me from the sofa reminding me to practice safe sex, which forced me to run to the elevator like I was a teen again, sneaking out. I didnotneed a safe sex talk from my mom now. Maybe fifteen years ago, sure. But not now.
Roland was standing outside the car, arms crossed. I didn’t know if he was there to make sure people knew he was a Bianchi member, or just a polite way to welcome me back to the car. I wasn’t a behavioral guy for the agency; those people were highly strung. I just gathered and analyzed data— I also sometimes did field missions, but then again, only to collect data or be a relatable human to the sometimes robotic agents.
“Get everything?” he asked as thunder crashed from the clouds.
“Yep.” I hugged my bag around my front, squeezing my cat plush inside. It had gone through so many names, a new one each time I was in little space it seemed. “I didn’t think this was how I’d be spending the night.”
He smirked. “I’ll be honest, me either, but we should go. It’s probably going to rain, and I still have to collect Mr. Bianchi.”
“Right, sorry. Yeah.” I didn’t know exactly what Rocco was doing. I knew he had to go to his mom’s house, and there was something to do with their youngest brother, Tomaso. He’d turned to drinking, heavier and heavier—or something to that extent. I had done a little research, and now I knew why there wasn’t that much on them in the systems. It was because they had someone on the inside and information about them wasn’t being recorded properly—or stored properly. “Is everything okay with them?” I asked when we were in the car.
Roland looked at me through the rearview mirror. He didn’t say anything, and it was a harsh glare. The type that told me we weren’t the same, and he’d probably twigged to the fact I was still a Fed, and his boss was still considered part of an organized crime family—which, I was yet again questing myself about all the things I’d ever heard of or seen them doing, and I couldn’t actually think of anything they had done that was wrong. Maybe it was the poker game. Somehow it was illegal. Somehow it was going to get them arrested if they were found out.
We arrived at Rocco’s building, and Roland walked me up to his apartment where he unlocked the door and input the security codes. He sighed and looked at me. “Good luck,” he said before leaving me alone.
Part of me couldn’t quite comprehend being alone in Rocco’s apartment. Everything had changed with the approval and permission of his brother. Yet there was that feeling in my stomach—maybe I needed to eat, maybe I needed to use the bathroom or puke. At this point, I needed to do something to help with that feeling as it was becoming incredibly uncomfortable.
The apartment was just how I remembered it from hours ago. The smell of him was in the air, and I wandered around, noticing the room where he’d had me chained in was nowlocked, and there were two other doors completely locked. The only rooms that weren’t locked were his bedroom, the en suite, and a smaller room with a toilet. The bedroom was just how we’d left it, with the duvet on the floor. The smell of sex was stronger in here, mixed with the musk of his cologne. I could’ve fallen into it, but I didn’t. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached out for a wet patch—it was still a little damp, and now with a darkened stain on the red bedding.
I lay there for a moment, looking up at the ceiling and the slow rotation of the ceiling lamp. I stared until the position I’d laid myself in became uncomfortable. I didn’t know how long I had here alone before he got back, and I’d barely even looked around.
First spot was the underwear drawer. It was the inner voyeur in me. I liked to see what underwear people wore, especially if I could find some tighty whities, but the best finds were always Speedos. It was a shame Rocco didn’t have any, otherwise I would’ve been swift to ask him to wear them.
Rocco was taking a long time, whatever it was he was doing. I’d managed to go through all his clothes, spritz cologne everywhere just to see which one he wore—it seemed like all of them. Then I found myself in his kitchen, rummaging through his pantry of expired foods and his empty fridge.
He found me leaning over the large chest freezer, having spotted nuggets. I was eager to find something I could eat, and hopefully one of those tinned SpaghettiOs from the pantry was still in date.
“You shouldn’t go through there,” he said.
I yanked my head and most of my body out, pulling the bag of freezer-burned nuggets with me. “I was—”
“You’re hungry,” he said softly, taking off his jacket. “I’m hungry as well.” I closed the chest freezer drawer and placedthe chicken nuggets on top of the plastic. “I don’t think they’re edible. We can order food.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” I said, looking at the large chunks of ice collected against the sides of the packet. “We—”
He walked toward me with a big smile, and he repeated himself. “We can order food.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“And you should not go through other people’s chest freezers.”
“I was—”
