Alexis

W.W.D.D / Vorrei che tu fossi qui

/ Wish You Were Here

-

"Therefore, behold, I will open the side of Moab from the cities, from his cities which are on his frontiers, the glory of the country, Beth-jeshimoth, Baal-meon, and Kiriathaim."

Ezekiel (25:9)

Today was March 21st. I've properly managed to avoid Rose. She tried to call me and texted me a few times. I countered her efforts by blocking her number. I used to just delete each message but I got tired of doing that so I simply blocked her. Easy peasy.

I was consumed with rereading my notes. I knew a lot about casinos. I read thousands of online articles from different backgrounds containing different perspectives. Next, I planned on checking out books at the library. I'd just need a library card. In between my studying casinos and my learning Italian from Vincent's notes, I snuck downstairs to get small snacks (slices of cheese, olives, etc.) and alcohol.

Vincent and I haven't talked since the fifteenth either. It wasn't personal, I just over-thought to the point where I couldn't call him. He said he was sorry for how he treated me. He felt that he was causing me too much harm. He left on that note. If I kept calling him, I'd make him feel worse. He was trying to distance himself. If I was distancing myself, much like I do to everyone, I'd hate for someone to keep trying to talk to me.

I really wanted to speak to him, though. I missed him.

Also, I felt that I was doing harm as well. I stuck with the theory that Vincent and Donna were fighting about my calling Vincent and his answering me. I didn't want to cause him any more stress. I still cared for him, deep under all of my mourning, unclinical depression, self-loathing, sadness, guilt, hate, more sadness, confusion, fear, and a lot more of unclinical depression and mourning. I didn't want to hurt him anymore. Hurting was terrible.

Tonight, I was going out. A date. Ish. It was with Kyle, the waiter from Cima that my father yelled at. I thought of my dad every time I was with Kyle. That's why I liked hanging around him. I felt as if he was the closest to dad that I'd be able to get. I was leaving at seven to meet him at a barbeque place. I haven't had barbeque in forever.

But I wasn't focused on that right now. I was working on my agility with my gun. I can draw my gun from my back pocket in .4 seconds. That didn't include shooting, of course. I felt proud of my time. I was going to celebrate with a drink. I hid my gun before I left my room. Tito was in the kitchen as was Dante's fiancee, Beatrice. We haven't spoken a lot. She asked me on the 17th, when she came over, about what she should call me. She didn't know if she should use "Maire" or "Alexis". I said I didn't care. The conversation was short.

I ignored them and focused on making a drink. It wasn't as if I was being mean on purpose. I just didn't have anything to talk to them about. Tito called me puffy, and Beatrice– well, I just didn't know her. I didn't have it in me to start making new friends. I had to save my socialness for Kyle tonight. I didn't want to scare him off when he reminded me of my father.

"Alessia, err. . . Marie? Vincent said you shouldn't drink," Tito said.

I glanced up at Tito for a moment before looking back down at my drink. I grabbed it and walked away. I had no interest in talking to anyone right now, and I didn't care for what he had to say– I didn't even understand it. That was another thing my concussion did to me, I thought as I walked up the stairs and to my room. I used to be a moderate Italian-American. I could speak a little. I could understand more– depending on the heftiness of the accent and the quickness of the tongue. Now, I just felt stupid. I felt as if someone could say "ciao", and I'd just stare at them as if they were from some planet in another solar system.