My Lolita, Cassandra [RFK/Bobby Kennedy] (Alternate Universe)

Part Twenty

"Good Men Die Too"

Robert's body stiffens into a slumber as he face-planted into the only bed in the guest room. His tall stature and wide wingspan take over the whole mattress, leaving you with barely any space. Once you are seated, you place his foot onto your lap and yank the shoe off—there's no need for a closer look to know it's designer; if he wasn't a lawyer, he could be a menswear expert.

"Here, Bob..." Ted turns around from the closet with blue silk pajamas in his hands. "I think you can fit in this," he adds. Robert remains perfectly still as you pull the other shoe off, it takes Ted a moment to realize it's wishful thinking.

You let out a small chuckle, "Yeah, he's not changing." Then you push Robert's leg to the side as you rise from the bed.

"I just washed the sheets..." Ted groans, placing the clothes on a random chair. "Lily's room is just next door," he tells you in a timid voice.

You give him a nod, letting the silence dismiss him, but he freezes on the spot. "Okay, I'll be downstairs!" He leaps out of his train of thought. "Good night, Gina." Then, with a weak smile, leaves the room.

As soon as he's out of sight and mind, you shut the door and lock it. Now, you're left alone with a man who's intoxicated and dreaming of a better life. You sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard, and hear that light snoring again. Leah must dislike it when he snores; she'd grab a pillow and hold it against her ear like they do in the movies. But not you—any sound that comes out of him is music to your ears.

But it stops. Then his eyelids are lifted as he was never asleep. You part your lips but are at a loss for words when Robert stares at the crescent moon in the sky with such serenity—it'd be a sin to disturb his peace.

This continues for some time until he reaches for your hand. "I had a feeling you were faking it," you say, letting him rest it on his stomach. "Why'd you drink all that beer for?"

Robert sighs, "Drown my sorrow, I guess."

You feel shame rising in you—imploding, even—for the deception you've choreographed. A drop of sweat streams down Robert's neck, gleaming under the moonlight, and prompts you to undo a few buttons of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" He murmurs absently.

You blow a chilling breeze against his chest, watching the hair swaying to it. "You're sweating like crazy."

He goes quiet again. There is a kind of tranquility surrounding you, tender with a fine distinction—the distinctive part being the man incapable of relaxing. Him and that mind of his, constant pondering and storming with no rest. No, not for the wicked. There is always something to think about, to lose sleep over. Whether it be Diane, Leah, or Cassie, his brain simply cannot resist the neurons firing signals to think.

"What's wrong?" You speak up once the silence overstays its welcome.

"I don't know," he replies, "everything?"

Everything is wrong except for your bodies lying on the same bed; breathing the same boozy air; pressing the same damp skin against one another; and eyes gazing at the same moon. You might be the only thing that feels right to him.

"Diane's fine," you flatly say.

"She better be..." Robert nods a moonlit head, "or Leah will never forgive me."

You find yourself at a loss for words; familial issues are outside your area of expertise—hell, you don't even know if Judd is dead or alive.

Robert jerks his gaze away from the natural satellite, landing it on you. "Where else should we look for her?"