Red

CHAPTER 22.

Why do we beat ourselves up over what is loss?

The sorrows of what I mourn, fell upon my shoulders as I realized that is has now been three weeks, three long weeks has passed since the beginning of my investigation and believe it or not it has been the exact same three weeks which marks the night I witnessed the death of River Greco, my fiancé.

The lightness of the shot glass my fingers wrapped around began to pressure in a heavy weight, my hand felt heavy as I bring it up towards my numb lips which was wet with liquor.

I shifted my head back and toss back the red-gold liquid which then settles around my throat with my mourn.

I swallowed it down and like clock work, it ticks into my system and rotates the scene before me in slow motion.

I could hear the vibration of my heart beating in my blurry eyes, the liquid loosen me up and I knew for sure that I was in too damn deep.

My vision blurred around the edges. I wasn't drunk enough to forget him, but just drunk enough to hurt in slow motion.

Tears fell from the corner of my eyes, it flowed down my cheeks as I remembered thoughts of him.

River always made sure that he wore his earrings, specifically the black ones, one dimple was always present in his cheek with a neat cut beard that dusted his soft jawline.

The forest of his eyes I missed.

Missed the curves and lines of his black inked tattoos that went across his slightly large soft muscular frame that I couldn't resist to trace as my head rested on his smooth chest.

Soft lightning from the living room television, glinted with my tears as the series Flash drifted on in the background.

I closed my wet eyes, my breathing fixed momentarily. My memories resurfacing.

I would listen to the beat of his heart. His deep voice rocking and vibrating against my ears as he told me his dreams for another private hospital that he wanted to build in New York for his family.

I admired his worthy deep laughter that spoke in tolerance to my dark skin as I tried to crack a not so funny joke in his hearing.

It's official, it's been a year and the guiltiness of me not visiting his grave back home before I left punched my heart, it left no crack.

Squeezing my eyes shut, the tears continued to dripped, I didn't move from my spot as the front door shut as the Don entered the room through my drunk phase.

"I am not paying you to drink on the job, Miss Lopez."

I swallowed whatever liquor was left on my tongue and forced my vision to focus. My hazy eyes split his standing form which was ashamedly larger than my River.

Larger than anything I should be allowed to want.

He stood above me, his scent hit me, it was overpowering with weed and musk, a little touch of mint.

I lifted my chin and held his eyes. They were dark. I wanted to run from the force of the never ending irises which began to take its time and steadily expand as we held eye contact.

"Technically," I slurred lightly, "it's past midnight. My hours are over. I can do whatever I want."

His pupils stretch outward, then kept stretching, widening so slowly I swore I could feel the pull of it like something inside him wanted more space to drink me in. And for a heartbeat...I genuinely believed his eyes could eat me alive if I let him. It felt like his eyes weren't just looking at me they were pulling me forward, dragging every breath, every thought out of my body as if he meant to consume my entire at once.

I clenched my thighs. The light from the television screen brightens against the side of his square jawline, the scar stood out to me and my fingers itched to feel it.

Most of his chocolate colored hair which I notice had grown over the past few weeks, was now shadowing over his dark eyes.

"You know there's just something about you..." He murmured, voice dropping low enough to spread heat through my ribs.

Lorenzo shook his head which shifted his hair from his eyes a bit from the movement, he run his thumb on his bottom lip and with narrowed eyes still fixated on mine. He lick them.

"Why are you drinking on the job anyway?"

I decided not to correct him seeing that he was a stubborn brute so without even knowing how I found the courage, I found myself opening up to him.

I should've lied. Should've locked my heart shut. But grief makes you stupid.

"Today marks the day I watched my fiancé die," I whispered. "A year ago."

There was a long pause for a while and with the flashes of the light from the screen playing in the background, I bit my lip. My mind stabbed me with the reminder instantly, This is the same man who killed him. I bit my lip until metallic blood hit my tongue.

I felt the couched dipped with his weight. He widen his thighs which somehow, even though the couch was big he still found a way to invade my oxygen supply.

The heat from his body wrapped around me and I bit hard on my bottom lip as his muscular knees touch my thick thighs.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as he throw his head back, released a soft sigh and rest his head on the couch.

"You don't get used to it," he said finally, voice soft. "No matter how many times you lose someone you love... you don't adjust. You just learn to carry just the memories."

As he said this, my heart clenched and some how I found comfort in his deep tone of voice.

He lifted his head and then underneath half lowered eyelids, he looked at me. No grinned on his lips nor smile, only potent facial structure.

"I had a cousin," he said. "Died last year. Enemy of mine sliced him open before I could get to him." He clenched his jaw and a vein jumped in his neck.

"He always told me to let my guard down. To express myself. Stupid bastard." He huffed out a bitter breath.

"Even in death he's still right." And He paused and then took one of the shot glass and pour out some of the whisky. He rested the rim of the glass on his lips and while looking straight at me underneath lowered eyelids, eyes dark like the night outside.

He said. "And you Aurora should do the same."

He tossed it back and then through out the remaining hours I accepted his words.

Something in me cracked and we talked, or slurred after that. About grief. About survival. About nothing.
About everything.

Our words blurred, our breaths thickened, our limbs grew heavy. Our lips moving as we communicated under the influence of the liquor and then somehow we fell asleep on the couch, flat out drunk.