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 amongst my blurry eyes, the liquid loosen me up and I knew for sure that I was in too damn deep.

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."

Swallowing down the remaining liquid that was on my tongue, my hazy eyes split his standing form which was ashamedly larger than my River.

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

I lifted my chin and held his eyes. They were dark. Too 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 am not on working hours Mr. Black. If you haven't known it's past midnight so I'm free to do whatever I want."

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..." His voice, that fucking voice tilted down an octave in a deepness that extended further to places that even I am afraid to admit out boldly.

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 his lips.

"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.

"Today marks the day that I walked in on my fiancé getting the most brutal death, I've ever seen."

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, feeling stupid for blurting out the words to the same man who killed the man that I once loved.

How stupid can I get?

I felt the couched moved which indicate him sitting beside me. He widen his thighs which some how, even though the couch was big he still found a way up into my personal space.

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

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.

"That's not something we'll ever get used to. No matter how many times we've experience grief, there isn't gonna come a time where we adjust ourselves to the experience especially if the person meant the whole world to oneself."

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

My system calmed down into a peacefulness that instantly stopped the tears from flowing.

He lifted his head and then underneath lowered eyelids, he licked his lips as he stared at me.

No grinned on his lips nor smile, only potent facial structure.

"I had a cousin who died last year by the hands of an enemy of mine. He always told me that I should let my guard down and express how I feel. Up to this day I blame the fucker for being so kind and understanding. Genuinely, I felt bad that I wasn't there to protect him and instead of beating my fucking self up about it, I accepted it and tried to move on."

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.

Our lips moving as we communicated under the influence of the liquor and then somehow we fell asleep on the couch, flat out drunk.