Pieces Part 1

Mario

Mario hung up the phone on me, returning to his home screen. Charlie's gleaming smile was his wallpaper.

Mario cleared his throat. He wouldn't idle around for long. He gently secured his boyfriend out of sight—though not out of mind—in his large trouser pockets. Then, he started for the North deck. He climbed a flight of stairs before reaching a tan wood landing. The ship's topmost level was guarded by ivory rails that stretched only up to his waist. He glanced past the flimsy rails and kept his stride to the bow of the deck, lining his eyebrows when he got closer.

There was a mosh pit of people before him. They were smothered up to one another, pumping their clammy, sun-kissed arms into the air. He had a hard time believing none hadn't downed a couple of shots to reach this fervor.

"How could someone be held captive here?" He questioned as he pushed closer. The air was too crisp for his nostrils to sense the odor earlier, but the stench here was horrid. He almost wished his olfactory senses went numb again, and his eyes too, for they happened upon the worst picture imaginable.

Liquor, trash, and human feces. So much clutter was strewn along the bow that he could barely see the planks underneath. And the stench, he couldn't stress enough, was appalling. Stumbling to the direction from which he came, Mario narrowly missed a mushy, orangeish glob on the floor. At least it's too light to be from someone's butthole, but...

"BLEGH!" Mario rushed to the rails as he clutched his belly. He didn't know why he repressed himself from hurling. The air here was toxic to the necessity of dispelling its fumes.

He gripped the boat rails tightly as he lifted his gaze slowly. The waters below were sober and blue. At least not everything is tumbling at a hundred miles per hour, he mused. Though faint, the sounds of waves crashing against the keel soothed him.

He struggled for his phone again, chest tight with dread. His anxiety spiked each second, and his fingertips grazed wool fibers instead of the sleek body of metal. I'll die if I drop my phone in those feces, he thought exaggeratedly. Well, not with so much hyperbole. A neat freak like Mario would writhe at the prospect of sifting through waste for his treasured device.

His phone had just fallen especially deep into his pockets to his relief. He released a breath he hadn't noticed himself holding, only to clam up again when he heard a fleet of heels approaching.

"Hey handsome, what brings you to the party," one flushed woman drawled. She was loosely clad in a magenta bodycon and high heels. One of her dress straps had slipped off her shoulders, though Mario couldn't imagine it being accidental.

The brunette beside her twirled her fingers up Mario's left arm. He tensed as she purred, "Where's your company? You can't be alone with those good looks!"

Sharply removing her grip on his shirt, the sleeves having been rolled up just shy of his elbows, he informed, "I'm looking for someone."

The women didn't get the memo. "What a coincidence—I was looking for you, too!"

"No, I'm sorry." Mario exhaled. He briefly dug through his other pocket for a folded catalog. He flipped to the middle and held it out to the women. "Have you seen my sister?"

The brunette squinted her eyes, tiptoeing to Mario's chest. "Hmm..." Her friend slapped her shoulder playfully when her chest brushed his. Mario forced an inviting expression—he'd withhold his bile sensitivities for as long as these women stalled for an answer.

Magenta-dress smirked, "No, but we can help you if you'd like." She returned her hand to Mario's forearm, which he flicked away just as effortlessly as he would any subsequent attempt.