type | reus

five

T Y P E - chapter five

A/N: for resources available to bring about justice for George Floyd and justice for black lives, check out my most recent post on my message board with a link to a google document containing petitions, organizations you can donate to, etc.! #BLACKLIVESMATTER

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"Amelia, isn't it?"

"Really, Marco? I've talked to you at least twice before, and you know it." Amelia Huffman found herself raising her eyebrows as she wiped down the bar counter at Cocaine, prepared for her work shift to end. It was 11 P.M. on a Friday night, and Natasha Clotaire had fallen off the face of the earth for two days now.

"I came to ask about Natasha," breathed Marco, with warm cheeks. "I'm sure she told you about us, and—"

"She doesn't really say much, actually," declared Amelia, with a snort. Way to be a pretentious asshole, Marco.

"I just want to know if she's okay." The handsome German lit a cigarette, then bit his lip. "She's been ignoring me for two days. We had plans tonight—but since she hasn't responded to any of my texts or calls, I don't know what to do." 

Amelia rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on a freshly dried towel. "You really don't know what's been going on in the world, do you?"

Marco blinked. "What? Of course I know—" he let out a breath, then decided to just dismiss her remark. "Amelia, I'm worried. I don't want to hurt her, or anything. I just want to talk. Where can I find her?"

"If you knew her even a little bit, Marco, that wouldn't be difficult for you to figure out. Don't bother asking me any more questions about Tasha, because I'm just gonna deflect them." Amelia rolled her eyes once more, then went to the other end of the bar. Marco sighed. Message received. The German made his way towards the exit, struggling to fend off various drunk fans and women along the way. He was nearly at the door when he stumbled into her—into his ex. Scarlett.

"Scarlett?" His face was filled with surprise as he stared at her, blinking in confusion. "What are you doing here? You hate this place, don't you?"

Scarlett, with a drink in hand and a flattering minidress on her model-esque body, rose an eyebrow. "And the fact that you're here proves why I hated it, doesn't it? I'm here for a friend's birthday, that's all. This place still makes me sick." Scarlett tilted her head down, offering Marco a seductive smile. "You look really good, Marco. You know...I miss you."

You miss me? You cheated on me with a fucking nightclub promoter after spending half of your time whining about how stupid nightclubs are, remember? Marco bit his lip. But he did miss her back, to a certain extent. Natasha's lack of communication for the past two days hadn't necessarily made it so that he was feeling very pleased with her. He felt like her silence was immature; unnecessary. He felt terrified that she might never speak to him again, or that she'd decided it was too risky to keep hanging out around him. Even though they'd only known one another for a little less than a month, the sudden thought of no longer seeing Natasha felt sickening to Marco. "Thanks," he muttered, blinking himself back to reality. "Listen, Scarlett, I have to go. It was nice seeing you—"

"Is it true what the rumors are saying, then?" Scarlett grabbed Marco's wrist, stopping him from walking away.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know," Scarlett rose an eyebrow. "About Natasha? The black woman?"

Marco let out a breath. How the hell does she know? He hadn't seen anything about himself and Natasha in the news. "Scarlett, thats none of your business. Now, if you'll excuse me—"