Guns & Roses (WATTYS 2017)

twenty four - over & out

My head is nestled into a heavenly white pillow, the plush fabric so think and smooth that almost my whole head disappears as it's lain into the material. 

Light is peeking through the window sneakily, and shines right onto my eyes. 

But it's not the light or the insane level of comfort that wakes me up. 

It's the banging sound coming from the front door. 

I spring up out of the guest bed, and grab the sweatshirt that Roman had loaned me last night. My bare feet pad against the plush beige carpet as I move on tip toe towards the guest room door. 

I open the door slightly, peeking my head out, only for it to be pushed back in. 

"Hey!" I shout slightly, before my mouth is muffled by a calloused hand. 

"Kate, shut up." Roman's whisper hits me with a start and I jump. 

"What is-" I say, my voice hindered by his hand. 

"Marcel is at the door. You need to stay hidden."

Marcel. 

The one who has my mother hostage and is out for my blood. 

Is at the front door of my safe house. 

What a way to wake up. 

"How does he even-"

"Look, I need to be downstairs with Vincenzo and Marcel, but you need to stay here. And that's not a suggestion. Stay put, Katya." 

Roman's face is just like it was last night, stern and stoic. 

I just nod my head and his hand disappears from my mouth. 

"Stay here." He whispers lowly, before he disappears down the hallway. 

Sike. 

I put my hand to the handle of the door, easing it open, only for it to be shut again. 

"Nice try, gringa. Stay here if you want to live. And if you so desperately want to listen in, I suggest listening to the vent by the window. Ciao." 

And I hear the sound of wheels on hardwood floor as he disappears down the stairs. 

I race over to the window, going down onto my hands and knees and placing my ear over the vent. 

I can hear slightly muffled voices and I groan, hoping that they clear up. 

I can vaguely pick out the strained tone of Luka, as well as Roman's more lighthearted tone. 

Then there's a third voice, obviously Marcel's. 

It's just as slick and slippery as last night. Like a snake trapped in a woven basket. 

Come on, move closer to a vent. 

"You haven't been going to school, hermanito." Marcel hisses, and I'm guessing he's speaking to Luka. 

"What's it to you? You barely stayed in school past third grade." Luka snaps back, and I pray that he keeps his cool.

"You know that Iago has been looking for the girl. You know she's in your school. Don't you want to help him?" Marcel's tone is dangerous and tight, losing it's more loose slips and dips. 

"You can call him your father, Marcel. No need to be ashamed." I can hear the smirk painted on Luka's face, and I worry that he's having far too much fun poking his brother's buttons.