Borgata - Book II #wattys2016

Chapter 34: Rendezvous

Ciao, pirates. ;)

*DRESSED IN ITALIAN DISGUISE MUSTACHE HOLDING CANNOLI* 

MISS ME?!!??!?!??!????!?!

Twitter/Instagram/Snapchat: katrocks247

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After our hot and heavy rendezvous, Fico easily convinced me to return to his bedroom for a second round. Which became the most anticlimactic moment of my life, when he got a phone call right as he tossed me onto the bed and started kissing up my leg.

Now I was perched on the edge of Fico's Jacuzzi, alone, bored, stretching out my long legs as warm water slowly rose in the tub.

He was on the phone in his bedroom. I could tell he was pacing the floor; by the way his deep, lilted voice rhythmically grew louder and softer. His voice rumbled with various irritated tones, but I was too worn out to eavesdrop, and that could very well just been his normal talking voice.

After casting a sneaky glance at the bathroom door, I dumped the small bag of magic into the Jacuzzi, which turned the tub a rainbow of bubbling colors and a delicious watermelon scent.

Smirking, I lowered my body into the water and tucked into a corner. I remembered watching Fico lounged back in this spot across from me with a washcloth over his eyes. He looked like a god with his bronze muscles glistening in the steaming water. I remembered the music he was listening to, too. Psychotic opera music.

I lifted the remote to the touch screen stereo. Since I had no idea how to work this thing to get to some top hits or upbeat pop music, I quickly went to one of the random playlists on the screen and clicked play. This serial killer music wasn't too bad, actually.

Leaning back against the side of the tub, I reeled over the night's events. I couldn't believe Fico and I had sex right after our fight. I mean, talk about taking our aggression out on one another like bipolar, wild animals. The most twisted part of it all was I had no regrets whatsoever. I didn't always like the way Fico made me feel, but he made me feel things I would have otherwise discarded of had I not met him. When you hit rock bottom–really hit rock bottom–you lose pieces of yourself when and if you pick yourself back up. And it's not always the bad pieces that get left behind, or the good fillers that take the place of the pieces you've lost.

Over many years of sporadic ups and downs, I thought one of those bits left behind was my ability to let someone get close to me, but I was wrong. There was an undeniable connection between Fico and I, and it terrified me more and more each day. Being sexually close to someone was a no brainer. I didn't have to be invested in a man any further than biological desire to have sex with him. Being emotionally close to a man was dangerous territory for a woman like me. I learned a long time ago that when it came down to survival, the best way to protect myself from getting hurt and hitting a record low, was to not let anyone in past the surface of my pretty face. Being emotionally invested in Fico was like walking gingerly on broken glass with the weight of my insecurities and fears sitting on my shoulders.

I wanted to escape how vulnerable Fico made me feel. But I couldn't bring myself to run away from this. Run away from him.

Who would have guessed Fico would be the first to admit his feelings for me, and I'd be the one lagging behind, questioning how I truly felt?

I closed my eyes and relaxed in the bubbling hot water.

I slowly lowered the weapon, opened my eyes, and stared at my father's dying body. He was lying face-up, eyes wide, mouth moving silently as if he were trying to work out a few last words to me. Blood ran from his mouth. I started to cry at the reality of what I'd done. 'I'm sorry, Daddy. I had to protect myself. I had to protect myself from you.' He had to understand. The tendons in my father's neck tensed and his face reddened in rage. Whore, he mouthed. Whore! Just like my mother.