we were so under the brine
we were so vacant and kind
—the national
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I SWORE TO MYSELF I wouldn't set foot in this damned neighborhood again.
I swore it to the doctors, my three-hundred-dollar-per-hour therapist, my father and grandmother, even the nurse that tended to my broken arm after the last time I decided to come here.
I repeated the words over and over like a broken record, a boy reciting his first communion pledge, promised them that I would be the responsible businessman I've always been and stop giving in to my tantalizing urges.
And yet, here I am.
The digital clock on my dashboard blinks 3:17 am. I sit in nothing but a thin chemise and a tie, shivering in my Lamborghini as November's chilly air paints goosebumps on my skin. The cigarette stick feels like it's decomposing against my trembling lips, and suddenly, I feel like the antihero of a low-budget 40's film noir.
This neighborhood is probably one of the most dangerous in the state, notorious for drug shipments, gang fight crossfires, and whatever illegal business ruffians were up to these days. An expensive Lamborghini looks ludicrous parked in this worn-out street. I knew it would probably get stolen or keyed like all my old ones, but it was the least of my worries.
I had my own custom-made drug. My charming plague, a nuclear fucking weapon with a corrupt mind paired with villainous lips that utter the most innocent of words.
And she lives just opposite where I'm parked.
I shake my head, because the motion gives me comfort for at least a millisecond. Drive away, Nathaniel.
She'll crush you. You've listened to them warn you. You've been hearing the words 'abusive' and 'relationship' for god knows how many years.
She will crush you.
The cigarette is tossed out the window. I bury my head in both rough palms, panting heavily, my breaths quickly steaming the windows as I feel my lungs tighten, making it hell to breathe. What if she doesn't? What if it's my Caterina, right now, in that building, all alone? My flower, my bundle of love, grace and intelligence? What if it's the other her?
Metal nails are being hammered into my head. I realize I've been banging my forehead against the steering wheel, and a headache will surely follow. What a fucking failure. The car starts shrinking, the doors compressing so that, when they meet, they would slowly demolish me in their wake until I'm nothing but a pile of flesh and powdered bone.
Don't do it, Nathaniel. Remember the dull walls of your therapist's waiting room. I scrunch my face. How are we today, Nathaniel? How did that make you feel, Nathaniel? I didn't want to see the disappointed looks on my family's faces.
She is sin. She will be your undoing.
The concrete crunches under my feet.
I've shut the car door and the winter air is like needles pricking my skin as I sprint to the bed and breakfast she lives at.
This is the last time, I promise myself. The last time.
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