TONY: Book 1 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

18:

"So you're best friends with a drug dealer now," Morgan clicks her tongue. "Okay, I see how it is. Despite me buying you these three granola bars, I understand. You're into the bad types- that's okay. You can prefer whoever you want to prefer, but don't come complaining to me why there's a mysterious stab wound in your shoulder and you can't figure out how it got there."

"You done?"

"Ooh! Ow, can you check my back? I suddenly feel immense pain from where you stabbed me. You must have gotten that extremely sharp knife from your thug friend, since you know, knife crime and all that jazz," she huffs.

"Are you done?"

"Nah, I mean, I can be bad. Yeah, I can wear leather, wear all black, where intense makeup and sell some drugs."

"You'd get weed mixed up with nettle tea," I mumble.

"But hey, as long as it's leaves," she wiggles her brows. When she realises I'm not laughing, her shoulder slump and she solemnly lifts her coffee to her lips. "So you woke up with Mr Toro?"

"Well, you see, I got drugged-"

"Huh?"

"—so he helped me out, since we kind of grew closer? I don't know, but all I do know is that I missed him for those two weeks," I mutter into my coffee mug.

"Awh, you've got a crush!"

"Nah," I blush. "I don't, he's just really good company if you dismiss his short temper, intense mood swings and the awkward silences."

She grimaces, "Sounds like hell."

"It's really not, he's a nice guy behind all the m-muscles."

"'M-muscles' eh?" She giggles. "M-must be difficult to keep your m-mind straight."

"Shut up," I grumble, throwing a chocolate button at her face.

She opens her mouth nonchalantly and it lands, she chews silently before shrugging, "I mean, I get it. Whoop danger! Whoop adrenaline! Whoop recklessness! But come on, do you really want to accidentally kill yourself because of a guy you're into?"

I pout, "Don't say that."

"Say what? The truth?"

"I promise you, at first he's quiet and brooding and slightly scary—" she snorts "—But he's actually really genuine underneath. He's like an onion with layers."

"I am an ogre, and ogres have layers," she mumbles to herself in her good Scottish accent. Coming back to reality, she cocks her head to the side, "How's your mom?"

I frown, "Hasn't called me. She hung up on me the other day as well."

"Have you thought to go back and visit?" She presses.

"Yes and no. I'm really happy at the moment, but my mom seems to forget how to communicate."

She leans forward and glances around the cafe, "What if she can't communicate?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it. You told me how controlling your step dad is, what if he's controlling her?"

I bite my lip and my brows furrow, "Oh my god."

"Yes, 'Oh my god' indeed. They don't call me Yoda for nothing y'know," She grumbles.

"Nobody calls you Yoda, Morgan."

"Once can only dream."

Just then, my phone rings. I glance at Morgan with a surprised look on my face, "Speak of the devil and she will appear." Answering the call, I frown at the unfamiliar voice.

"Hello, is this Zac?" Asks a polite woman.

"Yeah, yes it is. Why do you have my mom's phone?" I ask, glancing at Morgan with a worried expression.

"I'm sorry to say this, but your mother has committed suicide. I am deeply sorry for your loss, she's currently at the hospital morgue at—"

"I know where she is," I whisper blankly. "I'll be there tonight."

"Right sir, thank you for your time. Again, I'm deeply sorry."

"No worries, it wasn't your fault," I croak before hanging up. I look at Morgan as I can slowly feel my control slipping, spiralling, falling, tumbling. My breathing shortens as I realise that she's gone, that she's no longer living or breathing, smiling or laughing, loving or giving.

No, she's dead.

My mom is dead.

"Zac?" Asks Morgan in a small voice. She reaches over the table to grip my hand, but I flinch and stand up abruptly. Too abruptly as the table jolts forwards and spills our coffees everywhere. But I'm too lost to even give a shit. Leaving my phone, bag, coat and friend, I rush out of the cafe and into the streets which I need to get away from.
Setting off, I dash from the cafe, sprinting and barging into people, trying to get somewhere where I can just think. But my mind catches up with my movements as the full force of what happened slams into me.

I stumble into an isolated alley and gasp for breath, my heart pumping, my eyes watering and my limbs shaking. I grip my hair by the roots and tug viscously, kicking at the wall in a sorry attempt to feel something. Anything. Yet all I feel is nothing but pain, the pain of losing my mother in one of the worst ways possible.

The fact that she couldn't live, even though her son is still alive breaks me. I eventually sink to the floor as sob after sob rakes through my skinny frame and the grief punctures my lungs with it's sharp talons that makes it difficult breath. The walls press in on me and I know I need to move.

Unsure of how long I've been sat down for, I push myself up and am grateful for the darkening day. I flip my hoodie over my head and look down at my feet, letting the tears slowly trickle down my cheeks and onto my nose, before dropping onto my converse. Before I know it, I'm by the bridge, looking at the silvery moon as my tear ducts go into overdrive and leave me drained, distraught and fragile.

"Zachary?" Asks Toro from my right. I don't look at him, instead I let him come to me. Which he does.

He moves hesitantly closer to me with purposeful strides, before being next to me. His warmth and familiarity leap onto me, but it doesn't do anything to heat up my heart. "Zachary, Morgan's been worried sick."

I don't reply.

"Tell me what's gone off. I'm not good with sentimental shit, but if you need to speak, speak."

"What time is it?" I question coolly.

"U-uh, five-ish. Why?"

"I need to go home."

"Oh," he pauses. "Why?"

"My mom just died."

"Jesus," he mutters before placing a hand on my shoulder, turning me to look at him. I must look pretty shitty because his eyes widen.

"Suicide."

"Zackary, if there's anything I can do to help you..."

"No."

"Let me drive you there. It's only about two, three hours away? I can pay for a hotel, be there to-to support you. That's what friends are for, right?"

I ignore the hurt of being friend zoned, however it's easily drowned out as the melancholy swallows me and sends my blood cold. I nod at his suggestion, muttering something about packing.

"You sit in my car, I'll pack things for you from your dorm and I'll also call Morgan," he rambles, clearly trying to help out whilst being unsure on how.

I'm too drained to even say thank you, only feeling blue.
"Come on, let's get you home."