The thing is, he can spend the rest of his life trying to scrub eggs of the walls (and by the looks of it, he'll probably have to), but he can't go on like this. He's Feliciano Pavano. And since when does he let people trample all over him?
The tires are sliced, even the spare ones in the garage (people have way to much time on their hands). Blade only owns a motorcycle, so there's nothing he can borrow from him (Feliciano briefly - very briefly - considers using his bike, which is an excellent way to turn Blade into a confirmed murderer).
Jamie's bike is still in Lund and Feliciano's is at his parents. Fuck his life.
He knows his parents routine by heart. When they're off to Sunday mass, he saunters up the driveway.
He can't look at the house without mentally renovating it. It looks too much like every other building lining the street. The red walls are fading, the white details darkening with water damage. The Swedish flag flutters in the wind the way it always does, even if their neighbors only use theirs on specific occasions.
Feliciano glances towards a dark window on the second floor. She changed the curtains as soon as he left, to something pink and frilly. He still doesn't know what the room looks like, what they use it for. What they did with his old furniture.
He scurries into the backyard. The old shed isn't locked - the beauty of small towns. Feliciano wrestles his way in, bumps into the lawn mower and knocks over a sweeper. The bike insist on getting tangled into all the other crap they've shoved in there over the years.
He curses and pulls it out by force. This whole ordeal is already more complicated than he thought - and he hasn't even left town yet! Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something.
Feliciano drags the old thing down the driveway. The tires sag, so he scurries to the shed and back, pumping as if his life depends on it, returns to the shed, shoves the pump into it, runs to the bike -
His dad stands by it, frowning. He lifts his gaze just as Feliciano hits the emergency brakes on his feet. Cazzo! What time is it? They weren't supposed to be back until one thiry, is it one thirty yet?
"Ciao babbo! Do you know what time it is?"
His dad stands in his Sunday attire - the white shirt, the black coat, the dark slacks - and looks between him and the bike. Back and forth, back and forth. If Feliciano's quick, he can still get out unscathed.
"The tires needed to be pumped. Here, I fixed it for you!"
"You, what?"
It's sacrilege, speaking Swedish to him, but switching to Italian would make it too much like it used to be. His dad frowns, looking him over. Cazzo, Feliciano needs to get out of here.
"If you don't need it right now, then I will borrow it for awhile, va bene?"
"Che diavolo parli?"*
His face darkens the way it always does when he suspects Feliciano is up to something.
"How was church, was it a good sermon?"
Feliciano twirls around him once for good measure, his dad turning to keep up with him. He grabs his bike and jumps on it.
"Ma che cazzo fai?"**
"Ciao amore! Buon dia!" he says, blowing a kiss and riding towards the street.
His mum is just walking up to the house, wearing her pretty black coat and a scarf he hasn't seen before, her hair neatly curled. He blows her a kiss as well.
YOU ARE READING
Unbreakable smile
General Fiction"You can't even say her name out loud. You know what that reminds me of? Freaking Voldemort." Feliciano thinks of what people said after That Night. What they still are saying. He stands. Jamie looks like he wants to take the words back. "Love-" "...
