Sparrow

6

Just live, and let what happens happen.

•••

If I was a sane person, I think I would have limits. Or be able to make certain good ideas when it comes to life and it's choices.

But I don't think I'm a sane person at all, I have never believed that I was. But I also don't think I'm insane, not yet at least. Give it a few years.

"So let me get this straight." Marco smiled as he stood with his back again the door, while I laid in anguish on the bed. "last night. You did the opposite of what Lorenzo said, got drunk, killed a man, and then blacked out?"

Not only did I blackout but I woke up with no clothes on, again. Déjà vu

Pursing my lips I groaned, "perhaps." I uttered as I rolled onto my back. "But I didn't kill that man, fucking Lorenzo did. That's not on me."
I corrected.

"How are you-" Marco snickered in amusement, he too had a sense of curiosity to him. "Not dead yet?—" I interrupted, knowing that's what he was going to say. "—Not sure."

Marco shook his head, sighing. "You are insane for what you pull around Lorenzo. No one talks to him the way you do, the way you have." He said as he pushed off the door. He stayed across the room though, like he was unable to approach me. Like he wasn't allowed to.

"I respect those who earn my respect." I sighed.
Marco looked at me after I said that, studied me for a few moments.

so I looked at him too.

He wore a white collared shirt which flattered him nicely, and black pocketed jeans. A chain around his neck, with a charm that said something that I couldn't read.

I found myself fixated on it until Marco cleared his throat and caught my attention.
"Do you remember anything else." He said plainly, as he grabbed the loose chain and tucked it inside his shirt.

Biting my lip I shook my head. And he looked at me, and I looked at him.

I do remember, most of it anyways. But Marco doesn't need to know that.

"Okay," Marco said, as he turned and walked back to the door.

"Okay?" I repeated, "just okay?"

Marco grabbed the door handle and swung the door open. Looking back at me to say "just okay" He smiled

"fuck you, now I have some questions of my own-"

He slammed the door. Prick

Laying flat on the bed again I find my head wandering to Lorenzo. And his hand, his fucking stupid murderous hands that were on me.

But the one thing that I couldn't escape from thinking about, was his eyes. How they were watching me with something in them, something I couldn't decide. Something that was perilous and animalistic.

Taking air into my lungs I pull myself off the bed I look around the small room.

I have always hated the feeling of being trapped, closed in. I wasn't claustrophobic, but I liked the feeling of being free. I liked being free to be reckless and messy, and dangerous.