Anger Management [Meloghia]

Chapter 3: The Threat of Purple Haze

Fugo woke sweating. The darkness still surrounded him; it must have been early morning. He couldn't see well, so the shadows threatened him with their lethargic movements. He could still hear the echo of the panting in his ear, the moan that woke him up as he cried. He turned and jumped at the presence next to him. Purple Haze stood drooling next to the bed. He'd been so scared that he'd summoned his stand in his sleep. He was glad he hadn't tried to fight in his sleep too; he could have killed everyone in the house. A cold chill pierced him at the thought. I have to get this under control, he thought as he recalled Purple Haze.

He got out of bed. There was no reason to feign sleep anymore, so he went downstairs. He thought about everyone sleeping peacefully behind closed doors. No one knew just how close they could have been to dying. Fugo's heart was still racing. He decided to put on some water for tea. While he waited, he sat on the balcony and watched the dead streets. The clock said it was four, the hour after the drunks went home, and before the joggers and dog walkers came out. He was by himself, with no one, not even the moon was out tonight, which was why he couldn't see inside the dark house.

He felt small and helpless, just like he did a year ago. Even though he was in Passione and had a powerful stand now, he was still just a kid. As he sat at the small table and chairs on the balcony, memories flooded back to him.

He remembered how nervous he'd been once the dinner ended and the professor's wife stepped out. He'd always wondered how cognizant of the situation she had really been. He led him to the study where he had once been fascinated by all the books but now, just wished to be out of the room. Fugo had been weak then. He'd still believed that adults were always right and wanted what was best for him.

But then a weight pinned him down and he couldn't move. He felt the hot breath against him whispering his name. The things he did that night Fugo would never forget, could never forgive.

Fugo's thoughts were interrupted as the pot whistled. He jumped up and summoned his stand. In the doorway, he saw Abbacchio take a few steps back. He looked wary of Purple Haze. Fugo looked down and recalled his stand.

"Abbacchio. Y-you scared me." He took a deep breath and walked past him into the kitchen. He grabbed a hand towel off the oven handle and lifted the pot off the stovetop. He grabbed a mug from one of the cabinets and began to open his tea packet.

"Little jumpy, aren't we?" Abbacchio murmured. Fugo poured the water and watched as the packet began to taint the water's color, much as Purple Haze could have tainted the air in the house just seconds before. His hand shook as he poured.

"Would you like a cup?" Fugo asked without looking.

"Sure." Abbacchio walked up to the counter next to him and carefully grabbed the pot. Fugo didn't resist as he relinquished it. He watched as Abbacchio poured himself a cup. Fugo then took his own cup and walked back to the patio table. He pulled and lowered the string of the tea bag as he waited for the tea to steep. Abbacchio pulled the other chair out and sat down.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Abbacchio asked. Fugo shrugged and nodded as he sat down. "I see something's troubling your sleep as well." Fugo looked up and nodded once. "I'm up often at this time. They say twelve is the witching hour, and three is the devil's hour. No one talks about four being the haunting hour, when fears and insecurities find us."

"It's a lonely hour." Fugo said absently.

"Alone with our thoughts." Abbacchio took a sip of his tea. "I suppose it's nice to not be alone for once."

"If I may ask, what has you up, Abbacchio?" Fugo watched him. Abbacchio looked out at the city of Napoli still lit up. It was a beautiful sight.

"The man I killed with my own failings," He said simply. Fugo said nothing, and instead opted to look back down at his cup. He pulled out the tea bag and set it on a napkin he'd brought with him for just such a purpose. He slid it towards the center of the table for Abbacchio's use. Abbacchio looked down and acknowledged the gesture by removing his own tea bag from his mug.