Monopoly with the Mafia

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Sliding down the plastic chair, the edges scraping into my legs and cutting a thin layer of skin off. My thighs sweating heavily although my arms pricking up goosebumps. A fold-up table, grey and covered in a dry, brown substance that only reminds me of the five days I spent in pain, sits in front of me. Iron bars on the windows like a prison and the seat opposite me is left vacant. One hand is clasped into a pair of handcuff's, holding me to a radiator, rotting itself to the wall.

The man that dragged my fighting body through the doorway ditched me as soon as my bum hit the chair. Leaving me in a sudden silence, wondering what is happening to me.

Perking my head up as I hear shoes clap, someone slapping their feet against a hard surface. The teacher in me wants to jump out, to tell them to stop and walk properly; but the me in me cowers back, shrinking into the chair, camouflaging myself as a coat, waiting for whatever is to come.

I swear, my heart stops, no beat in my pulse. Patting my fingers against my wrist, urgently willing for it to come. Only this morning did I see this man's face, glowing up from a phone screen. His eyes, the same ones I shuddered as I looked into, they have no glow. No beautiful cocoa hold. Complete darkness.

No smile on his face whilst he greets me, the scar stretching up, stays in the same position. His suit immaculately fitted. A black piercing sitting on the bridge of his nose.

Taking a seat on the chair in front of me, I watch as he places a thick notepad of crisp paper and a ballpoint pen in front of me. Raising a perfectly arched eyebrow, he pulls his lips and begins to talk.

"In the past five-years, write all the people you've met," an Italian accent sunk deep into his voice, although not his first language, his English is exquisite.

"What?" I laugh nervously, a frog stuck in my throat. " How would I remember all of them?"

"You'll stay here forever."

The pen fits carefully in between my fingers and after thinking for a moment, I leet the ink start flowing. Name after name as his heated gaze rests upon me. I shake as I fill out yet another page of students and my friends take place on the very middle page, a triumph of pride fills me as I push the book back to him. Twiddling my worn thumbs as he skims the page. Clearly searching for one specific name, calling out for it in a sea of year sevens.

Sighing, he shoves the book of my life towards my stomach. My hands fly in front of me, a reflex to slap the book before impact. A cold, hard stinging sensation fills my palm and winded as the book smacks me. Leaning back into his chair, and waves his hand as if for me to continue.

"That's it," I protest, flipping through the blur of running words. "Every single person I've met in the past five years - that I can remember."

"Remember more."

"I can't, my brain cells are racked," I show him the many names he may have missed as he clenches his scabbed fist. "Darwin, Andy, Joan, Wren, Kenna, Matthew -"

"I can read," he hisses. "I just think you're lying. I know you're lying."

"I'm not."

Looking behind him, this eyebrow arches again, his scar raising also, "I will kill you, right here and right now."

"Why?" I ask, and as I speak, nerves nearly make me retch.

Resting my back against the frosty hard, concrete floor as the winter's wind blows through the iron window. My coat wrapped around my torso but still, my fingers are numb with cold-like-ice filling my tips. Knees knocking together whilst I try and concentrate on sleeping. Every time I shiver another thought pops up. Distracting me.

Lucio, that was his name, the news blast blares in my ears over and over again; out of all of the ways I imagined him, I can tell you, he's way worse. Shoving me down into a corner and telling me to wrap up tight for the night.

Not once in my life have I slept without a bed, always tucked up in a ball of duvets, patterned with little flasks or equations. Never have I slept without a pillow or with a pair of shoes on my feet. When it's too chilling to sleep I can creep out of bed to turn up the heating and less than half an hour later I'm knocked out. Is this how homeless people feel? No, I shouldn't say that their hardships are so much worse than mine.

The night goes by like a long car-ride to some holiday, only I'm not expecting a lush caravan by morning light. Owls hooting at each other one last time before flying to where ever they nest for day. A home of sticks with their family.

Eventually, as the hours move on, my fingers again feeling, I pull myself up, gaining the strength to sit on the chair. Just in time for his visit.

The very man that stole me from the street takes his time as he walks through the door, steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten pasty in the other, the thick notebook tucked under his arm. Today, his hair isn't wrapped in a bun but left flowing down his shoulders, the same black as friend's but curlier than I had ever imagined. The notebook is tossed my way as he scoffs down the rest of the pastry, I flicker through it, wondering what's new. The air prickles. A putrid smell travels from the corridor but the smell as the pastry makes me groan. I won't dare to ask for any food.

"What am I supposed to do?" I ask, leaning back in my chair and holding my own hand under the table, steadying myself. " I already told you, I don't remember anymore."

Cracking a smile and snickering under his breath, he speaks for the first time. "If you don't stop, you will be punished."

"Punished, how?" I ask, imagining him looking me in the room for another night and repressing a shudder.

Ignoring my question, he speaks again," re-write your friend's list, again and again until you write the name we're looking for."

"I don't know what that name is!" I throw my hands out, knocking the book down off of the table.

He bends down, his blazer loosening ever so slightly and his shirt stretching so I can see right through. A large tattoo embroidered into him, black and gold and red, all these swirling patterns mixed into one, I can't quite see the final emblem as he rises but I want to learn what it is and what it means. Reading aloud my list of friends, he studies my face as he pronounces every single one. Glancing as pain, happiness and loyalty basks in my eyes and enjoying as he makes me uncomfortable.

"You lied to us."

"No, I didn't and I'm not," I exclaim and read the list again. "I even included Kenna, Archie and Matthew - I haven't seen them in years."

Slipping his hand into his top pocket, he brings a picture out, printed from my Instagram and he passes it to me. Everything in my body freezes as the image re-enters my system. My own black, curly hair dyed pink in array od the festival and the girl next to me, her hair dyed blue. Both of us wearing matching shirts and shorts, riding on my back as we cheese for the famous photographer giving us his time and film. Tears prick the edges of my eyes as I take in my old friend's smile, so wide that I almost bought that she was happy, almost.

Her name is Kenna. We were doing a semester abroad in America when we met her at this hotel and she jumped in our car and told us to take her on an adventure. Stupidly, but thank God we did, we sped away with her to the next place on our trip. One morning, after nights of fun, we awoke and found that Kenna hadn't slept in her bed and all of her things were gone. Up and left us in the night despite the memories we had made.

"I listed her," I say, looking away from the picture, attempting to stop the flooding of the room. "Kenna Menso."

His chair screeches and he kicks it back, the object landing on the floor with a clatter. Trembling as he types in his password, he taps the table with his fingers and hums to himself whilst he waits for the person in charge of him to pick up. What information have I just given to this man? And what have I gotten into?

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I hope you liked the chapter, more to be revealed to you and more for me too write. Please excuse the characters, of course, the first few chapters are for the author to feel out and explore

TheGirlWhoWrites