#the slob was just like. what if we put a woman through awful shit

[jonny-b-meowborn]

Just read Dead Inside by Chandler Morrison, absolutely wild book, honestly loved it, surprisingly funny for what it's about. It's pretty short, I read it in one sitting in just a couple hours, and there's a lot put into it. I really liked how the author characterized the main duo, they're really just wild asshole people. I loved how much of a dick the narrator is, genuinely awful person, but still very entertaining with his annoying observations. Also the cover art is really beautiful, I love it. Generally great book, wouldn't recommend

[shannygoatgruff]

My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter II

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA

Overall Warning:  Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.  

Chapter Warning: Talks sexual assault, murder, joy kills

Summary: Mama always said to be their brothers’ keeper. Now there is absolutely nothing these two won’t do for each other.  Boys will be boys…

Chapter II

The sun assaults my eyes as soon as I open them.  It's all I can do to raise my hand to shield them from the blinding light.  Who the fuck opened the curtains  These things are never open.  I bought blackout curtains for a reason.  I want it dark in here.  

Ivar must have come in, in an attempt to get me out of bed.   He could have just woken me up, instead, he tries to blind me out of bed.  Any other day I would be annoyed, but right now all I can seem to concentrate on is the scent of coffee creeping under the crack of my door. 

As I lay here rubbing my forehead, I close my eyes and try to piece together anything from before.  I wonder how I got here. I don't remember coming home, much less stripping out of my clothes and landing in the bed. Then I look down at what I'm wearing.  How did I end up in my Vikings t-shirt? I thought for sure I lost it weeks ago.

The sound of the ashtray hitting the floor when I swing my legs around pulls me out of my own head for a moment.  Ivar is going to be pissed about that.  Not only does he hate it that I smoke in bed, but he hates when there are ashes on the carpet.  I'm not one for vacuuming and when he comes in here and sees a black stain against this white floor he's going to have a fucking fit.  

I wish I could sit here and collect my thoughts…give me some time to let the morning fogginess wear off but I can't. I gotta take a leak and the smell of the coffee is making my stomach growl.

The sounds of Skynard’s Simple Man playing in the distance and clanging of frying pans on the stove tells me right away that Ivar's in a good mood. That was Mother's favorite song.  All that racket he's making downstairs as he tries to sing along with the song can only mean one thing: he's making pancakes, bacon, and eggs.  It's what Mother used to make us when we were little; our special meal when she wanted us to know that we were her special boys.  Now, Ivar cooks it when he wants to celebrate.  

If we're celebrating then we must've had a good time. Damn. Why can't I remember it? I don't have one clear memory of last night, only flashes of things that might have happened. I assume Ivar and I took that girl out, but I don't have that exciting feeling that I always have when I know that we had a great night.

I never noticed how cold the bathroom tiles were until I lean against them so I won't drip on the side of the toilet. He hates it when I do that. He's always bitching about having to clean my piss up from around the toilet and off the floor, like I don't help clean up the mess he makes when we party. He says that's just an occupational hazard and not him being a fucking slob. Whatever. I call it him being a fucking neat freak. 

Still, I can't stop the chuckle coming from my lips when the stream hits the side of the bowl but then the pain makes me wince.  Something's wrong, I think. It hurts to piss. Not like on the inside, more like my dick is raw; like I fucked so much and so hard that I broke the skin. It feels like that one time I got a friction burn the first time I tried anal.  I think I was rushing and didn't move the underwear over enough so the material rubbed my dick raw.  I don't even remember who that was with.  I just remember seeing the blood on my dick and this raw patch.  I guess it felt good because I still like anal, but sometimes the thought of it makes me nauseous.  It doesn't look like I did anything to myself. There's no broken skin or anything, but it still hurts. 

What the fuck did we do last night? I wasn't that fucked up. I hardly had anything at the bar and I know I didn't do more than two Percocet. I was going light for a reason. I was so fucked up when we went out the night before that I could barely get it up when we entertained our guests. 

I wonder if Ivar had me doing some crazy shit to that girl like I did to that one a few weeks ago. Damn, I wish I could remember it. Remembering helps keep the hunger away. Right now, I feel like I haven't done anything.  It’s almost like I missed out on a night of partying. This feeling is enough to make me salivate.

I pull my shirt over my t-shirt as I walk toward the stairs, hoping that I'm not forgetting anything.  The wooden steps creaking under my weight is enough to alert Ivar that I'm awake. I still don't know what time it is. All I know is it's too early to be up, but late enough that I won't make it into work on time. I don't really care. I feel out of it today. I'll call them and tell them I'm sick or something. I just don't think I could concentrate on that shit today if I tried.

Ivar is already sitting down to breakfast, looking like he's been awake for hours. I never understood why he wakes up so early or why he insists that we dress for breakfast.  He has this thing where he likes for us to be presentable at the table.  It's not like we ever have company. It was how Father did it.  He liked all of his boys dressed and looking our best around the table when he sat down.  It seems pointless to me, since it's just us two.  I think it's cold and stuffy; Ivar finds it intimate.  I don't know why we need to be intimate over pancakes but it seems to make him happy, so do it. 

I like it when Ivar's happy.

The chair screeches on the hardwood floor as I pull it back to take a seat. He's sitting there quietly sipping on a cup of coffee and reading is iPad. He never looks up at me in the morning; most of the time I doubt that he even knows I'm here. "Morning."

His blue eyes lift from the printed text on the screen. The slight way his head turns in my direction before his eyes makes me feel uneasy, but then he smiles. "How'd you sleep?"

I reach for a pancake and break off a piece before sitting it on my plate. My coffee is already at my place on the table, loaded with two shots of vodka, cream, and a shit load of sugar, no doubt. Dunking my pancaked into my coffee, I shrug my shoulders. "Okay, I guess. Why didn't you wake me?"

"You needed to rest." He answers as if I should already know that. His voice is calm and soothing. I don't know how he always manages to put me at ease. "I called work for you."

"Yeah? What'd you say?"

He lays one hand carefully over the iPad, covering up most of the article he's reading. Placing his coffee cup back on the table, he tilts the iPad back up to his eyes. "I told Ubbe you were taking off the rest of the week.” If I keep missing work like this, my older brother is going to get pissed.  I’m sure he’ll be calling me later today to see why I begged off.  He’ll perform his brotherly duties, and make sure everything is alright.  I guess I need to think of a real excuse before that time comes.

A bemused look hits Ivar's face and he points to a section of the screen as if I can see it. "Listen to this, ‘The police discovered the body of a runaway that was already presumed dead, in an abandoned apartment complex. According to crime scene detectives, the victim was tied up, tortured, and raped. 'I feel sorry for this young woman,' says Detective Torstein, Homicide. 'From the information we've gathered, she ran away from an abusive foster home two years ago and was thought to be dead. The reason it took us so long to find her was that no one reported her missing."  

I can't help but notice the mirth in Ivar's voice as he reads the article. There's something in the gleam in his eye that tells me right away she's the girl we picked up at the bar. Poor thing. It sucks that she had such a rough life. "Well at least nobody can hurt her anymore." The dry pancake is thick in my throat but a few sips of coffee quickly remedy the discomfort.

"The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the face…”  I feel like I have a massive migraine all of a sudden. My head doesn't really hurt but the flashes of light that shoot through my head are blinding. 

“’An object of substantial size was used to crush every bone in her face sending fragments of her skull to her brain.' Detective Torstein adds, 'More than likely, the victim died on impact.' Jesus, Hvitserk. What did you do to her?”

It's like a dream almost. I can't really remember anything specifically; it just comes back in snippets. I remember sitting down and talking to her. I remember enjoying a cigarette, but that's it. "Me? The beating and shit, that's your deal." I can feel a smile tickle the corners of my mouth.

"Not this time. Why her face?" Ivar folds his hands on the table and studies me with great interest. He's not upset, more like in awe. He gets so excited about these things.

As I reach for my coffee cup again, I notice my left hand. It's red and swollen at my web between my index finger and my thumb. I can see a set of perfectly outlined teeth prints that have turned purple from where the skin was broken. Now, I can remember how that happened.  "She started screaming, so I covered her mouth." I can even feel her bite me, sending a sharp pain through my hand when I struggled to pry her legs open. 

I wish the memories were vivid, but they're more like me watching someone else through a dense fog. It's vague and not necessarily in order, but the one thing that remains constant is the sound of her screaming. "She bit me."

"The victim's underwear was found in her throat." Ivar's actually laughing at that detail. "That's fucking awesome." He acts like that is something that I should be proud of or that maybe it's something that he wants to try.

"My hand was bleeding and it kept sliding off of her mouth. I had to stop the screaming." A flash of memory comes to me of and I recall taking the white laced panties and pushing them into her mouth. It muffled her voice, but I could still hear it. It bothered me. "But then she started gurgling. She was getting on my fucking nerves."

"'The victim's undergarments were lodged in her esophagus, cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain,' explains the Detective.'Whoever did this crime was truly an animal.'" Ivar reads along with the article as if to back up my story.

I open and close my hand, staring at the colors it has turned from the bite. There are scratches on my knuckles too, but it doesn't really hurt. Why didn't I notice this before? I should have remembered all of this before Ivar read all of that to me. "That sound was horrible. There was a cinder-block, I think. Just a big chunk of something concrete on the floor. I didn't hit her with it. I dropped it on her. I just wanted her to shut the fuck up." I guess that's what killed her.

"Well, Astrid's not screaming anymore." Ivar's smile is so wide that his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Who?"

"Astrid. Her name was Astrid." As soon as he says that, I open my mouth and piece of pancake, coffee, bile and everything else that was resting comfortably in my stomach land on the table. I clutch the sides of the table, when my stomach muscles contract, forcing more vomit to spew from my lips. I can't really see due to the tears in my eyes, but I do notice Ivar stand up and carry his coffee mug and plate to the sink. He moves so gracefully, so calmly. He's doing this like it's no big deal that I'm puking on the kitchen table.

I think my stomach is finally returning to normal, but I don't know what made me lose it. Maybe it's the fact that she had a name. I hate knowing that they have names. It almost makes them seem as real, when I know what people called them. I can live with the fact that I killed a girl. But, can I deal with the fact that I killed Astrid, the throw-away, runaway girl with the annoying voice and the shitty past? Fuck. Why did I have to know her name?

Ivar's hand fists my hair and brings my head to rest against his stomach. He presses the damp paper towel to my forehead and then dabs the corners of my mouth. "Shh." His hand cups my neck as he rubs his thumb against my jaw to calm me. "It's okay, Serk. You told her not to scream. She didn't listen to you. This wasn't your fault, it was hers."

I don't understand how we got to this point. Ivar is the one into torture and pain and hurting and shit. I'm just there for the ride. I fuck them. That's all I do. Sometimes he does things to them and when they're almost broken, I fuck the shit out of them before he finishes them off however he wants. Sometimes they're alive when I get them; sometimes they're not. But one thing remains constant, I don't kill. That's not what I'm there for. We don't switch roles. Ivar has never fucked any of them, ever. He gets off on watching me do it. Just like I get off on watching him so happy fucking with them. And then we come home and talk about it and laugh and drink and get fucked up. It's what we do. It's how we have fun. Why did I change that?

I bury my head in Ivar's stomach as the last of my tears come out. I guess I'm crying for her, or at least I feel like I should be. But I can't really concentrate on that right now because I happen to notice the iPad sitting on the table. I slide it over and look at him confused. "Wednesday? How the fuck is it Wednesday?"

"You slept for three days. You always do when you make a mistake." He leans down and places a soft kiss in my hair. "It's okay, though. I made everything better. They'll never know. You got nothing to feel sorry for. You just need some rest. You'll feel better after a hot bath, and then you can sleep it off.  I’ll even talk to Ubbe, if he calls." He helps me from my chair and leads me to the stairs. "Go run your bath.  I'll bring you some tea and toast to settle your stomach."

I nod, because I know he's right. I do need to rest. I know he'll take care of me while I try to make peace with what I've done. He'll make sure I don't blame myself. He'll see to it that I eat, sleep, Ubbe is off my back, and that there's no evidence to link me to the crime. Ivar will take care of everything.

He always does.

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[aviationfiction]

XXXVI

Dante St. James

You are the light in my life. You are my direction. You are an essential part of my purpose. Love has never felt so blissful until you. You bring me joy. You give me joy. As this year comes to a close, I simply want to thank you for everything that you are as a man and as my life partner. I love you Dante Elliott St. James, through and through.

My eyes slowly panned over Autumn’s written words to me yet again, as they remained tacked onto the master bathroom’s mirror. The pristine cursive writing ran across a gold trimmed white card with a bottle of champagne on its right corner end; a signifier of the final day of the year.

The running water briefly captured my attention and I finally wet the toothpaste covered bristles. With every stroke of the brush over my teeth, I took in her message, basking in every line and the love expressed for me. I could picture her white nail polish coated toes digging into the leather of the guest bedroom’s chair as she giddily curled up in it, covered in the mauve grey fleece blanket that she adores so much. In her time frames of being one with herself, that’s her area to read, write, sketch, and most of all, breathe. Lately I’ve been feeling a separation anxiety when she goes off to be on her own and I find myself quietly inching into the room and laying across the bed simply to be within her presence. I make sure not to speak, since I’m already invading her space, but eventually whatever she’s working on is discarded and I become her focus.

Though we haven’t touched based on it as much as I would like, I know she’s been focused on finishing up the applications she has left for the schools she’s chosen to apply to in order to complete the remaining requirements for her bachelors and possibly even her masters degrees. While it’s no secret, it’s not something she’s been eager to discuss and most of all, my help is out of the question. She warned me that she’d never forgive me if I made any phone calls to either speed up the process or to pull favors. I was also denied the opportunity to write a stellar recommendation about the work ethic she’s put forth since becoming my corporate flight attendant. No matter how many times I assured her that my words would have been all in due respect and fairness to how much she impressed me professionally from the moment we met, I was shut down with a kiss and a no thank you. I have no choice other than to respect the manner in which she’s going about this. I’m assured in her choosing to speak to me about it or reveal her choice once she’s comfortable with doing so, but it doesn’t cease my curiosity.

After one final rinse, I turned off the faucet and exited the bathroom. I didn’t bother with making the bed, because Autumn put emphasis on the fact that we’re going into the new year with everything either cleaned or anew. There’s a bag with a couple of hundred dollars worth of brand new Donna Karen bedding sitting in the closet that she purchased at some point this month. I’m sure she’ll get it all onto the bed before we’re off to tonight’s festivities.

I put a K-Cup into the Keurig for you, just turn it on. It’s the Yogi honey and lavender tea. You need to decompress a bit, so have a cup of it. I made you apple steel-cut oatmeal so that you don’t have to eat cereal. It’s in the pot on the bottom shelf in the fridge. Just add a bit of almond milk and reheat it. I love you. Enjoy, suga.

Yet again, I stared at the newly found note and read it over a couple of times while imaging her voice saying it all. Sometimes I wonder how did I get so lucky. Actually it’s not even luck; Autumn’s a blessing beyond all other blessings I’ve ever received. She is by far the greatest one. Although it warms me to hear and read how much she loves me, even if she didn’t say it, I would know. Her actions speak so much louder than her beautiful words. Through them, I’ve learned so much about myself that I’ve never realized or understood quite before. She’s taught me the meaning of giving and accepting love in it’s purest form. She gifts me with it unconditionally and I do the same for her. She’s it for me. I’ll never love another woman in my lifetime as much as I love her.

“Tea, though?” I mumbled my thought out loud as I pressed the start button. I was looking forward to having some coffee. My next task was to get the oatmeal on. Thankfully, she pre-made it instead of leaving me to put the ingredients together. All I know how to do is open up a couple of instant packets, pour some water into a bowl, and pop it all into the microwave. Her stove top way of making it is obviously a million times better than my lazy and pathetic attempts.

“Shit.” Just as I finished placing servings into the glass bowl until it was filled to the brim, the doorbell interrupted my process and worsened the already loud growling of my stomach. I couldn’t resist the urge to lag for just a few seconds as I blew onto a spoonful of it until it was cool enough. As the bell run again, I stuck the spoon into my mouth and sighed in bliss at the flavoring.

“I’m coming.”

Whoever it was couldn’t hear me from the kitchen but I said it to convince myself to make the trek to the door. Along the walk, my eyes panned over all of the Christmas decorations my woman and I are going to have to remove after Three Kings Day. She went overboard. My Charlie Brown Christmas tree as Mike calls it, is a fairly simple clean up process. I just toss that shit into the closet and keep it moving. Autumn’s process? We’ll be taking all of this down for days. I’m convinced.

“Who is it?”

“Your mother.”

The sound of my Nike slippers clacking against the floor ceased as her light and airy voice sounded out beyond the door. Though I haven’t sipped the tea yet, not even me guzzling down the entire mug of it will diminish the building tension radiating through my frame. The muscles constricting within my back ached with every step that I took to draw me closer to the last person I wanted to see so early in the morning. The top of my forehead hit the coolness of the door in attempt to process what will become of whatever this random visit is or may be about. She’s never shown up here announced. The motherly title she processes by law due to our blood relationship boosts her undeserved confidence in thinking that she has the right to drop in on me at any given time. I had every intention to make this final day of what has been a mixture between a beautiful and stressful year as fulfilling as possible and yet a damper has already arisen like an unseen roadblock.

“Dante, please open the door.”

Why? I cannot possibly think of anything she may want from me today and what is there to say? I have no interest in hearing anything about neither my father or sibling.

Regret tormented me as I slowly turned the locks and pulled the door open so we’d be face to face. The brisk weather reddened her pale face and yet it meshed in quite well with the rosy blush covering her cheeks. The diamond tennis necklace I gifted to her three years ago for her birthday peaked out beyond the oversized midnight black chinchilla fur coat covering her frame. In her hand? An Hermes bag made of some type of reptile. She oozed white wealth simply by standing there and despite it all being given to her at the hands of a black man, most will believe she garnered it all through generational wealth from a long line within her family.

“Good morning son.”

“Hi.” As I stepped aside to grant her entry into the apartment, I thought I made it further back enough to be out of her reach and yet it still didn’t send a loud enough message to refrain her lips meshing into my cheek. As if she hadn’t seen me in quite some time, both of her hands slowly ran down my exposed arms while she admired the sight before her in an awe that I’ll never believe is genuine.

“You’re grown up to become such a handsome man. There are days when I either see your father or your grandfather within you, but for some reason, today I see bits of me.” Bullshit. We only share a complexion and if you get close enough, most will notice that I’m a shade or two darker. We look nothing alike.

“What brings you by?” Once I closed the door, I returned to the kitchen with her hot on my trail. I didn’t forget about the oatmeal waiting for me.

“My dreams.”

“Hm.” I stuffed another spoonful of it into my mouth. Maybe if I sit here purposefully eating like a slob, she’ll catch the hint and make the trip back to Scarsdale.

“Lately, I’ve been dreaming about you son. I couldn’t sleep last night because you were the only thing on my mind. Something told me to get up to come and see about you, so here I am. Are you okay?”

“I’m just fine. Maybe you should sit down with a shrink and figure out why that’s happening to you.” That may be the worse if not the worst excuse she’s ever given me when I question why she comes here. Surprisingly, she’s empty handed. There is no cheesecake or random leftovers that she filled into plastic storage bowls to bring over to me.

“I don’t think I need a shrink. I need my son.”

“Matthew doesn’t live that far from you. Go and see about him.”

“Dante.” Her clamorous sigh was followed with the rolling of her honey jade eyes and her lower half pressed against the counter top as she did her best to soothe the blow.

“What are you expecting from me? You want me jump for joy, open up my arms, and happily welcome you into them? You want to move on as if the past doesn’t exist? For whatever reason, you live in a world where you believe that people are supposed to appease your desires no matter what kind of cards you’ve dealt their way. It might work with everyone else, but it’s not going be that way with me.” I’ve yet to get an apology. Her pride stands in the way of that. Opportunity by the way of Richard’s finances was never satisfying enough for me back then and it damn sure isn’t now.

“What is it that you want from me, Dante? Why do I need to do to get through to you? I love you more than anything and everyday I wake up with an unbearable pain because I have a son in the world, who I birthed, that has a strong disdain for me. You treat me as if I’m not welcome into your home. You don’t come and visit me. Since you’ve gotten into a relationship, you’ve stopped coming to Sunday dinner.”

“Don’t you dare put her into this. She has nothing to do with it.”

“I’m not putting Autumn into anything.”

“Don’t even allude to her.” And just like that, my appetite vanished. The faint ringing radiating around the rim of the bowl, as I dropped the spoon against it, was far more delightful to my ears than all she was saying to me.

“I just want to know what you want.”

“Nothing.”

“Dante, please.”

“What is there to want? I’m beyond it. The yearning isn’t mutual. I’ve gotten so used to not having a relationship with you that I don’t feel the effects of whatever it is that it’s supposed to mean. I’m sure somewhere within me there’s some damage from your actions that I haven’t fully confronted yet, but I’m well enough to carry on with my life in the best manner that I can and I’ve been appreciated for it by those who matter. I’m fine. If anything, you need to get right with yourself. Worrying about me isn’t what’s keeping you up at night. It’s your guilt.”

At this point, I figured she would have been past it. I used to believe people living certain lifestyles typically didn’t wallow in the sorrows of their wrongdoings. Richard doesn’t have the time to be absorbed with guilt because he’s far too busy trying to keep his name in good standing. As for his wife, maybe it’s the lack of an occupation that causes her mind to idly think of me and what went wrong with our relationship.

I know more than most, that money isn’t everything. It may sound cliché when it’s said out loud, especially when you think about the less fortunate, but having endless money in your bank accounts or in equity doesn’t keep your emotions in check. If your shit isn’t together, it serves as nothing more than a painkiller that the conscious will eventually become immune to. By then, you’ll be desperately seeking out other toxic measures to numb your thoughts; hard narcotics, women, or crime ridden highs that will either land you behind bars or dead somewhere by the way of your own doing or somebody else.

“I am your mother. Do you realize that you’ll only have one of me in this world? I don’t want to go to my grave with the pain of never having mended my relationship with my son. You have this horrible mentality when it comes to me and I’m sick of it, Dante. You’re behaving like a stubborn toddler instead of the upstanding, grown man, that I know you to be. How do you walk around hating your own mother?”

“I don’t hate you.” I’ve never hated her. Hate takes far too much effort. It festers.

“Then what is it? You barely want me to touch you. You fell in love and I wasn’t able to talk to you about it. I don’t even know what you love about her. You made the decision that you want to marry this woman and I’ve only had two five minute conversations with her. You proposed and we weren’t invited. I’ve always dreamt of the day that you would come to me and ask for advice about an engagement while gushing nonstop about the woman who you love and both your father and I were shut out.”

“Do you hear how you sound? Your entitlement would be insulting if I cared. I don’t owe you that. I don’t have to explain to you why I love her or why I want to marry her. I don’t have to explain it to your husband either. If I’m not in your faces, I don’t understand why you’d ever assume that I’d have Autumn around you. Think before you say things. Make sense of it yourself. You’re standing here complaining about your lack of a relationship with me and yet you figured that you’d have one with my fiancee?” She wasn’t too fond if my chuckling but I couldn’t refrain from doing so even if I tried. She didn’t think that part through.

“I’m not standing here as an entitled person. I’m standing here as a mother. I know I’m not entitled to you sharing your love life with me, but I would have liked to have supported you.”

“You want to know what I love about her?”

“Now you want to share that with me? Go ahead. What is it?”

“She’s the embodiment of everything that a woman is supposed to be; intelligent, tenacious, and independent. She’s a go getter while also being nurturing and completely in tune with what it means to be a partner to the man she loves. I love that I already know that when she births our children, she will be everything you aren’t.”

Silence filled the space between us. What was once a pleading stare turned into an insulted glare as she attempted to figure out what to say in response to what may have been harsh, but a truth nonetheless. Though she comes from two solid parents who have raised all of their children together and under a foundation that they created before they started having them, Autumn’s character is a clear sign of who she will be as a mother. Whether we have one or an entire sports team worth of offspring running around our home, I know that each and every single one of them will be smothered with her love and devotion to the well being of their livelihood.

Our staring match ceased as our eyes panned in the direction of the door. What started off as keys jingling turned into the topic of our last few minutes of conversation appearing from behind the door. From head to toe, she was covered in cool toned grey Nike lounge gear; fitted sweatpants, a matching sweatshirt, and one of her all time favorite pair of sneakers; the OG neon Air Max 95s that I bought her for Christmas. The bun she had in her hair when we went to sleep is gone and her hair is now in curls that are pinned up with silver clips. Despite such a lax appearance, she’s just as stunning as she’d be if she were standing there dripping in designer garb for an outing. Every moment my eyes land on her is yet another moment when she takes my breath away.

“Good morning.” I know her awkward smile when I see it. Without having to say anything, she already knows she’s stepped in on what is certainly a tense moment. It may be the look on my mother’s face that says it all more so than mine.

“Good morning sweetheart. It’s so good to see you.” I’ll bite my tongue. I’m far more fearful of my love’s scolding than of the woman who birthed me.

“You as well Mrs. St. James. How have you been?” With her coat halfway hanging off of her frame, she embraced the domineering matriarch with a tight grip and genuinely smiled. Her kindness is something that I know that I’ll have to protect her from for all of my days. She can be a bit too nice.

“I’ve been well. How was your holiday?”

“It was amazing. We had such a good time. How was yours?”


“It was okay.” As if I were the reasoning for her Christmas being below average, both of their eyes panned in my direction. I know I’ve promised Autumn that I would try, but it’s difficult. I want to step up to the challenge for her, but that’s the biggest problem. She doesn’t want it to be for her, it has to be for me, which then causes me to put it at the bottom of the pile of problems that I have to handle.

“Have you two started planning an engagement party yet? Any wedding details?”

“No, not just yet. Stacey is starting to look into some things for an engagement party because she can’t help herself, but as far for the wedding, I have some ideas but nothing is set in stone. We’re taking our time with it.” I already know our biggest argument is going to be the guest list. She can tell me that she wants elephants standing out front and a firework display from the Hudson River and I’d simply shrug and tell her that she can have it all, but Elizabeth, Richard, and Matthew being within our presence on that day is currently at the lowest probability of happening. I’d rather not stand at the alter and have their deceitful glares draining the energy out of me.

“Weddings are certainly a process. I wished I had of taken longer to plan mine. Maybe it would have been less stressful.” Matthew’s mother’s body hadn’t even begun to decompose and she was already in and out of bridal boutiques trying on embroidered white gowns to falsify her innocence. I’ll never be able to comprehend how she was able to live with herself after the stress both she and her husband caused that woman. Despite our endless differences, that is the one area in which my older brother will always have my commiseration.

“That’s so true. Baby, did you find your breakfast?”

“Yeah. I’m actually still eating it.”

“Did you want anything else?”

“No. I’m okay with that. It tastes amazing, honestly.”

“Thank you. I’m going to go and start on dinner. I’m making smothered chicken, black eyed peas, collard greens, and corn bread. As I told you, the black eyed peas and collard greens are a New Year’s Eve tradition in the black community.” My chuckle was identical to the one that instantly slipped out when she first informed me of that so called tradition. I’ve never heard of it. Though I’m biracial, as they call it, I’m as black as it gets. I can’t suddenly pull out my half white card when a cop decides to be an asshole. Maybe I’ve never heard of it because we never really ate traditional black dishes in the house was I was coming up. Richard often described them as signs of the struggle, but I think it was his way of masking the fact that his wife couldn’t prepare them even if she had someone’s southern grandmother standing alongside her and giving out precise directions.

“Ah, so you’re the one who has been keeping him well fed and healthy. He no longer needs his mother’s cooking.” See? She sets herself up. She walks right into it. I’ll suppress my response for the sake of keeping Autumn from shooting daggers at me.

“I try my best. Is there anything that I can get for you before I’m off to the kitchen Mrs. St. James? Maybe something to drink or some sort of a snack?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’m just going to continue with speaking to Dante. It’s so great to see you, though. I hope we’re able to get together soon.” Keep hoping, lady.

“I hope so. It’s been great to see you too. I love your necklace, by the way. It’s stunning.”

“It was a gift from my beautiful son. Three years ago, I believe.”

“Nice job baby.” Her playful wink earned a smirk from me.

“Have a Happy New Year Autumn.”

“Thank you. You as well, Mrs. St. James.”

Like a lost puppy, I yearned to follow behind her so that I wouldn’t have to face my mother anymore, but my feet remained planted where they were in anticipation for any other complaint that she may have for or about me.

“Have you spoken to your brother?”

“No.” And I’m thankful for it. Matthew calling my phone never comes with great news. It’s either one of two things: he’s gotten himself into some shit that he needs me to bail him out of or he’s blown off work and needs me to step in and bail him out of that as well. We don’t have brotherly conversations. We’ve never sat at a Giants or Knicks game together. We don’t hit the gym and playfully challenge one another to push and pull ups. We don’t meet for beers at a favorited local bar. We just don’t do family oriented shit no matter how much our parents suggest that we should. He’s too deep under Richard’s wing to be able to comprehend me and the resentment he berates me with rather than my mother has reached a point of me no longer being able to bite my tongue. So, keeping my distance is what’s best.

“Camille called and said that she hasn’t seen him in a couple of days. Your father hasn’t sent him anywhere to conduct any business, so now I’m slightly worried.”

“For what? This isn’t new behavior for him. He’s probably laying up with someone that he has no business laying up with. He does that. While he may be in it, but he’s never had much respect for the institution of marriage.”

“Dante.”

“There’s no need for me to sugar coat anything when it comes to him. You’ve coddled him enough. I don’t know where he is though. I’m not looking for him either, so don’t ask me to. He’ll pop up when he feels like it. If he doesn’t, trace his expense report. He uses the company credit card as if it’s his personal one.”

“I really wish you two would get it together.”

“You need anything else? I have a busy day ahead of me and I need to make a couple of moves.” I’m sure her quest to find Matthew is the real reason why she popped up over here in the first place, but it is what it is.

“No. I don’t. What are you plans for tonight?”


“I plan to be with my loved ones.” The scoff that spilled from her lips was loud. She shook her head from side to side while clutching the handle of her bag even tighter than she was before.

“One day you’ll get it son. I just hope I’m not in a coffin before you do.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll go. I’ll give your father your love. Be safe tonight and have a Happy New Year.”

“Same to you.”

I didn’t see her out. The sound of the door closing behind her slowly eased the tension tormenting my neck all way down into the depths of my lower back. The scent coming from the kitchen further aided in that. To abide by  Autumn’s solo kitchen rules, I finished off my oatmeal in the living room and began to ready myself for a quick inventory and set up check in at the club. It’s the final party of the year and we need it to be executed to as much perfection as possible.

“I think after we section off that back corner towards the right, he and his entire encourage should be accommodated.”

We pulled off what I thought would be the impossible. Competing against Las Vegas for celebrity attendance or performances in a nightclub tends to be somewhat of a nightmare. The pay out and turn out is typically bigger in that area and ultimately, the weather and the look plays it’s part just as much. Who wouldn’t want to be or say they were in Las Vegas bringing in the New Year? An idea to bring Drake here happened a couple of months back after a quick run in with his manager and closest adviser Future the Prince. I’ve known him for a few years now after a few conversations out in L.A. from time to time and I tried my luck. Omnia and Marquee had already reached out to him, so I didn’t think I stood a chance until I received a callback two days later with an eager confirmation that he’d do the hosting and performance. Fred’s usually our booking guy, but I have to give myself a pat on the back for that one.

“Yeah, that should be fine. I think we’re all set. That shipment of Patron came in around seven this morning. That was the last thing on the checklist. Cameras are all set. Tripled the security. The restaurant is closed for the day so we don’t have to focus on any of that. We’re set. Anything else that may come up will be miniscule.” I finished off the glass of cranberry juice resting in front of me and placed the frosted glass back down on the golden bar top. Mike’s quick glance over the paperwork in front of him ended with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“You spoke to Fred?”

“Yeah, all is set in L.A. His flight should be landing within the next two hours or so. I didn’t think he was going to make it back out here in time, but he pulled it off.” Snoop is our Los Angeles location’s host. It’s the perfect amount of nostalgia and he’ll be highly appreciated and enjoyed as a native. He flew out there just after Christmas to handle the logistics for all to take place. Initially, we thought he and Erica were going to stay out there, but he’s coming back to celebrate with all of us.

“What you wearing tonight?”

“I’m getting icy with some fly shit from Saint Laurent. You?”

“Tom Ford.”

“Boring nigga.”

“Nah, it’s not a traditional tux. Autumn switched out the black jacket for this silver one that she fell in love with and claimed to be the perfect match to her dress.” Everything about is out of my element but once I tried it on, I could understand her vision and I just went with the flow. It was one of those “happy wife, happy life” moments that will eventually be one of many as the years go by.

“Ah, so wifey is stepping your game up tonight. What is she wearing?”

“All I know is it’s vintage. It’s Gaultier or something like that.”

“Exclusive vintage shit? Man, I can’t wait to see the price tag on y’all wedding.”

“August nineteenth.”

“That’s your wedding day?” His eyes widened at the revelation.

“Yeah. You’re the first and only person I’ve told.”

“Wow man. I’m happy for yall. That just means I have to get started on planning that bachelor weekend somewhere in the world. Lately I’ve been thinking maybe Abu Dhabi, but I feel like we’d get arrested out there for some shit. Amsterdam might be the move.”

“My mother came by looking for Matthew today.” I didn’t mean to switch the subject, but it’s where my thoughts transitioned to.

“Looking for him as in what? Like she just figured he was with you or looking for him as in he’s been missing in action for a couple of days?”

“The latter.”

“You think he’s laying up? He’s notorious for that shit.”

“I don’t know. Usually when he’s doing that, he still answers Camille with lies about his whereabouts. This time around, she hasn’t spoken to him because if she did, my mother would have never asked me about him.”

“I’ll call some people and you do the same.”

“Yeah.” If it hadn’t been late afternoon, I would have taken a shot of tequila, but I’m driving.

Any other day, if you ask me, I’d quickly inform you if it isn’t Mike or Fredrick, then I am not my brother’s keeper. He certainly isn’t mine either. Though Matthew is the oldest in terms of years, I’ve always been forced to mentally be the oldest between the two of us. It was the only way we were able to function without killing one another while I was in the house. I had to understand his plight and the reasonings for his erratic behavior. Even though on the surface I don’t want to be concerned about anything involving him, deep down, I know that’s still my brother and somewhere within me, I may be the only one who somewhat cares about him for all of the right reasons. Does he deserve it? No. Do I still owe him plenty more ass whoopings for disrespecting my woman? Absolutely. Ultimately, I have a heart and it’s not pitch-black and cold.

“As a matter of fact, don’t make any calls. I got it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Don’t make any calls. Keep that paper trail as clean as possible.”

“The feds.”

“Yeah.”

“Still just Richard or both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Mike, I don’t want A&M. I don’t want that shit.”

“I know. I hear you.” In one swig, he finished off the remainder of his beer. We stood to our feet seconds later.

“I’ll see you back here tonight. I’ll text you when we’re on our way.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and the west coast shit is handled. It all checks out. Paper work is where it’s supposed to be.”

“Thank you.  I owe you everything man.”

“You don’t owe me shit. Just keep it pushing. We gon’ figure this shit out one way or another.”

“Bet.”

I left out of the club before he did. His compulsion to double check the street views for the external cameras caused him to shuffle back into the office.

Despite his urge for me not to do so, I made one phone call; Camille. I care about her in the same manner that I would my own flesh and blood. I’ll never forget when he brought her home to meet us. It was like a lion bringing home its prey. I instantly pitied her because I knew she was already in love with him and wasn’t aware of what she fell in love with. We’ve had a number conversations of the years and through her agony and tears, she continued to keep hope alive that she could be the help that Matthew needs in order to stabilize his life. Aside from her yearning to bare his children, she’s become less of his wife and more of a roommate who he has an unfair dependency on.

She never really leaves him. There have been a number of occurrences when she’ll head to Savannah, Georgia to be with her parents once she begins to feel overwhelmed and I believe she also uses her brother’s vacation home in Cape Cod, Massachusetts as a haven for a peace of mind. Once, she escaped to my apartment. In an effort to keep the drama from escalating, I allowed her to stay and I drove over to Mike’s house and spent the weekend there. The last thing I needed was Matthew accusing me of screwing around with his wife. Me aside, I don’t even want to imagine the mental torture that he’d put her through.

I expected tears; she tends to sob over him whenever they’re going through something that may be unbearable to her, but this time around, she was eerily quiet. Her tone was a signifier of the tears, but the sighs were filled with defeat. Exhaustion spoke for her. The last time she seen him was five days ago. He came home and maneuvered around the house without a word spoken to her. He didn’t touch the dinner she made nor did he respond to the commentary about his late night appearance. He reeked of alcohol, which isn’t new if he’s having one of his wild partying weeks or weekends, but he didn’t take a shower to wash off whatever activities he’d been doing prior to arriving home. He simply changed his clothes and left. The majority of her phone calls and text messages have gone unanswered.

She didn’t ask me to seek him out directly, but I know the undertone of her worry held the plea. It’s odd because she has no peace with him and yet she doesn’t have any without him either. They’re synced in the most toxic and unjust manner and despite my belief in how much she deserves more, I cannot tell her how to love and look after her husband. As our phone call came to an end, all I could do is reassure her of my support and some sort of an effort to figure out his whereabouts.

I just can’t focus on that tonight. Tomorrow’s another day.

At the very ending of each year, I always make sure to take the time to reflect on what I’ve done and who I’ve become as a man over the course of the twelve month period. I’ve had verdicts of needing to have done more or a lack of growth personally, but I can stand tonight in pride at what this year has been for me both personally and professionally. I wouldn’t call it an awakening, because I’ve always known that I needed to take a journey of self preservation for the sake of my own joy, but it was all a matter of when. Love served as that push. In meeting and loving Autumn, she helped me realize how much I needed to love myself so much more. The awareness in how much I matter heightened and the willingness to truly walk in my purpose set a precedence. I no longer yearn for the shadows for the sake of masking myself from those the one who birthed me and my purpose to my father’s power and influence. My ambitions increased; influencing myself and my best friends to expand on our dreams. I’ve stood inside of my Malibu home with the woman who intends to start a life with me there. I’ve laughed more than I’ve scowled. I’ve smiled more than I ever have before.

I almost wish that I could hit the reset button and relive some of it again, with my knowledge of what happens next. It would be amazing to catch a tear stained Autumn in my arms again and reassure her that I’m going to make sure she never sheds a tear over another man. Vegas. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind experiencing all of that again. That first kiss still leaves chills trickling through my skin whenever I reflect back on it. She’s given me ones far better since then, but it’s something about that moment that marked the transition of what we would be to one another and it served as the permission for me to love her without boundary.

I’m looking forward to what’s next, though. I’m ready to shed what is left of the dead weight and soar with the people who matter. I’m ready to take flight.

“There. You look perfect now, suga.” Autumn’s hands drew away from my black velvet bow tie and fell along her sides. Breathtaking isn’t a great enough word to define how stunning she looks. Old Hollywood glam was her inspiration for tonight and she superseded it beyond compare. She claimed that New Year’s Eve calls for sequins and her vintage Jean Paul Gaultier frame hugging gown is exactly that with its silvery coloring that reflects and fades into gold as you pan your eyes down to its bottom. All of the curls in her hair are pulled to her left side, showcasing her face in all of its glory. Diamonds dazzled from her ears, arm, and of course her ring finger.

I am assured in the reality that I have never seen a woman more stunning than she is in all of the years I’ve been living. Her beauty is unparalleled; a timelessness that should be painted and preserved for the world to see when we’re no longer around.

“Thank you. You look amazing. Wow.”

“You think so? This is better than the black dress?” Her spin was only reassurance that it is better.

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you.”

“I almost want to stay home now.”

“Oh, please. We’re going. After I finished up dinner and then took my time putting all of this together? Yeah, we’re hanging out tonight. Now, when we get home, you can peel this off and do as you please with me…in any manner you want.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a promise.”

“We’ll let's go so that we can hurry up and come back home as soon as that ball drops.”

“I’m ready. Just let me grab my coat and clutch.”

The full length white Gorski mink coat was the perfect accessory of completion. Issac gifted the nearly twenty thousand dollar piece to her for Christmas. I knew she’d wear it tonight. I don’t think there’s any other holiday where a mink coat looks best other than tonight. Opulence is certainly oozing from her aura.

“You gave Marv the night off?” I faintly sighed in bliss at the feeling of the heat after having dashed out of the building and into the crisp air. Remnants of yesterday’s light snow have already frozen over on the ground.

“Yeah, he should be home with his family tonight. I always give him holidays off, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“Sweet man.”

“Marv or me?”

“The both of you.”

“Did you speak to your family?”

“Yeah, I spoke with everyone while you were gone. I’ll head to see them sometime tomorrow to give them hugs and kisses. They sent you their love, by the way.”

“If Lauren weren’t pregnant, I would have told she and your brother to join us.” Autumn’s scoff was expected.

“They wouldn’t have come. She doesn’t go to nightclubs.”

“When are you going to lighten up on her?”

“I have lightened up on her. I barely say anything to her these days. We’re always in good spirits whenever we’re around one another.”

“Yeah, because you’re usually silent. I really do think she wants some kind of a friendship with you, but she doesn’t know about to go about it because you avoid her.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“We just don’t relate. It happens, love.” Her emerald eyes rolled in retaliation.

“You should just try; in the same manner that you want me to try with my mother.”

“Don’t be silly. Lauren is not my mother. She didn’t birth me. Mrs. St. James, carried and birthed you. The dynamics are in no way, shape, or form, the same.”

“You should still try.”

“Try what? Tea parties and crumpets with her?”

“Why does it have to be that? You like Italian food. Why not have lunch at L’ Artusi or Carbone? What about a spa day or something?”

“We’ll see. She prefers to hang out with my mother, though.”

“Well, make it a day for all three of you.”

“I don’t know about all of that.”

I don’t know how we quickly went from "we’ll see” to the response she just gave me, but I’m not going to press it any further tonight. I’ve noticed that an unspoken tension has risen from Autumn’s end ever since Lauren’s pregnancy announcement and she’s not necessarily masking it, like she would if it were anyone else. I can sense the sarcasm in her tone during her responses to commentary and most of all, the manner in which she purposefully busies herself so that they don’t have to be in the same room together for longer than what she deems to be necessary. I’m not pushing for them to be the best of friends, but in being around for the holidays, I had moments where I internally cringed at the dismissiveness and I’m sure I wasn’t alone. Autumn’s better than that. Whatever ill feelings she’s harboring should be spoken on and resolved.

“You know how tonight goes right?”

“Work and play. I know. I never get upset about that.”

“Okay.”

The holiday traffic turned a fifteen minute right into a thirty minute one. The paparazzi out front were unavoidable. Tonight’s celebrity presence was to be expected and so did the press that would come with it. The blinding flashes that flickered over our frames as soon as we exited the SUV were their fault, but the narratives spoken about us tomorrow should be blamed on Richard. Despite the slight bit of interest we garnered through blind items and bored people online attempting to put the pieces together since the Page Six story, no one dug deep enough to invade our privacy until the night of the gala. He ruined that.

Packed to capacity, the ambiance felt like that of an end of the year celebration. As if we set a theme, bodies were covered in shades of gold, white, and black with an occasional spotting of red amongst the women. With Autumn rushing off to greet Stacey and Erica, I was able to scan my eyes over every perimeter while running down my mental checklist for the specifics Mike and I discussed earlier. We’re less than an hour and a half away from drunkenly being covered in confetti and emotionally reveling in the love we have for one another as the year comes to a close. That needs to be as peaceful as possible.

“Here brother, have a drink. Happy New Year’s Eve.” Fredrick’s arm draped over my neck as he passed me a glass filled with Hennessy straight. In an oblige to his request, I gulped down half of it.

“Happy New Year’s Eve brother. Glad you could make it back.”

“You know his suave ass had to get back to New York, even though I think he’s starting to become an L.A. nigga now.”  

I didn’t even notice Mike approaching the other side of me. There’s something about this moment that caused a smile to creep up on my face. Maybe it’s the designer attire we’re covered in and the clear manhood exuding from it. Oh, and add in the fact that we’re standing in something we created together. We talked about this when we were still trying to work towards a solid direction for our individual lives and now look at us.

“Had too. We’ve done far too much this year for me to bring it in anywhere else other than with my brothers.”

“It’s been a great year.” I put some emphasis on great. Our eyes weren’t on the crowd, but instead glancing over at the most important women who are along side us tonight; Autumn, Erica, and Stacey. I didn’t expect Stacey to be here at all, but then again, knowing her, it makes sense. Surprisingly, her husband is just a few inches away from her. Maybe he's gotten comfortable with our connection now that he knows there's a woman in my life.

“It’s been a phenomenal year. I’m proud of you man.” Mike added with a pat to my back.

“I’m proud of us.”

“It only gets better next year.” Fred’s optimism came with the raising of his glass.

“God willing, brothers. Let's keep it pushing.” Our glasses touched for a toast and in unison, we threw back the remaining contents in our glasses.

Autumn maneuvered between the bar and the dance floor, owning the building with her intoxicating aura. The silver of her gown illuminated under the lighting as a permanent smile remained on her face. She wasn’t dancing with anyone in particular which made it all the more interesting for her audience. She was perfectly lost into her own world as she often is and no one invaded for the sake of her joy and my patience. I served as her personality security, panning my eyes back and forth from her presence to that of everyone filled into the room. Eyes met me just as much; some genuine in expression and others eerie. Maybe it’s my state of mind warping me to view it that way, but it’s been what I’ve been feeling for weeks. It’s what’s been keeping me up at night; the feeling of being watched.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, Stace, I'm good.”

“Well, get out there and dance with your wifey. Go make these guys in here mad as hell.”

“You’re crazy.” Her tipsiness raised the pitch of her tone even higher than it usually is. Everything that comes out of her mouth is hilarious right about now, whether she intends for it to be or not.

“Go ahead. We’re damn near the countdown.”

She turned to the bar to grab two glasses of champagne from her own personal tray and placed one in each of my hands. With a soft nudge, she pushed me into the direction of Autumn and my feet picked up the pace. Beanie Man had her hips going crazy.

“For you, my lady.” My whisper into her ear halted her dancing and she slowly turned to face me. God, how can anyone be so stunning?

“Oh, now you’ve decided to join me? I thought I was going to have to pull Drake down here for a dub.”

“I see you want me in the New York Daily News tomorrow because of a brawl huh?”

“I don’t. Y’all are too light skinned for all of that.” Her joke came with my side eye. She’s becoming another Mike with that.

“You’re not drunk enough.” As I passed her the glass of champagne, she shrugged with a small smile.

“I am drunk; off of life and you. I don’t need this to do it for me, but then again, the night is still young. I’ve had enough tequila for a buzz. These heels are too high for me to be stumbling, and besides, I want to be nice and alert for that orgasm that you’re going to give me later. Actually, two.” My eyes nearly bulged out of my face.

“Yeah, you’re buzzed. Make it three though.”

Her incomparable frame meshed into mine. Our lips met for a kiss.

“Three? Oh, you’ve just excited me Mr. St. James.”

“Save the excitement for when you’re sitting on my face.” Her palm squeezed the back of my neck as I whispered in her ear. Just the thought of that has me on the edge. I’m fucking with myself just as much as I’m fucking with her.

It suddenly felt like a basement party in Brooklyn as the dance floor became even more flooded than it already was. Our two person huddle was invaded by our group of friends who came to be in the midst of the excitement as the time winded down.

Drake lead the countdown, further enticing the crowd’s excitement. My arms remained wrapped around the one who became mine this year and would now be mine for all of the years to come. I glanced over at those who I’ve known for more than a decade in appreciation for us bringing in yet another year together with good health and solidarity among one another.

Tears burned the brims of my eyes as Guy Lombardo’s rendition “Auld Lang Syne” filled my ears.

“Happy New Year, my love. I love you.” Autumn’s crimson red coated lips pressed into mine, physically expressing what she’d just told me. Our tight embrace felt more secure than ever.

Confetti spilled from the ceiling, further cementing the moment.

“I love you more.” And that I do.

“I love y’all asses man. Real shit.” Mike never fails to get emotional on this day. It’s no different now. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and his personality. The group hug that used to be us three and then eventually us and Stacey, now included Autumn and Erica.

“We need shots of Don Julio. Shots, people.”

I thought I wasn’t going to drink too much tonight, but that all went out of the window as soon as the very beginning of the year hit. The first round of shots turned into another and then another. We had our days of getting shit faced in college but I usually did my best to be the more sensible one of us three. I refused to let anyone catch me slipping and I had their backs just as much. I never minded being the designated driver, but I don’t have to worry about that tonight. I soaked in the moment, sharing in laughter and dance moves that will probably look horrible if I look back on it from the surveillance cameras tomorrow. We’d all lost our sense of cool. The heels and jackets came off, hair reached the point of being sweated out, and beads of sweat trickled into the cervices of our skin, despite the cool air blowing from the vents. I can’t wait to see all of the pictures.

“I’m going to get more Don. Be back.”

Another round won’t hurt.

I’m damn near ready to take this whole entire suit off. Even with our five a.m. closing time creeping up on us, it feels like the night is still young.

“Yo, Marco. Seven shots.”

“Got you boss man.”

“Boss man. How does it feel to be called that?”

I know that voice well; the other half of the heart of A&M. Rick is our co-founder no matter how much Richard will boldly stand tall and negate that. They were business partners before I was even a possibility and they hit the ground running together to build the empire that one man suddenly believes he built up on his own. I’ve always respected him as a man and even like an extended family member. We shared enough conversations filled with advice to last me a lifetime. It still feels like a sin that he’s gone.

“Rick? What you doing on this side of town old man?” Our embrace was tight. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“The wife and I always celebrate at this little spot around the corner from here. It’s own by my brother.”

“Oh yeah. Franco’s.” He, Johnathan, and myself have been there for beers a few times.

“That’s right.”

“So how have you been man? What brings you by?” When people reach that age, I doubt they’re eager or even daring enough to enter an atmosphere with blaring music and people who are two and sometimes three times young than they are. He’s only stepped in here once before and we weren’t open for business that day, so he didn’t have to deal with any of this.

“I’m coming to you, because I’ve always viewed you as a nephew of mine. I knew tonight I could get to you in a place that no one would possibly think I’d be. You have to get out of there. The time is now, Dante. There’s a lot of shit that’s going to go right and a lot of shit that’s going to go wrong. Protect yourself. Richard is for Richard. I have a lot of wrongs that I have to right at some point and so does that man. I once loved him like a brother, but he’s a shell of himself. Walk away.”

“A place no one would possibly think you’d be? You’re hiding from something?”

“Everyone should be. It’s getting dangerous.”

“Rick, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Look, your guy Mike reached out to me for some documentation and he has it. It’s the best that I can do for you. Get out of there. Alright? Promise me, man.”

“Can we meet up and discuss this another time?” Now is not the time and I need more background than some documentation that I may not even understand without additional context.

“I’ll reach out. Just promise me.”

“I was already going too, anyway.”

“Good. Do it immediately.”

“I am. After All Star Weekend, I’m making my formal announcement.”

“We’ll talk. Look out for yourself first and keep your nose out of anything else. Let them crumble.”

“Crumble?”

“Crumble. Have a Happy New Year.” His large pale white hand met my shoulder and he gave me an assuring nod of his head.

“You too, Rick.”

“Be safe.”

“You too.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I do or I don’t.”

As he trekked toward the exit, I took a look over at the tray filled with shots awaiting me. A quick urge to down all of them turned into my stomach churning in a warning for me to not have anything else. A wave of warmth washed over me as my breathing shallowed. My heart viciously hammered against the cavity of my chest, worsening in unison with the tightness in my throat. Both of my elbows pressed into the bar top, as my head fell into my hands. The thoughts of his words accelerated inside of my head, revving up the hurricane happening within my thoughts. Sounds that were once near, suddenly felt far away.

Yet alone, I try and make sense of it all.

The silence inside of the SUV was worthless as a soother to my racing thoughts. Autumn’s aching feet were laying across my lap, while my fingers kneaded into the balls of her heels to give her relief. Her jovial banter about the night’s festivities went into one ear and right out of the other. I could barely hear her though her tone was as normal as it usually is. The tri-state area had finally gone to sleep and yet the air still felt as celebratory as it was just hours ago when its residents and visitors hit the town. Exhaustion controlled me; slugging my movements and yet failing to do the same thing to my thoughts. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I don’t think I’ve rested well in over a week; maybe two.

“Baby, maybe just one. I’m so tired.”

“Huh?” I knew she said something, but the message wasn’t clear.

“I said maybe one. You know, what we were talking about earlier?” Her tipsy wink came with her sitting up in the seat and she glanced out of the window with a frown.

“Why are we in Alpine? I thought we were going home.” The all too familiar street instantly made her whip her head around in my direction. Her eyes held more than just that one question and yet I have no answer to give her.

“You’re going to stay here today. I’ll come back and get you tonight. I need to run and do a few things.”

“What? It’s six thirty in the morning and you haven’t slept. You’re still in a tux for Christ’s sake. What do you need to do right now?”

“I just have to handle something.”

“Handle what?” Her lips flattened with her tone. Her posture dared me to lie to her. I won’t.

“Autumn, I’m not going to get into all of that right now.”

“You’ve been acting so weird lately. You’re not sleeping. You’re barely eating. I question it and you blow it off as nothing and yet you move around like a thief in the night. What is it? First you tell me that I cannot show up to your job and now this? You better tell me something right now, because I’m going to start assuming.”

“Assuming what? Don’t do the insecure shit, because I’ve never given you a reason to feel like that.”

“What do you think this shit is?”

“It’s not that. Believe me when I tell you that everything I do is for us.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Autumn, I am not Andreas. Please don’t compare me to that man.”

“Then stop acting like him.”

And just like that, I forced myself into a silence as we sat in the driveway of her parent’s home. Her final statement caught me off guard and I didn’t want or need to retaliate. I’ve pulled that card before and she hates it. I won’t go tit for tat.

“I love you okay?”

“Then come inside. We made a promise to each other. It’s been days since you’ve touched me.” Internally, I winced. The driver heard every word of this back and forth, including that part.

“Late on, okay? I promise. As a matter of fact, let's go to London this week. Just me and you. Not for work, just for time with one another. You love when we’re in London.”

“You promised me before we left home.”

“I didn’t promise you anything. You promised me.”

Disappointment flushed into her pleading expression.

“You go. I won’t hold you. Have a good day.”

“Autumn.”

“No. Don’t.”

She exited the SUV with her heels in one hand and her purse in the other. She didn’t bother to look back as I awaited her entry into the house. Even as I rolled the window down and called for her; it went ignored.

“Autumn, I love you.”

She stood at the door, silently staring at me. Her mouth moved to speak and yet the silence remained. Within seconds, I was left on the other side of the door without her.

I needed to hear it from her.

I needed it more than anything else.

[justkending]

Knock, Knock. Part 2

Summary: You are a really good friend of the Padaleckis. Your apartment gets infested with all kinds of problems, so you have to move in with your friends for a couple of days. Little did you know who you would run into while staying there.

Pairing: (single) Jensen x Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1895

A/N: Had this in my head for a while, and thought I would put it to words, so here we are ladies and gentlemen. I do want to make note that I have nothing against the Ackles, and I love the family with all my heart. I can’t help what stories come to mind. Also let me know what you think. Debating on making a full on series.

Part 2:

A little backstory shall we?

When you moved here, life was all sunshine and butterflies. You met a great guy at your work and hit it off really well. You were excelling in your job, your love life was great, and you lived close to your best friend, so you were always out having an adventurous life.

Picture perfect, right? What could possibly go wrong?

Well, one day as you were headed to work after a ‘fun night’ with your fiancé, who had just proposed to you 3 months’ prior. Everything was seemingly perfect. You were in love and life felt like you were on cloud 9 almost all the time. Your fiancé told you he was going to come into work late since he had a doctor’s appointment that day.

You, being the trusting person you were, didn’t think twice and went on with your day. Halfway to work, you realized you had left your wallet at home and made a U-turn back that way.

While you were walking up the stairs of the apartment building and approaching your door, you heard a giggling inside the nice little flat you shared with your soon to be husband.

You didn’t have your coffee this morning because you were running out the door to not be late, so maybe you weren’t paying attention and you were on the wrong floor. You looked at the number on the door and sure enough, it was definitely the right one. Apartment 3B.

You cocked your head to the side in confusion and fished your keys out of your purse. Seconds before putting the key in the lock, you heard the giggle again. This time more clearly.

“What the hell?”

As you opened the door, you saw a half naked blonde pressed extremely close to your fiancé and both of their heads shot your direction.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

“Honey! I thought you went to work!” he shouted to you trying to grab something to cover his not so private parts.

“Yeah, well, I thought you were going to a doctor’s appointment, but I GUESS WE WERE BOTH WRONG!” you shouted, throwing a pillow at the two. “UGH! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” You ran into your room and immediately started packing a bag.

He stormed in there after you, blanket wrapped around him in an attempt to cover up his crime.

“BABE! It’s not what it looks like. Give me a chance to explain!”

“A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN?! Oh no honey. Do I look like I’m in the mood to hear some sad pathetic story about how you think you’re innocent in all this mess?”

“Y/N, don’t act like you’re that surprised��” he scoffed.

You stopped mid-packing and slowly turned around. If looks could kill, this would be a crime scene. Who’s to say it wasn’t going to be though?

“You’re saying I should have seen this coming? I should have-?” you huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to get a hint at the fact that you were off screwing some other woman!” you returned to your packing. “Fuck that!”

He kept trying to coax you into staying as you furiously packed the necessities, so he could ‘explain’. You had a high sense of pride though and knew that if he was going to treat you like trash, he did not deserve any part of you.

You grabbed your bags and headed for the door. He followed and took it a step the wrong direction when he blocked your exit and grabbed your elbow to slow you down.

“Y/N, please! Just let me break it down for you. That way you see why it all happened. Come on baby. I need you.”

You turned to the woman that was sitting shamelessly on the couch literally watching everything happening while picking at her nails. Like she had better things to be doing.

“Yeah, no. I’m not your ‘baby’ anymore. You can call that girl,” you pointed to the girl on the couch then looked back at the slimeball that still had a hold on you, “whatever the hell you want. I personally choose the word bitch, but that’s just me. Now let go and move out of the way.”

“Y/N, come on be reasonable with me.”

You ripped your arm free from the man. “Move, or I’ll make you,” you threatened through gritted teeth.

“Y/N/N-“

Before he could make any more excuses you dropped your bag and connected your fist with his nose. Taking those boxing classes came in handy. You heard the sickening crack of his nose and shook out your hand. He fell to the side grasping and cussing at the pain and you heard a gasp come from behind you.

As you picked your bag up, and went to finally leave, you turned to the women one last time.

“Have a blast with this one. He’s definitely something else.”

With that, you left and only came back to retrieve the rest of your stuff when you knew he wasn’t there. That night you went to Gen’s and stayed for a few nights. You cried, screamed, and laughed while she helped you through the heartbreak. Helping with Tom and toddler Shep when you could to keep your mind off the situation. All until you found an ad on Facebook for a roommate seeking someone asap. It was semi-close to your job and really cheap. You jumped at the opportunity not wanting to take too much advantage of the hospitality that the Padaleckis were offering.

Within the next week you were living in a not-so-nice apartment 5 minutes longer to work than your past home, but doing ok. It was in a decent part of town, but the building itself was old and not really updated. It had been about 6 months of living there with your isolated roommate that you really only saw at night when he had his lady friends over. You both gave each other your privacy and didn’t really talk other than about rent and the bills. Sometimes you would talk in the morning when you ran into each other getting coffee, but it was always small talk not much more.

Now, to the present.

The reason you were staying at the Padaleckis now was because there had been an infestation of all kinds of insects in the building. You had noticed signs of it, but it was never bad until the last week. Roaches, beetles, ants, termites you name it, it was probably there.

They had to evacuate the building forcing you to phone your friend once again who welcomed you with open arms. Gen and Jared were the best and so helpful in all the crap that was taking over your life.

You had planned on staying for 1-2 days at the most, but the calls kept coming in saying one more day… one more day. It had been 5 days’ now and last night you got the call that the building was being completely shut down. The inspectors found more than just insects. The foundation was awful, there were rodents as well, and the whole place needed to be bulldozed pretty much. I guess that’s what you get for rushing into the lease, and only paying $300 a month.

So, Friday when you got the call of all that shit, Gen took you out with some of both your other friends and you just let go.

Bringing us to this morning of the hangover and meeting Jensen Ackles.

Don’t get it wrong. You watch the show and know who he is and you are a fan, but you weren’t really in the mood to ask questions and act all excited and thrilled to meet the handsome celebrity. So you walked away hoping to meet him in better conditions, and also to relieve the headache that was pounding against your skull.

After getting ready for the day and downing 3 bottles of water as well as 3 Advil, you met up with Gen at one of her favorite yoga spots in the area.

“Hey girly! How are you doing?” Gen said embracing you as you both walked into the quiet space.

“You know things could be better,” you shrugged, signing into the class. “But the headache is fading and I’m not as nauseous.”

“Good. Well, I have a whole day mapped out for us, but don’t worry, we will be home for dinner so you can rest at home too.”

“Thanks so much Gen. You guys didn’t have to take me in and you both are going above and beyond for me. I don’t want to be a burden, so kick me out when you’re sick of me.”

“No, no, no. Do not think for a second you are a burden. I had to tell you that like a million times last night, but I doubt you remember.” She nudged you as you two made your way into the main yoga room. “Jared and I love having you. You help us with the boys tremendously and are always helping around the house when you can.”

“I feel like it’s my way of paying rent. I don’t want to be a freeloader.”

“I know, and we appreciate that. It would be completely different if you were a slob and took advantage of us, but you don’t,” she said with a smile.

You laid out your mats and got situated before stretching.

“Ok. Ok. Just promise if I get annoying, or do start becoming a slob, you’ll tell me,” You asked of her making sure you were holding eye contact. “I mean it.”

“When has there ever been a time when I didn’t tell you what was on my mind?” she said, cocking her head getting a laugh out of you. “Trust me, I’ll kick your ass if I have to,” she said with a wink.

You guys did your yoga lesson leaving sweaty, but luckily you brought a change of clothes. Then spent the rest of the day getting your nails done, your hair done, shopping and treating yourself to lunch and a tasty dessert. By the time you were done, it was time for Gen to get the boys.

“I’ll meet you back at the house when I get Tom and Shep. Jared should be home from his interview by now so you’ll have some company,” Gen said packing her things into the car before hopping in the front seat.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll get started on prepping dinner. By the time you get home you can help me cook,” you said walking to your car.

“Sounds like a plan Y/N/N!”

She drove off while you put on your classic rock playlist. That was one of your favorite things about Supernatural. The soundtrack had all of your favorite music.

You parked in the driveway once you arrived. Sure enough, Jared’s car was parked in the garage and you made your way into the house humming Ramble On by Led Zeppelin. You heard the TV on and decided to follow the noise.

As you were taking off your scarf you shouted out for Jared.

“Jar? You here?”

As soon as you walked into the family room you were met with bright green eyes.

“Hey! Y/N, right?” Jensen asked with a wide smile pointing to you.

Part 3

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[rin-rue]

Pretend (Bucky Barnes x Reader) One-Shot

Song inspiration: Pretend- Oak Hollow Sessions, Lukr

“I gotta go, see you Buck. Thanks again for last night.” She kisses my cheek and the door shuts behind her. My heart is racing, and my palms are clammy. Why did she have such an effect on me? We’re friends. Friends that fuck. Friends that are completely… fucked.

“I’m fucked.” I breathe, running my fingers through my hair then down my face. I pick up my phone and debate on texting her. Telling her I can’t keep doing this, but I know I can’t stop seeing her. She’s my drug. When she’s around I feel euphoria, but the second she’s gone, I crash hard.

 “You keep doing this to yourself man, you’re a complete wreck! Tell her how you feel, before she finds another guy to fool around with.”

“Dude, she’s not like that.” I shake my head at Sam. He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “She’s kind and gentle. She treats me like a real person and not the Winter Soldier. She isn’t scared of me.”

“I still think she’s using you, Barnes.”

“Sam, have you even met y/n? She isn’t the type of girl to do that. I like her.” Steve comes to her defense, “But you gotta tell her Buck, I agree with Sam on that part. She might think of you the same way.”

“Someone show me a picture of this gal.” Sam laughs “If she has you both defending her honour, then she must be something to look at.”

I take out my phone and open the Snapchat app y/n made me download. “I’ll do you one better and show you a video.” I go into my saved folder and press play. The video starts and her back is turned to me. She was wearing a pair of my boxers and a Pink Floyd T-shirt she was in love with.

“…Whatcha cookin’ doll?...”

“You’ll have to wait and see..” She turns around and smiles widely, “Are you filming me Mr. Barnes?” she laughs rolling her head back. I remember that day. She made me homemade bread and strawberry jam, something I haven’t had since my mother was alive. It was incredible. She was incredible. The rest of that day we spent in her apartment wrapped up in blankets on the floor, watching movies, talking and exchanging soft touches while waiting for our pizza to be delivered.

Sam and Steve watch the rest of the video and look at me then at each other, “What?”

“You’re smiling like an idiot, man.” Sam looks at me amused, “I think it’s time for me to meet this girl.”

 After a few days y/n and I make plans to meet again, but this time I take her to the Avenger’s tower. She was dressed in black yoga pants and a cropped hoodie, with her hair up in a messy bun. She said she looked terrible, but she still looked like a goddess to me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were taking me here. I’m barely dressed for meeting your friends, what if they think I’m a slob! Can I go home and change?” She laughs. I smile and wrap my arm around her shoulder pulling her into my side.

“You look great doll. They don’t care what you look like, half of them are almost always in training gear anyways. Just be yourself.” She lets out a shaky breath and grips my arm.

“God Bucky, I’m so nervous. I don’t know why.”

We enter the building and head our way up to the main room we shared. The moment we step out of the elevator, Vision is there waiting. Y/n steps back startled. Vision apologizes and explains that he was sent by Tony to escort us, which was weird. We walk in silence as we follow Vision into the common room where we’re met by the whole crew. Steve and Natasha are the first to approach us, and she quickly whisks y/n off to show her around.

“Why is everyone acting so weird?”

“This is a big step in your relationship Barnes, she’s meeting the family.” Tony says, “You guys are dating right?”

“He wishes,” Sam snickers, “He doesn’t have the balls to tell her how he feels.”

“That’s not true! I could tell her anytime I want-“

“Tell me what?” y/n says walking into the room with Natasha. She raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on my shoulder. I instantly panic and look at Steve for help. Steve opens his mouth then closes it, then opens it again, but he can’t think of anything.

“He wanted to tell you that he needs a date to Tony’s party tomorrow evening. He was scared to ask because there will be crazy amounts of paparazzi and he wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable in that environment.” Natasha comes to my rescue, but this is the first I’m hearing of this party. Tony looks at Nat oddly before clueing in.

“Ah yeah, it’s really big, lots of celebrities too. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to tend to some sudden matters.” Tony leaves the room and y/n starts asking questions about the event, like what to wear, who will be there, if it was okay if she came. Natasha and Wanda asked her if she wanted to go shopping tomorrow and she agreed with a bright smile. They were getting along great. I’m glad everyone was liking her.

When y/n and I leave the tower, she asks me over and I quickly say yes. We walk into her apartment and soon find ourselves tangled in sheets once again. This was getting harder and harder to pretend we were just friends.

 I spend the next day suit shopping with Tony and Steve. I was having trouble finding a suit that would fit my arms and thighs, but thankfully the tailor found a silky blue suit that fit perfectly. At first, I wasn’t sure if I looked good enough to pull it off, after being in battle gear and jeans for years, I forgot how good a suit looked and this suit looked good.

 Finally, it was time to pick y/n up for the party. The limo parks in front of her building and I jump out and walk into the building. I come to her door and knock lightly. When I hear no answer, I try the door nob and open the door, peering in. I hear her music blaring from her bedroom. I walk in and close the door behind me. “Doll are you ready?” The next thing I hear is a loud crash and a small yelp. I run to her door and open it and see the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on, toppled over on the floor next to her bed.

“Bucky you scared me!” she hissed, I just stood there in awe looking at her. She stares back then laughs, “Are you just going to stand there staring or are you going to help me up?”

“Oh shit sorry!” I lunge forward and help her to her feet. Her dress was a floor length, black laced gown, that showed every curve and her smooth skin underneath it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “Um you look absolutely stunning, doll.”

“Thank you.” She kisses my cheek and we head out the door to the party.

 Once we arrived, y/n gripped my hand tightly, “I don’t know if I can go out there, there’s so many people!”

“I’ll be right beside you y/n, I’m nervous too. You know how much I hate the spotlight.” I laugh and she relaxes a bit. Our driver opens our door and I step out first and help y/n out onto the red carpet. “ I guess Tony went all out on this one.”

“Yeah, there’s so many people here, and so many cameras.”

“Mr. Barnes! Can we get a picture of you and your date?!” A man says holding his camera up. I nod and wrap my arm around y/n’s waist, she puts a hand on my chest and we smile. He thanks us and we keep going up the carpet until we finally reach the inside of the venue. Natasha and Steve were waiting patiently at the bar for our arrival.

“Wow Bucky, you clean up nice.” She chirps, “And y/n you look amazing, I’m glad you went with that dress.” She winks. Y/n laughs and her and Nat get into a conversation. Steve pulls me to the side.

“Before you go any further, I have to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?” He puts a hand on my shoulder and sighs.

“Sarah’s here, and she’s with him.” My heart sank. The best night just turned into the worst. I can’t believe she’d really show up with the man she cheated on me with.

“Don’t do anything stupid Buck. You know how you get around her, you two are toxic.”

“I’ll be okay Steve, I’m over it.” I brush his hand off and walk back towards y/n who was now nursing a cocktail and talking to Thor and his brother Loki. I watch as Loki leaned in and whispered into her ear and she laughs loudly and slaps his shoulder playfully. He puts a hand on the small of her back and I instantly see red. I storm over and stand beside y/n. She smiles at my arrival.

“Bucky you know Thor and Loki, right? They were just telling me-“

“Can I speak with you?” I look at the brothers then back to her, “Privately?” She looks at me confused.

“Yeah, sure. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just peachy.” I link her arm in mine and pull her towards the hallway.

“Bucky, what are you-“ I push her against the wall and press my lips to hers hungrily. She kisses me back and puts her hands on my cheeks, “What’s going on Bucky?” I put my forehead onto hers and stay silent for a moment.

“I don’t know…I just, my ex is here with the man she cheated on me with, and when I seen you with Loki and how he was touching you and making you laugh, I guess I got jealous and all these feelings are coming up and I just can’t pretend that I don’t have feelings for you anymore. I like you a lot, I love you y/n.”  I pull away from her and look down at my feet.

“Shhh, you don’t need to explain anything else. Why don’t we get out of here, huh?” she lifts my chin, “We can talk about all this when we get home, because I think I’m in love with you too James Buchanan Barnes.” I kiss her softly and cup her cheek, and she hugs me tightly, running her fingers through my hair.

“James? Oh, sorry am I interrupting something?” Y/n and I turn and see Sarah standing there with her arms crossed, looking less than impressed.

“Actually yes, you are interrupting.” Y/n speaks up.

“Who are you?”

“I should be asking you the same question.” I watch as y/n’s smile fades into a thin line when she watches Sarah step closer to me.

“James you aren’t actually with her, are you? You’ve clearly downgraded.” She cackles.

“Actually, Sarah I think you’re the one that downgraded.” I step in front of y/n. Sarah scoffs and steps closer to me and runs a finger down my jawline, but then y/n grabs her wrist and pushes her away roughly.

“Sarah was it?” Y/n says stepping towards her, “Let me tell you something…the next time you try to contact, touch or even look at my boyfriend, you’ll wish you never crossed paths with me.” Sarah takes another step back.

“Jesus, okay! Real prize you have here James, see you around.” She retreats into the room and y/n turns back to me and her face lights up again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“W-wait, you said boyfriend just now.” She laughs and intertwines her fingers with mine “Did you mean it?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t. Now c’mon James, let’s go home.”

[johnnymundano]

Watch Me When I Kill (1977) AKA Il gatto dagli occhi di Giada, The Cat's Victims (U.K.), Terror in the Lagoon (France) and The Vote of Death (Germany)

Directed by Antonio Bido

Screenplay by Antonio Bido

Music by Trans Europa Express

Country: Italy

Running Time: 110 minutes

CAST

Corrado Pani as Lukas

Paola Tedesco as Mara

Franco Citti as Pasquale Ferrante

Fernando Cerulli as Giovanni Bozzi

Giuseppe Addobbati as Judge

Gianfranco Bullo as Santoro, the pharmacist's assistant

Jill Pratt as Signora Dezzan (as Yill Pratt)

Bianca Toccafondi as Esmeralda Messori

Inna Alexeievna as Old woman

Paolo Malco as Carlo

Cristina Pirasas as Pasquale Ferrante's wife

Roberto Antonelli as Michele

Gaetano Rampin as Dott. Peretti

Giuseppe Pennese as Marco

Giovanni Vannini as Biagio Dezzan, the pharmacist (as Giovanni Vanini)

Watch Me When I Kill may be an unsavoury invitation in normal circumstances, but here it’s one well worth taking up, since it is also a particularly satisfying 1977 giallo. It’s a giallo from early in the cycle so it also works as a movie normal people might also like; there is still enough room amongst the stylistic tics for Antonio Bido to smuggle in what is basically a proper thriller movie.  Very much like Short Night of the Glass Dolls (1971) and The Perfume of the Lady in Black (1974), Watch Me When I Kill exceeds genre expectations; largely because  the genre trappings are a lure rather than being the whole point (which is what happens to later giallo; not a criticism, just an observation).

Returning from a trip abroad, bra-disdaining tango dancer Mara (Paola Tedesco) tries to pick up some pills from a pharmacist (Giovanni Vannini). Unfortunately the pharmacist has had his worried beard rubbing interrupted by being slashed to death, and it is the killer who turns Mara away claiming the shop is shut. Fearing she can identify him/her the killer then stalks Mara, leading Mara to seek the aid of affable old flame Lukas (Corrado Pani). Lukas is a sound engineer, or a detective or some combination of the two, or maybe even just someone with no job but very interesting hobbies; it’s not very clear. What is clear is that his investigations into weird phone calls received by his neighbour, Bozzi (Fernando Cerulli), may dovetail nicely with identifying Mara’s stalker. Meanwhile, a couple of creepy producer guys vie to bed Mara under the guise of attaching her to their project. Which I thought was, you know, because…the ‘70s be creepy, but then I realised it’s more because…producer guys be creepy. Kind of #METOO: 1970s edition. Winningly, Mara doesn’t put up with their shit, so she’s mostly bothered about who is trying to off her. Particularly when it becomes apparent that other people are being offed and there is a vengeful escaped convict on the loose. Mystery, murder, red herrings, historical wrongs, black gloves, switchblades, POV with an asthmatic soundtrack, romance, ridiculous coincidences, stylish shots, peppy soundtrack noodlings from Trans Europa Express, sweet fashion stylings, an impressive waterfall and, naturally, tango dancing; Watch Me When I Kill serves up a stew as giallo-tastic as the literal stew which scalds a luckless victim to death.

Just a word to potential viewers: While Mara was performing her, uh, entertaining tango act she seemed to be singing about how awful WW1 was, how big Rudolph Valentino’s ear were and something about Mata Hari being hit in the chest. Maybe that is what tango is usually about, I don’t know; it’s more familiar as a fizzy soft drink where I come from. Why yes, I am a cultureless slob. That was the most egregious example but I think it has to be (reluctantly) said that the subtitles were a bit lacking on the version I watched. The subtitler’s Italian was obviously immaculate but there was a stilted air to the English output. Which is a bit pissy , I realise, since I can barely handle my own language, but there you go. Whenever possible I watch foreign movies with the subtitles on as I like to hear the original vocal inflections, not the forced approximations of dubbing. (No offence to dubbers; it’s a tough gig.) I just don’t get people who react to subtitles like someone has threatened to push their grandma over. Have you seen them in reviews? “Switched off. Had SUBTITLES. WTF?!?” Yeah, you just ignore most of the world’s cinematic output because…reading? Is reading that big an ask these days? Wait until they discover books, they’ll shit. “Threw it away. Had WORDS! WTF?!?” But I digress, again. Where was I …big ears…tango…subtitles…okay…clues! That’s where I’m going, clues!

Yes, Watch Me When I kill actually has clues. This doesn’t sound much, but if you watch enough giallo actually finding one where there are real clues is delightfully refreshing. Giallo veterans quickly become inured to bullshit clues like the cry of a bird in the background of a phone call which, when run through a computer containing all the sounds in the history of the world, reveals the call’s source. I’m not complaining, the ridiculous clues are part of the genre fun, but equally when you find a giallo where you are not laughing out loud at the clues, but rather cursing yourself for missing them, well, it’s like a cool breeze on a hot face, possibly a face hot from being scalded by a yummy stew. The mystery actually stacks up too. I don’t condone the actions of the killer in Watch Me When I kill, but I understand the actions of the killer in Watch Me When I Kill. Usually it’s just that they are nuts. This one is nuts too, but for once you can kind of see why.

And it’s not just clues; trampling the giallo stereotype underfoot, Watch Me When I Kill has some time for characterisation. Corrado Pani as Lukas is particularly fun, looking like a jolly Charles Bronson but acting like a shambly Elliot Gould. It’s a good combination, even better when Paola Tedesco’s Mara is around. There’s a lovely light romantic-comedy/buddy-movie vibe when the two are onscreen. They are lovers but also, clearly, friends and have a charmingly blasé approach to their relationship, which they wear like a much loved, tatty jumper. It would be the equal of Hemmings and Nicolodi in Deep Red (1975), but there isn’t enough of it, alas. Unfortunately it’s the ‘70s so Lukas has to go it alone and do the manly thing of investigating, while Mara stays at home to be threatened occasionally. She’s not as bad as most ‘70s heroines though; she does figure things out, is up for a scrap and I would definitely go and watch her Celebration of WW1 & Rudolph Valentino’s Big Ears Tango show, as I’m sure, would you given half a chance. By the end though, Watch Me When I Kill becomes consumed by its mystery at the cost of its characters. They basically stand and watch the ending with us. Someone who should get out more would probably concoct some bobbins about the viewer being subsumed into the characters, blah blah etc. Normal viewers will feel a bit taken aback by the abruptness of the ending. Mind you, I’m not asking for it to end with a freeze frame of Lukas and Mara high-fiving or anything.

I’ve probably risked making it sound a bit trad, but be assured Watch Me When I Kill is very much a giallo, so there are a lot of “Say what now?!?” moments, as is only proper. Most strikingly, whenever the killer strikes we see a flash of a cat’s eyes, which I still don’t get. I liked it, but I didn’t understand it. Which is why I like giallo, I guess. It’s certainly part of why I like Watch Me When I Kill.

[matsitle]

Dragon Loo - Mahungra Prayer Answered

Of course our lives are not so banal as to keep churning out the same devilry on our nocturnal walks. No; far from it. In fact, one could point to innumerable occasions where walking was a safe, uneventful exercise. The latter criterion however we cannot meet on the occasion of this past Saturday; hence the need to put finger to keyboard (the woke ones with their masochist nostalgia for “real” suffering would prefer the phrase ‘pen to paper’). The event concerns a godly billboard I encountered on First Avenue this past Saturday. From a company called Dragon Loo Toilet Hire. Finally, I had found the words to exalt my god: Dragon Loo!

 I am often mistaken for a better black; a woke one at that. I was cursed from childhood; my staple music diet was the Jazz Ministers and the likes. Zandile – a song by those lovely sentient beings – hasn’t a single word to it. Yet I know its lyrics from the first verse to the last. For in the beginning there was the Word; and the Word was God. And we blacks – cursed beings we are – have always mastered the Word. Yes, I dare say it: we birthed God! We are kings unto Him. So it is no surprise that I found words to Zandile. And to many other canvasses as well. I am thinking here Winston’s “Masihambe”. That one turned into a gospel song; a prayer I recited each time anything (especially church) was taking too long. All of this has taken me away, somewhat, from the broad masses of our people. People I love so dearly. It thus pains me that, for the past six years, we haven’t been able to spend our happier times together.

 Unlike them; I am not a music snob – I am not at all against listening to music I find uninteresting or downright trap; oh sorry I meant crap. Same difference really. In fact, given that those who have usurped themselves the slippery perch of thought leaders on a platform mainly used by an inconsequential one percent of the populace have found it fit to declare that #HoeIsLife, I can unashamedly admit to being a whore of music. Where it leads me I will follow. I mean for god’s sake I even go to church for the music! So what would prevent me from being with the broad masses of our people when they gather to worship under the spell of the mainly unseen but omnipotent gods with one ear covered by headphones pressing on buttons without any effect on the loud music barring recklessly from the huge speakers that were seemingly built to reach heaven for the attention of God’s big deaf ears (no wonder then the Pentecostal churches are never without these speakers; and no wonder their prayers receive more likes and retweets from the man upstairs than those of our poor spinning and drum-bashing churches in the ghettoes with whitehead Bishops who don’t even own a bicycle while the 20something year-old Pastor is on his fourth AMG – oh maigot!).

 You see, (why do poets like this phrase so much? It’s almost as if every stanza starts with this phrase, followed of course by the all-time favourite word: “I”. Fucken narcissists! Go get a bloody diary and phumakithi!). You see, I, unlike Bukowski, believe that all dumps are important to a young man’s life, not just the long beer-induced one in the morning. I give here special attention to those dumps that just sneak up on you unawares, in the most awkward of places. Those, I posit, are the dumps that gave birth to the “oh shit!” aphorism. You’re at your new bae’s birth home, to meet those responsible for their hang-ups and the main reason for the impending implosion of the cursed relationship (even if this responsibility only stretches to them fucking and conceiving that toenail of Satan – which in all honesty is rarely ever the case, but let’s leave that gossip to Sigmund Freud). You’re having a mighty good time impressing these supposedly nice people (we all know that they’re horrible old hags waiting for you to fuck up) when suddenly there’s stirring in your bowels (you have been too focused on ensuring there’s no stirring in your loins should a hotter sibling appear, your body forgot to govern other areas) and you feel a golden brown rush toward your anus: “Oh shit!” Or you are in a middle of a lie to high school kids about the importance of hard work, or R4,500 paying registered ‘hustlers’ to your weekend-long Forex workshop, (same naïve fucks; different LSM), when you realise that the next exaggerated ‘walk like a boss’ step on your kick-and-boboza shoes will result in soiling your white linen pants recommended by your mentor for their translucence as it signals transparency and honesty: “Oh shit!”

 Now imagine my entire self, the provocateur and general insultist I am, with an unsuspecting interlocutor-turned-intellectual punching bag on the ropes, and, unlike Helen Zille’s racist tweets, “surprise surprise…a dump is upon you.” Oh shit! I would, in the normal course of business, have to cease and desist my hearty derisive laughter at my victim’s pathetic attempts at a counter-argument. That is the first important step, laughter has a tendency to loosen the bowels. Hence people with no humour are so full of shit. The second step would be to announce to my audience – because in reality I’d have been carrying on this charade with this idiot for their sake – that I’d rather go take a shit than stomach the shit coming from the said idiot’s mouth. This is another important step; as I have to always control the narrative about myself – in this case I cannot admit to a dump imposing itself on me, that is counter my narrative as an existentialist, hence I frame the whole affair as an act of agency on my part. The third and last step, is to find the nearest, cleanest toilet to relive myself while retweeting some woke quotes.

 Mahungra, however, where the broad masses of my people gather, is no business as usual. The place – all half-hectare of it – is bereft of toilets. Not a single one on site! Let’s go back to the situation as above – let’s add, for effect, that I have engaged as many shots of cognac as I have schools of thought that night. Now, I have just successfully completed the second step and convinced everyone that the impending dump is completely dependent on my whims. I am hit by a serious obstacle; there are no toilets on the property I am patronising. The nearest toilet is at the BP garage; I would need some coins to use it, and also observe the first commandment of black life under the ANC: “Thou shall queue.” Together with the few ladies who decided that they were above squatting and squirting in the bush. There are two main problems with this scenario: firstly, it is entirely possible that neither me nor any of my companions would have cash on them; being civilised people of NFC and all. Secondly being on the queue will definitely give away my ‘number two’ dilemma to a lot of eyes I cannot sate with my lie of picking this shit over the one spewing from my interlocutor’s mouth. And to compound matters further, the fact of me subjecting myself to a queue would give me away to people who know me well enough to know that I would never do such unless there were extorting circumstances. Which would of course make piss of all the work put in into step two. The other option, the Shell garage across the highway, has the same two problems as the first option but to its favour has less eyes – however it carries with it the risk (especially given the cognac cursing through my veins) of being trampled over by a truck. Nna nka se shwelle masepa.

 It is clear to see that the above scenario is an “oh shit!” moment only surpassed by reliving yourself of putrid green slimy mess at your potential future in-laws during water-restriction hours (and being the landless blacks they are, the toilet is probably within earshot and eyesight of the masses dining from their laps in the lounge – how are you to clandestinely sneak in buckets of water from the bathtub next door? Nee mahn!).

 This is the only reason that propaganda has been able to thrive on my name: “heh heh Mpho is a snob?” the slob I am? “heh heh Mpho is a coconut” I can barely pronounce the word pronounce – coz rolling R game dololo! “heh heh Mpho is a better black” I too know the struggle of being grateful for food; I’m just very much anti-poverty-porn. I am not about to masochistically parade my pain for the world to pity for the sake of relevance.

 But all of this is about to come to an end – thanks to my (together with especially female Mahungra patrons in jumpsuits and any woman wishing away the indignity of subjecting their holy of holies to the risk of bush snake bites) Lord & Saviour: Dragon Loo. I was awed to the floor by the poster with the orange portable toilets. Even their colour was perfect for Mahungra as Mangaung’s prime party destination. Orange is after all the city’s official colour. And its brightness lends it visibility in the dark even to alcohol-compromised eyes. As if this isn’t enough good news; they also offer free delivery, that means no one ought to lift the finger to install nor rid the thing of our collective shame – the lazy buggers we are. But what finally convinced me that this was Jesus’ personal answer to my prayers was the cost of it all. Being ultra-concerned about the profitability and sustainability of black business, I was worried that such a venture for the sake of our fragile oft-ignored dignity would cost these entrepreneurs who saw a gap in the highway…uhm, I mean market…who saw a gap in the market an arm, leg and trip to Saxonworld Shebeen. But no, when eloah Dragon Loo still reigns ha a yo mathata: our dignity will only cost our business geniuses just less than ten of their (sometimes) diarrhoea inducing beef stew plates per week.

 Maigot! This is a win-win for everybody. Especially me – which is of course a more interesting development. Soon I will be able to Wololo with my people – or rather, if we are in the business of being honest with each other, hating on my people Wololo-ing. But those are just semantics; oksalayo I will be with the broad masses of my people. When they’re at their happiest. And nothing makes me happier than that. Except of course Jazz. And being alone. And drinking coffee. And writing. And loving a woman. And reading Kundera. And…ohk; let’s just say being with multitudes people in the bush next to a highway listening to Emtee’s “trapa trapa babaye” does not necessarily amount to the pain of landlessness, and thus somewhat tolerable. You see I – in the black tradition of begging for crumbs – only pray that they make it a bit slightly more tolerable by having ablution facilities on site. And Dragon Loo (what a kak name!) gives us an easy way out; and that’s all one requires from a deity. An easy way out. Hence I exalt it so. It’s probably not even worth shit, as are many businesses with ads with a star pop-up banners with tilted words inside, and many gods. But what more can we ask for? Like all black people I birthed a shitty god with my words. For that I have nothing to say but “oh shit!”

 This is really an awkward way to end a piece, quite shitty in fact. But it is what it is. Lemme go take a dump.