Savage Mafia Prince

Savage

I don’t know how long we sit together. Long enough that the adrenaline drains out of the room. Quiet settles over us both, the only real noise being the harsh, rattling sound of my breathing.

Eventually, I feel more like myself. Or at least the numb, detached version of myself that I slip into after I have one of these little panic whatevers. The part of me that was concerned about infecting Micah with my toxins is walled off in a distant section of my mind, letting out occasional muffled screams, while the rest of me is too selfish and desperate for comfort to care about the consequences.

My head is resting on his shoulder, so it doesn’t take much strength to turn to my left until I’m facing him. I’m too close to see his whole face, but it doesn’t matter. He fills my field of vision, and the smell of whatever fruity soap he uses is wallpapering over the scent of vomit in my nostrils, so I’ll take it.