Chapter 6
Chapter six
Dulcie
Inow know that I fucked up is so much worse than I’m going to fuck up.
If it hasn’t happened yet, there’s still this vague and na?ve hope that it might all work out.
You might be spared from seeing someone else’s freshly cut wounds, knowing you put them there and rubbed every caustic substance known to man in them.
Salt, vinegar, acid, the whole freaking science lab, and the periodic table.
I’d have to call what I did moping. It went on all day long.
I spent a sleepless night going over and over all my failings, idiocy, lies, and the hurt it all caused.
Then, it looped endlessly over a cup of coffee and tortured me all through a shower.
I deserve every single minute of the torture though.
I know it’s helping no one, but I need to bask fully in my shame before I can move on.
I did all that, and I did it all wrong. I cyberstalked someone… or okay, I hired someone to do it, but still. I intruded on their privacy. I faked my way into their house. I used, manipulated, and twisted everything around.
The worst part is obviously the end, when all those lies culminated in an explosion of fireworks and a kiss that slayed my heart, my mind, and my body.
There’s something very wrong about that whole statement.
There’s something very wrong about all of this.
If I live to be six hundred and eighty-seven, I’ll never forget the horrified, sickened, disgusted, and devastated expression on Luca’s face when I confessed who I was and he realized what he’d almost done.
I should never have let it get as far as I did, but not because I didn’t want to kiss him or because I regret that part of it.
If I live to be six hundred and eighty-seven, I’ll also forever remember every single nanosecond and micro detail of that incredible kiss.
I’ll remember other things too, like the heat of Luca’s body, the velvet feel of his skin, the burning rasp of stubble, the lush softness of his lips, the steel length of his cock trapped in his pants between us, his nipples hard beneath his shirt, and the fire he poured into my mouth that ended up straight in my chest while also burning in my belly and between my legs.
In that moment, I didn’t care about the details. I went from having a somewhat level head to just being eviscerated within a few minutes. I was more than ready to fuck my dad’s once-best friend.
“Ugh.” I bow forward in the slightly decrepit rocking chair out here on the porch of the little cabin rental.
Cabin is a strong word. This place is a glorified garden shed plunked down on a small plot of land with woods on either side and down a back road that gives you the feeling you’re in the middle of nowhere, but really, you’re surrounded on all sides by humanity.
This tiny little place probably still costs an insane amount of money.
No wonder the owners rent it out when they’re not here.
After sinking lower and lower into the mire of my thoughts and sorrows all day long and coming no closer to figuring out how to make anything better with Luca, or how to phone my dad and confess what a disaster of a shit pie I’d baked this into, I decided the only thing to do was to get takeout.
I’m a wreck. There’s no way I’m going anywhere, and there are only so many peanut butter and jam sandwiches and apples I can choke down.
I probably should have done more substantial grocery shopping when I got here. Or yesterday, when I bought those cherries and rhubarb.
There’s a shop fifteen minutes away on a small lake that boasts twenty-eight-inch pizzas.
Yes, two feet. Four extra inches. They charge ten dollars for delivery, and I figured it was worth it because I probably wouldn’t even be able to fit a box that big in my rental car, trunk included.
What better way to drown your sorrows than in a pie? Sweet or cheesy and meaty, I need this.
Honestly, I’m hoping that just the sheer ridiculous size of the pizza will give me something to smile about. Because it feels a little bit like that’s never going to happen again for me.
“How tragic. It’s not like it’s entirely your fault or anything. Gather shit ingredients. Bake a shit pie. Make a shit bed. Lay in a shit bed.”
Whoa, keep the intrusive thoughts inside. Someone might wander by and think you’re crazy.
The woods are utterly silent. Sunlight dapples the manicured grass through the canopy of trees, waving softly in the breeze, and the pattern changes with every fresh gust.
“It would be wonderful to be able to enjoy it out here. It’s actually really pretty.”
Okay, just sit back and rock in that chair.
The creaking is kind of nice. Close your eyes and don’t think about how you wrecked someone’s world.
Don’t think about how he kissed you and wanted you, and it broke his fucking heart when he found out it was all a lie.
Because it’s not doubly as bad, given how much hurt he’s already gone through.
Don’t think about how your dad is never going to be the same ever again, all because you couldn’t just phone Luca up and tell him the truth like a not-so-crazy person.
“Garrr, god!” I shoot out of the rocker and stand at the edge of the porch. My chunky boots hang half off the edge, and my hand clutches the railing.
A flash of blue from the road catches my attention.
I’m not as alone out here as I think. Someone very well could have heard me having a conversation with myself.
My cheeks heat up. The vehicle passes through the trees in little blips and flashes, then it stops, and I can finally see it clearly.
It reverses to the little marker at the end of the rutted dirt driveway.
The marker does have some token gravel on it, but nature has mostly reclaimed it.
It’s as easy to miss as the little sign with the fire number on it.
When I ordered the pizza, I had to explain where I was and give the land location and the fire number at the end of the driveway, which is mounted on a little metal stake.
Just like what I wrote down for Luca yesterday.
He hasn’t come.
But, well, why would he? If I can’t even dig my head out of my arse, why should he? Erm, if I can’t stop being angry with myself, why should he? I suppose that’s more accurate and politically correct.
Why am I even still here?
Right. Because the thought of going home and crushing my dad is equally as nauseating as being here and reminiscing about what a terrible human being I am.
#theworst.
At least the blue car is turning down the driveway now.
It appears my pizza is here. If only my stomach weren’t churning like I’ve just taken a double turn on the most sickening fair ride, that would be great.
What did I think I was going to do? Take a selfie posing next to the massive thing and giving a thumbs up and a big smile to send back home?
I wonder if it’s too late to cancel.
Yeah, definitely too late.
I watch the car navigate the rutted driveway. I’ve been careful with the rental every time I’ve pulled in here. I didn’t want to tear out the undercarriage, and there are a few ruts, bumps, and one big rock jutting out that could definitely make it happen.
I cross my arms and wait. The sun shines down, bright and cheerful, and not at all reflective of my mood. It hits the car’s windshield.
My stomach doesn’t just spin. It drops all the way to the soles of my feet.
That’s not the pizza guy.
That’s definitely Adam behind the wheel. As in, Luca’s Adam.
There’s no one in the passenger seat, but I can just make out a shadowy figure in the back.
Great. Adam brought that scary undertaker-looking lawyer to dig my grave and bury me in legalese and paperwork.
This is exactly the kind of reaping I deserve.
Why can’t the universe ever work itself out to punish the true bad guys?
You are a bad guy. The worst. Do you know how many laws you broke?
My throat goes dry, my heart batters against my ribs, and my palms start to sweat. Despite that, I tilt my chin up, determined to face this. If I need to pay for what I did, then that’s what I’ll do. I hope. Because if we’re talking jail time here, that’s terrifying.
I could throw up right now kind of terrifying.
At least I’m not connected to the bakery on paper. If Luca sues me for all I’m worth, I could declare bankruptcy.
Adam is probably going to get out and chew me a new one. He’ll be sure to make it extra raw and horrible. I promised I wouldn’t hurt Luca. I didn’t want to, but I did. It’s just another way that I lied. Cheated. Failed. Caused harm.
He parks the car and just sits there, clearly studying me through the windshield.
I swallow. Loudly. It’s not just my palms that are sweating. My whole body is soaked, and my clothes are starting to stick.
But it’s not Adam’s door that opens. It’s the one behind him. When I see who gets out, I nearly collapse and tumble right off the edge of the porch. It’s not the grim-faced, intimidating lawyer.
Even with a black hoodie on with the hood drawn up and tightened all the way and a pair of large sunglasses, I can definitely tell it’s Luca.
It’s his stature and the way he fills out his clothes and stands strong with his feet planted further apart than most people do.
Even though he talks like he’s afraid to go outside, he stands with certainty.
He shuts the door, steps to the side, and lifts his hand to Adam. He’d never shut off the car. It edges back out, painfully slowly, over the horrendous road.
Unless Luca owns an early 2000s domestic family sedan, the car isn’t his.
It backs out all the way and turns back onto the main road. It’s gravel, and not any better than this one. The potholes and washboards on the turns are horrific. I watch the car until it’s out of sight. Keeping my eyes fixed on the distance somehow seems safer than meeting Luca’s.