Thirty
LIANA
For some reason, my entire body quivers; my nerves on edge. It feels as though I haven’t seen Anabel in years, but only a few weeks have passed. She seemed so understanding in her messages, but will she hold a grudge against me for being MIA with her?
As I pull into the parking space outside of the small bar and grill, I take a long look at the exterior. It’s such a pretty little place that I’ve been wanting to visit for a while. The pictures I’ve seen in their advertisements don’t do it justice. It’s a completely black brick building with a red neon sign and tinted windows. Anyone else would consider it bland, but I’ve grown fond of the simplicity in the world, making it a picturesque place for me.
Turning the engine off, I take the keys out of the ignition and step out. The chilly autumn air nips at my skin, and I instinctively rub my arms to warm them. I should’ve listened to Dario when he told me to wear a jacket, but I was persistent in my stubbornness. I should’ve known he was right in his assumption of the abrupt weather change.
A light laugh leaves my lips as I sprint to the building’s entrance, catching my reflection in the black tinted doors. The atmosphere is much warmer inside and the sudden burst of heat sends a wave of tingly discomfort through my body.
The inside is much different than the exterior led me to believe. I pictured the interior matching the blandness of the outside of the building, but that’s not what I find. The black and red colour scheme remains, but each piece of furniture is luxurious. The walls feature artistic posters and beautiful drawings. It resembles an art studio; someone’s poured their heart and soul into these sketches.
As I continue further inside, I walk towards the small stand at the front. “Do you have a reservation?” the middle-aged woman asks, her eyes never leaving her computer screen.
“Uh, yes,” I reply. “I believe it’s under Anabel Cartier.”
She releases an exasperated sigh and types on her computer. “You’re the first here. You can wait at your table.” I open my mouth to speak, but she glances up at me, an evil glare in her eyes. “Last table at the back on the right-hand side. I’m sure your friend will be here shortly.”
I nod and venture through the crowd of tables. It feels like every single pair of eyes is on me and the hushed conversations that follow make my skin crawl.
Finally reaching my destination, I slide onto the leather bench-like chair against the wall to allow me to see Anabel enter. I already feel on edge, like something isn’t right, but I know it’s all in my head. I’ve been making up excuses as to why I shouldn’t be here; I need to relax.
A few minutes tick by and I retract my phone from my purse, pulling up the most recent messages between Anabel and I.
I type a new one:
Me: I’m here. Are you close?
About a minute passes and the three grey dots appear, followed by her response.
Anabel: I’m going to be a bit late, but my boyfriend will be there before me.
My eyes narrow at her words. I didn’t even realise she had a boyfriend or that he was joining us for lunch, but I’m glad she’s invited him.
Anabel: I’ll be about ten minutes, so play nice.
I laugh, pocketing my phone again.
My eyes fall onto the entrance as a tall man enters. His tattoo-covered arms stretch the fabric of his black T-shirt, a biker’s helmet beneath his arm. Within a few seconds, he’s inching towards me and offers a small wave with the hand beneath his helmet.
“Liana, right?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. I nod. “Vittorio,” he says, swapping the helmet to his other arm and offering his hand for me to shake.
With a small smile, I take his hand and shake it with a loose grip.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks, displaying a hand to the bench opposite me.
“Please,” I say a little too eagerly. As he sits, he places his helmet beside the booth and drags a menu closer to him. “Do you want anything to drink?” he queries, his finger tracing the words on the menu.
“A coke,” I say. “I’ll pay.”
“Nonsense,” he replies, glancing up at me. “Anabel set this up. This is on me.”
I want to argue, but I don’t. Instead, I nod while offering a warm smile and ask, “When did you two meet?”
“It’s a… recent thing, nothing serious,” he says, waving over one of the hostesses. “But I do have a soft spot for her, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” With the waitress at our table, she takes our order and leaves without so much as a glance in my direction. Her entire focus is on him, his tattoos and his build.
He’s attractive, and months ago I would’ve been drawn to him. But since Dario came into my life, no man can compare. He’s what I’d been looking for, and I hadn’t realised it, but now I do.
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know what you see when you look at me and my tattoos, Liana. It’s okay to want something good for your friend.”
“Are you a good man?” I ask, flicking through the food menu.
“I’ve done some things in my past that I’m not proud of, but I would never raise a finger to her in a way to harm her.” He offers me a small smile as he follows my actions, his fingers tracing along the words again.
“I’m gonna run to the ladies’ room,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Sure, take your time.”
I grab my purse and make my way back to the hostess stand to ask for directions when I see the sign clear as day. As someone walks through the entrance again, the chilly breeze hits my ankles and I shudder, quickening my pace until I reach the women’s bathroom.
I have nothing against Vittorio—hell, I know nothing about him—but there’s something about him that doesn’t sit right with me. He’s very well spoken, has a gentle look about him if you disregard the tattoos and large build, and seems to care about Anabel. I just can’t seem to put my finger on what’s giving me this strange feeling.
After a few minutes in the bathroom, I retreat back to the table and find an array of food already there with Vittorio digging in.
“Sorry, I went ahead and ordered a bunch of foods Annie said you liked. I hope you don’t mind.” His posture stiffens. “They also didn’t have any regular Coke, I hope diet is okay.”
“That’s fine,” I reply, sliding back into my previous place in the booth and taking a sip. “Do you know when she’ll be here?”
He shakes his head, pushing forward a slice of pepperoni pizza. “No, but I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
The feeling of despair grows in my gut, but a single bite of the greasy pizza pushes it away for a moment.
My phone dings and the screen illuminates, a message from Dario lighting up my screen. I tap on it and hold it to my face to unlock it, pulling up the conversation thread.
Dario: I’m heading out for an hour. I won’t be there when you get back.
Taking another bite of pizza, I wipe my fingers with the napkin and reply:
Me: I’ll be leaving in twenty anyway. I’ll see you when I get home.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, urging me to continue. I type out ‘I love you’, but it’s gone before I can even think of sending it. It’s been two months, and neither of us have said the dreaded three-word phrase. It’s too early to be saying that, right? I mean, it’s not like there’s ever been a situation where either of us has had the urge to announce it to the other, or at least I don’t think so. He doesn’t give me the ‘I love you’ impression.
“Sorry, did you say something?” I ask, lifting my eyes to Vittorio again.
His eyes dart to find mine as he shakes his head. “No.” His answer is quick and makes my eyes squint.
Something about him is off, more so than I thought it was before. He’s on edge; he keeps looking over his shoulder. I thought it was cute at first, as if he was anticipating Anabel’s arrival, but now it’s more frequent. It’s almost like he’s growing agitated with every passing second that she isn’t here.
Suddenly, my entire body starts to slow down, like it’s ready to sleep. It’s mid-day; why am I so fucking tired?
I rise to stand, my mouth open but words don’t come and Vitorrio rushes to me, his hands gripping my arms. It’s not the kind of hold that brings any sort of pain; it’s more like he’s trying to ensure I don’t fall.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “The discomfort will pass; I promise.”
“Wh-what did you do?” I ask, my eyes drifting over to my half-empty glass.
It all makes sense now: the weird tang it had when I first sipped it, the bitterness as it slid down my throat… It didn’t taste different because he ordered a diet. “Did you d-drug me?” I ask, lowering myself back onto the seat with his help.
“I’m sorry, Liana. I had no choice—” His voice distorts, his words becoming slow until I watch his mouth move through my drowsy eyes, but nothing escapes them. The look in his eyes is sympathetic, but my mind keeps repeating the word ‘bastard’.
I try to blink away the fear that consumes me, but the longer my eyes are closed, the quicker my will to stay awake fades. I’ve never liked the feeling of being helpless, but here I am, completely powerless and vulnerable, and losing consciousness.
I will my hands to move, to grab my phone and call Dario, but they don’t. Nothing works. My limbs are paralysed as fear consumes my mind.
I’m going to die in this fucking place.