Chapter Seventeen, Plankton
The cabin was quiet, save for the low hum of the TV and the occasional rustling of snack wrappers.
The three of us were sprawled across the couch, surrounded by half-empty bags of chips, candy wrappers, and an assortment of other junk food we had absolutely no business consuming this late at night.
Or morning, seeing as it was almost four.
Heather was sandwiched between us, her head resting against Atlas’ shoulder, her legs draped across my lap.
She was the picture of ease, munching on a handful of toffee popcorn as she flicked through movie options with the remote.
The glow from the screen lit up her face, highlighting her sharp little smile as she made some sarcastic remark about my terrible taste in films when I insisted she try out an old eighties movie I loved.
As the movie played, we kept up a steady stream of commentary, poking fun at the overly dramatic dialogue and ridiculous plot twists all the way through till the end credits.
“That was ridiculous.” Heather snorted as she stole the remote again, picking her choice of movie. “I swore I knew you, Gio, and now I’m not sure. I think you have poor taste.”
Atlas squeezed her tighter to him. “What do you know about him, malyshka? Other than the fact that he has a pretty face and a rather big—”
“Big personality? Yes.” Heather smirked. “I know loads about both of you because I have the brains of a scientist. Ask me anything and I’ll tell you the answer.”
“What’s my favorite type of food?” I teased.
“Anything your nonna would have made.” She replied. “You’re a basic bitch, no offense. You’re an Italian who loves Italian food. Which is smart because it’s good food, but yeah. Ya basic. Anything else you wanna quiz me on?”
“My middle name.”
She scoffed. “You don’t have one. Try again.”
“What are his siblings called and how old are they?” Atlas leaned over, snatching the glass of whiskey from my hand, sipping it with a slight frown of disgust before he returned it.
He was such a drink snob, but only for vodka.
If he had actual taste, he would have preferred something sweet and rich and aged for a few decades until it was perfect.
Not the drain cleaner he usually sipped on .
“Gio is the oldest.” Heather trilled. “Then you have Emilio, who is only a little younger. I think he’s like twenty-seven, and he’s hot as fuck because he looks like Gio, but with a big beard, and he shaves his hair almost bald.”
“Excuse me.” I grumbled. “He is not hot. I am the only De Luca you find hot. In fact, aside from Atlas, I am the only man you find hot ever again.”
She ignored me. “Raphael and Vincente are twenty-two. They’re not fully identical, which seems like a waste of twins to me, but whatever. Oh, and technically, Raphael is dead right now. Like murdered in a prison riot dead.”
She listed off all the rest of my siblings and their ages, even getting little facts right that I had told her about them.
Atlas lounged back, sprawling like a cat. “I think your mom needs a hobby.” He said. “Maybe knitting or chess or anything other than breeding.”
I chucked my cushion at him. “It was her sole purpose in the family, you bastardo. She was married to him for breeding and nothing more. I doubt it was her choice to have so many children, even if she loves us.”
“Maybe she’s super fertile.” Heather stole my glass too, sipping on it, pulling a disgusted face, then handing it back. “Like a magic womb, so that a single bit of cum in her pussy knocks her up.”
“Can we not talk of this?” I spluttered.
My girl narrowed her big brown eyes. “Why? You scared of babies and breeding? What a loser boy move.”
“I’m grossed out talking about my mama having sex.” I corrected. “Babies do not scare me.”
“Do you want any?” She was curious as she glanced between us. “Both of you? Kids? No Kids? An army full?”
I shrugged. “I love my family and the idea of making mini versions of myself is appealing, but I also know I lean more towards liking men than women. Children in the usual way were not a thing I thought about much. If it happens, then it does. If it doesn’t, that is fine with me, too.”
She nodded. “I reckon Atlas could get you pregnant. He has daddy energy, and his big dick does a wonderful job.”
“Maybe he could get you pregnant too, and we can see which of us produces the most powerful child? Then we could get them to battle.” I grinned as I played her games.
“Mine. Easy.” She snorted. “Yours would be all broody and handsome, but mine would be cool. And everybody knows cool is the best.”
Atlas untangled himself from the couch and got to his feet, hunting down his boots.
“Or how about I get nobody pregnant and we spend the rest of our lives on a beach, fucking and being irresponsible?” he said.
“That sounds good too,” Heather replied. “I’m currently not in the mood for procreating. I don’t see that changing in the foreseeable future either. Children are not something I’ve ever really wanted. But if I change my mind, then I will be the first to place my orders with both of you.”
“Orders?” Atlas snorted as he slid his boots on, readying himself for his routine check of the perimeter and all our cameras.
Heather handed over his car keys from the coffee table as she replied, “Yeah. I would have one of each, so it’s fair.
Like we could just do each other until I’m knocked up, but you look so different that I feel like it would be obvious who was bio daddy and who was just the bonus daddy.
So to make it super duper fair and fun, I get one off each of you.
Two kids. Preferably girls, because boys suck. ”
“You’ve just jinxed it, amore mio. You’re going to wind up carrying two sets of twins, and all of them will be boys.”
She groaned. “I would love them, but I would also give them princess names. Which feels mean, but that’s okay. Mommy issues are better than daddy issues.” She straightened up, all jokes gone. “But for real, though. I really don’t think I want kids. Never have. Is that okay with both of you?”
“Definitely.” Atlas watched her as she suddenly scurried into the kitchen, grabbing a newspaper off the side.
I yawned and stretched out my limbs. “I am happy if you are happy, Heather. It’s your body and your choice. I’m down for whatever you want. Whether that means no kids, and abortions if accidents happen. Or having a baby and raising it right. I’m not fussy.”
She returned to us, newspaper in hand. “Instead of a kid, I was thinking I could get something better.”
“Hmm?” My head cocked.
“A dog. Another dog. So Mali has a dog friend to talk about dog things with.” She dropped the newspaper down on the coffee table, pointing to an ad taken by the local shelter.
“There’s a dog there called Missy, and I know this sounds insane, and I’m by no means calling my best friend a bitch, but that feels like fate to me. ”
“Missy is a four-year-old German Shepherd.” I read. “She’s friendly and great with other dogs. Her owner passed away, and she just needs a new loving home.”
“Human Missy loved dogs.” Heather said. “She was great with other people, too. Now she waxed, so was nowhere near as hairy. But I think that dog Missy will help fix the shattered pieces of my blackened heart.”
“If you want another dog, you can have another dog. You don’t need to beg.” Atlas grabbed the paper, found the number on the ad and saved it on his phone. “I’ll sort it in the morning the second they’re open.”
Her screams of delight and the kisses she gave us both were nice, but only slightly tainted by the fact she once again stuck on her favorite set of movies. The ones I now knew off by heart, and could barely stand to watch again.
“SpongeBob? Really?” I groaned. “Please, amore mio. Anything else. This film has been on way too many times. I can’t go through it again.” I would go through it again. Then again, and again for the rest of my life, if it made her happy. But it was still worth a shot of asking for an alternative.
Heather snickered. “It’s a masterpiece, Gio. You just don’t have good taste.”
Atlas chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he scrolled through his phone. “I don’t know, malyshka. SpongeBob might be a bit too highbrow for him.”
I snorted. “Right, because you’re such a connoisseur of culture, Mr Hadn’t-watched-a-film-till-he-was-nineteen.”
Heather sat up, feigning a look of seriousness. “Gio, I think if we put you in a SpongeBob episode, you’d be Plankton. Little and angry.”
I burst out laughing, gently shoving her with my knee. “Little? You’re literally half my size. Careful with that mouth of yours, menace.”
“Yeah, but I’m fierce,” she said, poking me in the chest with her finger, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And faster than you. I’d be Gary because he is the king. Or maybe Patrick. He seems like a chill dude.”
“Oh, yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, leaning down until our noses nearly touched.
Before I could push her further, Atlas’s phone buzzed, and he cursed, pulling all of our attention toward him. His relaxed expression faltered for the briefest moment before he slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“What’s up?” I asked instinctively, feeling that familiar flicker of alertness settle at the back of my mind.
He stood still with an almost catlike grace, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t go unnoticed. “One of the perimeter alarms went offline,” he said, his tone casual but focused. “Probably just a bad connection because everything else is fine. But I’ll take the truck and check it out.”
“You sure?” I asked, feeling my own pulse quicken. Atlas wasn’t the type to worry over nothing, but we all had our paranoia. In our world, a small thing could turn into a deadly situation fast. I knew that better than most.
He nodded, already heading toward the door. “I’m sure. Won’t be long. You two—behave.”
Heather grinned, giving him a lazy salute from her spot on the couch. “No promises.”