Chapter 6 #8
"What the hell are you doing at this stupid party?!" I ask.
Enzo just grins and taps his nose.
Ah. He's got coke. Of course he does.
"And you?" he shoots back.
I drop my head. "Work stuff..."
Then I lift my chin and tilt it toward Rava and Sophia. Enzo follows my glance and lets out a low whistle.
"Ohhh. I love this type of work. Is it a love triangle? What's going on? You quitting the whore business?"
I snap my eyes to him.
Excuse me?
A whore?
I'm selective with who gets access to this dick, and I sure as hell don't sell it.
"It's not a love triangle," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. "It's just a fake thing I don't even fucking know why I'm doing."
Enzo nods. "Well, man... your 'fake thing' looks too good to be real anyway."
He laughs.
I don't.
Let him feel awkward. I'm not saving him. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs. "I dunno. Is he not? "
Tch. I look down.
"Anyway," he says, smacking my shoulder. "Look."
He gestures to the corner where his little crew is huddled. I recognize a few faces. Everyone here showed up for the drugs, obviously. This party is ridiculous.
It's like someone grabbed characters from a crime film and dumped them in a teenage American show. "You wanna join us?" Enzo asks, smiling wide. "We got a good batch tonight. None of that stepped-on shit. Real clean."
I raise an eyebrow.
"That’s why you're grinning like a lunatic?"
He laughs. "It's so good, Gio. I'm telling you, you're missing out."
I hesitate for half a second. "I'll just say hi."
We move toward the rest of them. I glance back, just to make sure Rava sees where I'm going.
Last thing I need is him wandering around alone in this circus looking like a lost duckling. Not that I want him here with these idiots, but he should at least know where to find me if he wants to bail. I shove a couple of bottles aside with my knee and drop onto the couch between them.
The whole place smells like weed. Shit.
I can already feel it creeping into my lungs.
I can't get high tonight. Rava will absolutely whoop my ass, and he'd be right.
One of the girls passes me a bottle. I don't take it. And I'm fucking proud of myself. As carefree as I am, I would never ride back home while being drunk.
Especially when I'm not alone.
Twenty minutes pass and they're still talking about the same damn thing. That time Enzo almost died.
I'm the one who brought it up, but it wasn't supposed to become a full documentary screening.
It's not funny. That was the whole point of the story. But coke has clearly melted his brain to fondue, because he's retelling it like it's peak comedy. Someone drops into the spot right in front of me.
Before I even focus on his face, he flicks a rolling-paper wrapper straight at my forehead.
The audacity in this room is honestly unbelievable.
It's... Mark? Maybe? I think his name is Mark. He's got rings on every single finger, both hands.
Mark. Yeah. It's him.
Because I remember thinking Mark marks his hands.
I laughed at my own joke for three straight minutes back then. Still kinda funny.
"Yo, was that Rava Weston I saw you with earlier?!" he asks, smirking.
I don't react.
"I swear to God, I thought that man was dead or something," another guy chimes in from the armrest, already laughing. "Did you see him like a decade ago? He was fucking tragic. Little guy looked like he'd cry if you touched his shoulder."
They all burst out laughing and my own laugh just cuts. My heart spikes so fast it feels wrong, like they're talking shit about me, not Rava.
I stare at them. All of them. I don't get what's funny.
Mark leans forward.
"But damn. Boy grew up. Got the jawline. That mouth. You hit that yet?"
The world slows. That. He calls Rava that.
Like he's a sex toy.
What do I do? Fuck, I don't know what to do.
I can't look offended. I can't act weird. This group talks like this about everyone. I can't just snap for one person.
But it feels like I'm betraying Rava just by sitting here. By letting them talk about him like that. By not saying anything.
And it makes no fucking sense.
He's not even here. He wouldn't even know. But it feels so, so wrong. So wrong my chest actually hurts.
It feels filthy. Like they're smearing something innocent that shouldn't be touched by them at all.
Enzo grins. "Guess not yet." Another voice joins, one of the younger guys, barely twenty, eyes gleaming like a sick dog.
"Bro, not gonna lie, Rava looks like the type you'd have to mentally prep before sex. Right? You think he'd be into it? Looks like the type you have to train a little first, no?"
What the hell am I hearing?
I snap my head toward Rava, even though he's far, to make sure he's not hearing this filth spill out of their mouths. My brain is killing me. It keeps making pictures I don't want to see.
If he were beside me right now, God, I don't even know if he'd answer. He is strong, I know that. He pushes back when he needs to.
But I also know the limits of that strength.
I know what crosses the line. And this. This would fucking crush him. He wouldn't fight them. He'd laugh it off.
Pretend it doesn't get to him.
Then he'd go home and overthink everything. Replay every syllable. Ask himself if it's true, if he really looks "difficult."
He'd stare at the ceiling all night. He'd lose sleep over people who don't even remember his last name. He'd ask what's wrong with him again.
I'm angry. Really fucking angry. And their stupid smiles are making it ten times harder to hold it in.
"I bet he's the kind that acts all shy till you get your hand on his neck," the kid goes on, laughing. "Then he melts. Fuck, I'd—"
"Shut up," I say.
"Wait, think about it, if we got him drunk enough, we could share him," Mark offers, grinning at me like we're boys.
"Come on, Gio. You've had enough of him. Let us play too."
My body moves before I can even name what I'm feeling.
I lunge across the table. My fist meets his jaw with a sound so sharp it makes someone gasp.
His head snaps sideways. He tries to cover his face, but I rip his hands away and hit him again and again, angrier every time.
I can't fucking stop. I can't stop.
He planted that disgusting image in my head.
Rava being drunk and weak.
Someone's hands on him.
Someone laughing.
Someone doing something he can't fight off.
The Rava I know, treated like some pretty little thing to pass around while he's not even conscious enough to say no. I swear to God, I'm gonna kill him.
I don't give a fuck if they hold me back, if they scream my name, if I get locked the fuck up.
I'm not stopping.
Not when he had the balls to say that out loud.
You'll call me violent. You'll call me crazy.
But I'll be the one who made sure Rava never ends up another fucking victim. I'll be the one who split open the face of a would-be fucking rapist.
Because that's what you fucking are.
That's what you just confessed to being.
A future fucking rapist. But Rava won't be on your list.
"One more word..." I whisper to him. "...and I'll rip your spine out like a fucking zipper."
Enzo tries to stop me, but I shove him off and keep going. He swings back, catches me across the cheek. I laugh, tasting blood, and go in again.
I'm not gonna sit here and feel sorry for a rapist, or any sick fuck who even thinks like one.
You hit me, I hit harder.
I'm not wasting mercy on someone who opens his mouth and lets that kind of filth fall out.
You want to know why I didn't back off? 'Cause people like you don't stop unless someone makes them.
"Say his name again," I spit, slamming him back against the couch.
"I fucking dare you."
"Gio?!" I hear it. The voice.
Rava.
Through the chaos, through the blur of fists and yelling, I see him.
"Are you fucking insane?!" he shouts, grabbing my arm, yanking me back. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Shit. I stare down at the guy under me.
His nose is broken. His face is swelling already.
Good.
"Gio!" Rava shouts again, furious. "Answer me, what the hell happened?!"
I don't say a word. I grab his wrist. "We're leaving. Please."
"The fuck we are—"
"I said we're leaving, Rava. Please hear me out for once."
And I pull him through the crowd, past the shocked faces and the bloodstained floor.
Where no one else can look at him like that again.
34) Lick It Off
Gio
We walk back to my place in total silence.
My face feels like someone parked a damn truck on it. My knuckles sting so bad, and I probably look insane.
The second we walk through the door, I drop my keys on the dresser with a dull clack and head straight for the bathroom.
I don't even look at him. I need cold water first. And yeah, I'm basically bracing for impact. Because he's definitely going to rip into me. And honestly? He should.
He didn't see what I saw.
He didn't hear what was said about him.
He doesn't know about the disgusting shit that pushed me over the edge.
All he saw was me losing my fucking mind, fighting like an animal in the middle of a party for no reason he understands.
So yeah. I deserve the yelling. The disappointed look.
The "what the hell is wrong with you, Gio?" speech. I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face. Rava paces near the wall, arms folded, hair messy from the wind, still furious.
He spins around. "You gonna talk now?"
"No."
He laughs bitterly. "Of course not. Because God forbid Gio fucking explains himself."
"I don't owe you a goddamn explanation."
"You don't?" he snaps. "You dragged me out of there like a maniac, started a goddamn brawl, and I don't even get to know why?!"
I step closer. "You don't want to know why."
"Try me."
He asks for the truth, and it's so fucking fair of him to ask, but literally, how the hell am I supposed to give him the truth?