36. The little plastic piece
THIRTY-SIX
THE LITTLE PLASTIC PIECE
Lake
After I listened in on a conversation I’d rather not have heard, I clung to Leo for the rest of the day. The boy and I played chess until Alessio returned to the suite for dinner. I was unable to hide my distress.
When Alessio asked what was wrong with me, I told him I should get my period soon, which is true. At least I hope I get my period, given that Alessio and I haven’t used a condom. I trust we’re both clean, and I’m on birth control, but I missed a few doses this month. Not intentionally. I’m preoccupied with survival, is all.
Neither of us has brought up condoms, even though I’m sure he’s aware I could get pregnant. I should probably tell him I missed my dosages, but in the heat of the moment, I forgot. I also have so much on my mind, I feel like I’m about to combust.
I wrestle with my conscience. My heart demands I do everything I can for Prescott and Leo, and my family, because none of us ever wanted anything to do with world war or world domination or world affairs in general.
Unlike Alessio, we’re ordinary people who live ordinary lives, and that’s how we like it. Sadly, no amount of reasoning changes the fact that I must take whatever chance I can to deliver the plastic piece the sadist and company (because it’s an entire organization) want and get out of this mess. I’m not like them, or Alessio, for that matter, and I can’t handle this situation on a day-to-day basis.
The pressure they apply will crack me, and then I’ll be useless to Prescott.
Alessio is with Leo for the evening. I told him to give me some privacy while I call my little brother, who gets out of school at two twenty in the afternoon. I wait until two thirty Louisville time and lock the bedroom door before turning on the dim closet light and going inside.
I close the closet door and look up. I can see the golden gun.
My hand shakes as I stretch my arm up and rise on my toes to reach the gun. I grab the base of the grip with two fingers and tug gently. It doesn’t move. I tug harder, and the holster, along with both guns, topples over my head.
Defensively, I raise my arms, and the butt of one gun bounces off my elbow and bangs against the closet door before finally hitting the floor.
If it had gone off, I might have died. See? I’m not made for this.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I stare at the wall, listening for Alessio’s footsteps. If that man heard the noise and thinks I’m hurt, no lock will stop him from barging in here, I’m certain of it.
Luckily for me, Alessio’s across the suite with Leo.
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding.
Got lucky this time. I can’t let it happen again. Can’t bang and make noise so that Alessio’s forced to check in on me.
I wipe the cold sweat from my brow and sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the holster. Carefully, I pop one of the holster’s straps and then, pinching the gun between two fingers like it’ll bite me, I withdraw it and rest it on my lap.
From my pocket, I take out the screwdriver and set it in front me. But before I get started, I pull out my phone. I look around for something to prop the phone up with. On my left, I spot a small pocket on the back of Alessio’s suitcase. I roll the suitcase in front of me, then slide the phone into the pocket. I dial my aunt.
Prescott picks up the video call.
“Hey.” I swallow a rock in my throat, but my eyes tear up anyway.
“Hey, Lake.” His brown eyes widen as he holds up a painting. “Look at my impression of the fall.” It’s a Picasso-like splattering of red and brown paint on a small, rectangular canvas.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I’m keeping it for your collection. Oh, hey, did you hear Uncle J fell down the steps?”
“Yeah.”
My little brother goes on. “We’re on our way to see him now and have dinner with him. We don’t know if he wants burgers or chicken, ’cause he’s not answering.”
I’m not sure what my aunt told Prescott about my uncle. “He’s probably sleeping.”
Prescott bites his lip “Uncle J always said he needs to fix the middle step. Remember?”
No. “Yeah, I remember.”
“But some people don’t listen until they get hurt.”
“Amen, Pres. Amen,” my aunt says.
I fit the screwdriver into the screw and turn. “Tell me about your teachers. Tell me about your friends. Are people nice to you? They better be nice to you.”
“Everyone is nice. Well, not Laney. She makes fun of my backpack.” Prescott tells me about the school and friends and activities he wants to get involved with.
I work the grip of the gun and manage to remove it. Taped to the inside is a plastic piece about the size of my fingernail. I peel it away and start to screw the grip back on.
“I miss you, Lake,” Prescott says.
“Almost done, Prescott.” I keep screwing the bottom while tears drip down my face. I can’t look up, or he’ll see how upset I am. “I’m almost done here, and then I’ll be back and everything will be okay.” Once I’ve got the gun back together, I put it aside and wipe my face.
“Lake, are you crying?” Prescott asks.
“I’m sure she misses you,” my aunt explains.
I lean my head against the wall behind me. “I miss you, is all.”
Prescott looks at me intently. “When do you think you’ll be back?”
I sniff, look at the camera, and manage a small smile. “Sooner than I thought I would.” I just have to give them this piece of plastic, and I’ll be done with them, done with all this. “I mean…” I run a hand through my hair. “I’ll be home soon. It’s all going to be okay. You’ll be okay. I promise.” I bring the screen to my lips and kiss it. “You’re perfect, and I love you so much.”
“Love you too, Lake.”
“Tell Uncle J I said hi.”
Prescott nods and waves. “Bye, Lake.”
“Bye.” I hang up and take a few minutes to feel sorry for myself before slipping the piece of plastic I stole into my pocket. I have no idea how I’ll get it to the sadists, or how I’ll handle the burn in my pocket until I do, but I will because Prescott must survive this. He’ll have a nice normal life and grow old, and if he wants kids, he’ll have kids, and they’ll have kids, and so on and so forth.
Tragedy already hit my family once when my parents died. It can’t hit again. We’re good people doing our best when met with terrible people and a streak of bad luck. We all just have to make the best of what we have and not hurt others in the process.
I rise from my position on the floor and slide the gun back into the holster. I struggle to put the holster back, but manage after standing on the suitcase. Once that’s done, I face the closet doors, hesitating because I don’t want to face Alessio. But I must.
I step out and unlock the bedroom door. I move toward the exit, wondering what excuse I could use to leave the apartment, when Alessio walks out of Leo’s bedroom. He’s wearing black slacks, polished leather shoes, and a wrinkled shirt that’s been wet all day. His hair is slightly mussed, and he smiles fondly at me.
“The puddle hopping exhausted him,” Alessio says as he advances toward me.
I retreat into the bedroom.
A glint in his eye tells me he likes that, and now he prowls with purpose. When he reaches me, he sweeps up my T-shirt and closes the door with his leg. He throws my shirt on the floor, then reaches behind me and unsnaps my bra. Bending, he kisses my neck. “Are you tired?”
He tugs down my pants, and I step out of them. He smacks my bottom, then squeezes it. “This ass is mine. Say it’s mine.”
“It’s yours, Alessio.”
“Good. I asked you a question.” He smacks my bottom again, then steps back to remove his shirt and take off his shoes.
“I’m a little tired.” Mentally, not physically. I have a lot on my mind.
“We’re going to bed early tonight.” He’s nude now. He pulls the waistband of my panties and releases it on the way to the bathroom. The waistband stings my skin.
“Off with those,” he says from the bathroom. “You need a shower, a proper fucking, and a nice cuddle.” The shower water hits the tile.
I’m not sure why I can’t have this man all to myself without any complications. I look up at the ceiling. “Why not?”
“Lake, get over here.”