25 #2
Rome: "Rafe, wtf??"
"I'm sorry...I guess I needed to talk."
Rome: "Fuck Rafe..."
Rome: "...not like this."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
Rome: "Idk..."
"I need you. Seriously, mate, I’m losing my mind. I just need to talk, ok? Please, Rome..."
No response.
“Please, baby.”
“Rome?”
“You coming out?"
Rome: "Yeah, give me a sec."
"Alright."
Rome: "Lay low, ok?"
"Ok."
There was no word, no movement, no emergence for over half an hour, then suddenly the gate opened and echoed throughout the street.
A sleek Rosello Red Range Rover slipped from within the driveway and zoomed down the road out of sight.
It was her. She hadn't spotted me, thank God.
Her taillights zoomed ahead, vanishing down a decline in the road—
I nearly pissed myself when his knuckles rattled the window beside me. I rolled the window down and he leaned over the door frame, brow furrowed.
"Mornin'," he said, wryly, looking me square in the eye.
“Mornin’…” I drawled, unsure of what to make of his mood.
He glanced around the car, likely trying to determine what my intentions were. I was certain he was pissed at me for showing up unannounced, but a part of him found me so pathetic he couldn't bring himself to express it. I was his new stray cat.
"Lovely weather," I muttered, unable to suppress a grin.
"What're you laughin’ at, huh?" he said, with thinly veiled annoyance. I shrugged and kept on grinning. "You're way early.”
"Yeah, about that…"
"What's up? You wasted or somethin’?"
"No, I wanted to talk."
"About what?"
"Everything," I spat, incredulous he would even ask. "We need to talk about everything, mate. You don't get to kiss me like that, then tell me to keep away. It’s not fair, Rome, and you know it. I’m dying here."
He hung his head, gazing away down the street to avoid meeting my eyes.
"Yeah, well..."
"Yeah, well..." I mocked him.
I was beginning to feel like a pest. I reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, and he unconsciously leaned into my touch, bending over the door panel. The simple gesture felt electric. I nearly pressed my lips to his ear.
"Can I kiss you?" I begged. He shook his head, hair falling towards me.
"Not here.” He rose to his full height. "Come on in, then."
I was out of the car in seconds, ready to stumble after him. He spotted the bottle on the floor of the passenger seat and scolded me.
"So you are wasted? What the fuck, Rafe? You’ve been drinkin’?"
"A little. Only last night."
"And drivin'?!” he shoved me. “That's just fuckin' stupid. It's not that deep."
"I didn't drive," I muttered. "I didn't have any ‘til after I got here. I swear."
He motioned for me to grab him the bottle. When I held it out, he snatched it and started away.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to snatch?"
"Shouldn't have an open bottle in the car anyway. It’ll still get you arrested, idiot."
"You’re right." I followed him up the driveway where he tossed it into a bin. "You pissed at me now?"
"No, not at all. We were gonna meet anyway."
"I could go back and come later...if that helps."
At that, he stopped and turned around.
"No, I'm not mad. Just a little surprised, is all." He looked down at our feet for a minute. "But surprises can be good, yeah?"
Inside, the aroma of hot food and coffee greeted me.
He took me into the kitchen where he'd apparently made breakfast, and sat me at the small window-side nook.
Egg whites, wheat toast, turkey bacon, and potatoes were arranged before me.
He sat and let me eat off his plate while he finished his meal.
I hadn't washed my hands like he had, so he fed me off his fork and his demeanor softened throughout the process.
He was perpetually bemused by me, even when he wanted to be annoyed.
When he handfed me a bit of bacon, I bit his finger, earning a chuckle.
Part of me was confident and wanted to test him, but the other part of me remained frantic and uncentered.
Who even was I right now? Who was he? Who was this man who’d disabused me of all notions of self-respect?
By every measure I was still me—lighthearted, coquettish, prepossessing.
But he had rendered me a bumbling, guileless freak unworthy of his company.
He studied me a while, and I lifted my eyebrows inquiringly. Did he like what he was seeing? Doubt it. My shirt was wrinkled. My hair was a mess, the low bun nearly undone. Each time he looked at it with that tiny, bemused smirk, I ducked my head and smoothed it down as best I could.
“You’re daft, mate,” he whispered, brushing a loose strand behind my ear.
“For you…”
He looked away and chewed his lip. He was surprisingly at ease for how early it was.
8AM. He despised mornings and only ever rose early on business.
I surmised he was only up now because he'd chosen to make her breakfast. It was rare that he cooked for me in the past, because we were always cooped up in hotels and deprived of a proper kitchen, but whenever we were home and had to be up early to separate, he made it a point to send me away on a full stomach.