thirty-two #2
I never knew time could feel so tangible, as if it were breathing and living in this bedroom with us. It’s like a monster breathing down my neck, each exhale representing a second, and it gets closer with each minute that passes, threatening to swallow us alive.
“We should…” Leo starts, his words cracking in his throat.
He clears it, and I want to beg him not to say it.
I want to beg him to stay, and maybe we can break the clock.
Unfortunately, breaking a clock doesn't stop time.
Nothing will, so we will have to let it swallow us and hope we survive something so unforgiving.
I look up at Leo, finding his eyes shiny with unshed tears. I bite my lip, trying not to cry. The paint on Leo’s chest is water-soluble, and I don't want to ruin it even more with something as useless as my tears.
“Callisto. We should… Umm… we should go,” Leo finally says, and the sentence feels like it punches me in the gut.
I know we should, but I don't want to. I want to scream and cry and throw a fit.
I want to stomp my foot and tell time to fuck off, but I can’t.
It won’t work. This is inevitable, and there is nothing I can do about it.
It’s frustrating, and I bite my lip to keep my tears at bay. I want to burn the world for this.
“Yeah. I know,” I settle on saying, not having anything to add. Leo is as devastated as I am. Tears well in his eyes, and his body trembles with ragged breaths, struggling as hard as I am to hold his anguish in.
We don’t have time for tears, though. We’ve run out of it. We don’t even have time for showers, but that’s okay because I refuse to wash this moment away. Not yet. So, I slowly get off the bed, Leo following suit. We leave the painting and supplies in the room, going to his.
We don’t speak as we get ready, neither of us seeming to know what to say.
I reach into my Gucci bag, deciding to wear something of my own to the final show.
I pull out a pair of dark bluish-gray high-waisted bell-bottom pants, a dark bluish-gray sparkly shirt, and dark bluish-gray suspenders.
Each item matches Leo’s eyes. I remember purchasing them.
I had no idea why I liked the shade so much, but it ended up being a color that changed my life.
“Suspenders? Really?” Leo asks with a sly smile when I turn to face him.
I only button up the shirt halfway, leaving my chest exposed.
Leo has chosen a pair of black tight-fitting jeans and a black hoodie.
He pushes his arms through a green coat as he speaks.
I am sad to see my painting covered, but it helps to know that it is still there, beneath the clothes.
“They're fashionable!” I defend.
“They’re tragic,” Leo responds with a laugh. I pout, so Leo walks up to me, pushing his fingers under one of the straps. He grasps it, pulling me down into a soft kiss. He doesn't say anything, giving me a sad smile then walking out of the room.
I follow him out of the house, the cold night air a direct contrast to the warmth I had felt buried in Leo’s heat. We get into Leo’s car, and I am surprised when Leo doesn’t blindfold me. I don't say anything though, the moment feeling too fragile for words.
The drive to headquarters is dark and quiet, both of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts.
The air in the car is heavy, no music playing from the radio to lighten the mood.
The only thing that gives me a sense of comfort is the fact that Leo’s hand is entwined with my own, squeezing every few minutes.
It seems we have brought the monster that is time with us, and its presence is taking up every available inch of space, making it hard to move. How could something so fleeting be so imposing?
“Are you ready?” Leo asks, putting the car into park, breaking me out of my thoughts. Our surroundings come back into focus, and I immediately recognize it as the original warehouse I was brought to with Nico, the salty smell of the ocean all around us. I take a deep breath.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say, trying to smile and put some confidence in my tone. I know I fall short on both counts. Leo grabs his pendant, kisses it, and tucks it into the collar of his shirt.
He looks over at me, his eyes mirroring my own desperate hunger to kiss him.
I lean in, but Leo shakes his head, looking around us as if to say that we are being watched.
I try not to feel disappointed. If I knew that the kiss in the bedroom would be the last shared between us, then I would have made it last longer.
That’s the thing though; it would have eventually ended either way.
Everything does. It would have been our last regardless.
“I know it’ll be hard but just try to stay calm. Let me do most of the talking. I promise that the bomb won’t go off. You’ll survive this, Callisto. I swear to you. You will survive,” Leo tells me, his eyes wide and honest.
I bite my lip, silently making the same promise to him.
I can’t say it out loud. Leo will argue, and I don't want him to.
He is worth saving whether he wants to believe it or not.
He offers one last small smile before he releases my hand, opening the car door. I take a deep breath, doing the same.
I walk alongside Leo, down a long hallway, then another and another.
By the time we reach the door Leo is looking for, we have walked through a maze.
Leo is silent as he firmly knocks twice.
I try to tamp down the anxiety that has taken over my limbs, making them shake with trepidation.
The door opens, and Leo grabs my elbow firmly, walking in.
I look around; we are surrounded by men. I don't recognize any of them, and something in my mind screams at me to run. I can't, though. I had the opportunity dozens of times. I made my choice. That choice is standing beside me.
“Leo. Ah, yes. I was afraid you weren’t going to come. You’re almost late,” a man behind the desk says.
This man has to be the one and only Peadar Delaney.
He’s not at all what I imagined with his dark hair and long pointed nose.
He is about the age of my father, but he’s had quite a bit of plastic surgery, not wanting time to take its toll on his skin.
His voice is nasally, grating on my nerves until I’m sick.
I don't even want to look at this evil man.
“I apologize, sir. Forgive me for asking. I could be remembering wrong, but I thought it was just going to be us on this mission,” Leo says, and I can’t even hear a hint of nervousness in his tone.
His voice doesn’t even reflect the surprise the words obviously hold.
He looks every bit the strong and powerful mafia boss he is.
“I thought we may need some back up,” Peadar responds, and Leo’s brows very subtly draw together, confused. He recovers quickly, nodding his head.
As Peadar relays the plan, I can't bring myself to pay attention to it because they’re strapping a bomb to my body. I try to stay calm, try to keep my breathing regular, but panic is gripping my throat.
I wish Leo could hold my hand. I wish I didn't have to do this, but I must. Leo is doing a good job at playing the dutiful employee, glancing in my direction every so often. But his concern is etched in his gray diamond eyes.
I can tell Leo is itching to come to me, but he stays rooted to the spot, listening to Peadar explain how they are going to get in.
Everything is happening so quickly, my head spins.
One moment Peadar is talking, and the next, I am being escorted out of the room by a group of large, angry men with a live bomb strapped to my chest, the detonation device held in Peadar’s hand.
I’m pushed roughly into a van, Leo following me in.
I try to calm my breathing by focusing on Leo's comforting presence beside me, but it’s difficult.
I’m not even in the moment. I’m not even living in my body.
It’s doing what it has to do to survive.
Leo grips my hand under the cover of darkness, the feeling of warmth enveloping me for a split second before it’s gone, replaced by cold dread.
Everything is both moving in slow motion and going far too fast for me to process.
We arrive at my parents’ house, the tall, black gate closed in front of us.
Leo holds a gun to my head threateningly, showing the guard at the gate who I am.
The gate opens instantly. I don't feel scared with the barrel of a gun pressed to my temple.
Not this time. This time I know Leo would never hurt me.
The bomb on the other hand, that scares me to my core. One small movement from Peadar, and I die. My only solace is the fact that I would take Peadar with me. I have never wished death on someone, but at this moment, I do. I wish Peadar would die.
The next moment, I am being pulled from the van by Leo, who still holds a gun to my head. The guards at the front let us in, keeping their hands held up at Peadar’s command.
They ask for directions to the study, and I answer. I don't know how. I didn’t tell my brain to speak, but I’m still on autopilot, my brain and body functioning without commands. We walk through the study door. My father chose this particular room because it has a view of the ocean.
My father looks surprised when we walk in, his brown eyes widening as he holds a bottle of brandy. Recognition dawns on him when he sees me, his brows briefly creasing in confusion. He then looks at the men I am accompanied by, and for some reason, he doesn't look surprised one bit.
He looks tired, the skin on his jaw sagging with time and stress. I haven't seen my father in a few years, but he has aged a decade in that time. He doesn’t lift his hands, even though Peadar has a gun pointed at him. He doesn’t look at all affected.
“Dad,” I say, but another name, coated in a familiar, deep, gravelly voice, harmonizes with mine. I freeze at the familiar name, looking at the man who uttered it. It’s Leo. Leo is staring at my dad, his mouth open in shock. He has to be wrong, though. This is my dad, Giuseppe Santos. Not… not…
“Altieri.” Leo says again, and the name punches me in the face.