Omerta- Book I (Winner of the 2015 People's Choice Award)

Chapter 39: Taste

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          Despite his intoxication level, getting Ferro up a grand staircase wasn't too bad, and the fact that he now had pants on made the situation easier. Sure, he kept stumbling over himself and stopping to stare at different paintings on the wall, but all in all, he was still listening to us. Luckily, Robert had volunteered to help me bring his drunken ass up to my room.

            "Why does Ferro have to act like a four-year old when he's drunk?" I asked Robert.

            "Bitch," Ferro muttered.

           

            We came to my room and I opened up the door. Robert went in first, then me. I flicked on the lights before we lead Ferro to the bathroom. We leaned Ferro against the counter, and Robert went to go find Ferro some clothes in his room.

           

            "Are you going to throw up?" I asked Ferro. In the bright light, my eyes were drawn to the muscles carved into his abdomen.  

            "I have to pee." Ferro pulled me towards the toilet a few steps and then walked on his own, leaning on the wall and the counter. He unzipped his pants. Paused. Turned over his shoulder. "Don't look at me."

            "I'm not, I'm not." I turned my head until I zipper go back up and the toilet flush.

            "No throw up," Ferro said. His accent thick with intoxication and his expression suddenly filled with sadness. "I shouldn't have...drunk. I shouldn't have gotten drunk. Upset. I'm sorry."

            "You're not allowed to apologize anymore," I said, looking away from him. "It's meaningless. You could have killed yourself tonight. Why would you drink this much, when you're upset?"

           

            Ferro stared at my lips. "You. Me. I fücked up."

            "Yeah, well, you did. You lied to me." I pointed to the sink. "Now wash your hands, you just touched your dîck."

            Ferro obeyed. He pumped out some soap into his hands and washed those fingers as if he was a doctor coming out of a messy surgery. "I don't work...Todd," he suddenly said, still scrubbing his hands. "Fake. I work Fico."

            I turned the sink off for him and swallowed down a lump in my throat. Was he telling the truth? Didn't the truth tend to come out when a person was drunk?

            "I don't understand." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Are you saying that you don't work for Todd? That you're faking it? Does that mean you aren't going to kill Fico?"

            Ferro's eyes glossed over. "You're pretty."