𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 ✓

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

RopeBurn

"You want me to be yours
well then you gotta be mine
And if you want a good girl,
then goodbye"

Elvira
↽———⋆♥︎⋆———⇁

     The scent of strong cologne traveled up my nostrils, awakening me out of my drunken slumber. The strength of the smell worsened the hungover headache that pounded against my head.

To my surprise Marco laid beneath me. It wasn't typical for him to stay with me overnight. Usually the bed was empty when I awoke, at least it had been the last few days I had spent in his bed. "How are you feeling?" He spoke carefully, as if I was some fragile piece of glass he was scared he'd drop.

"Like i broke into an Italian mafia bosses alcohol cabinet and nearly died from alcohol poisoning." When his hand moved into my hair I flinched, a natural reaction to someone who tried to drown me a few nights ago.

A low chuckle emitted from his throat, his entire chest vibrated. "You've always been so naughty, Elvira." Fingers moved from the ends of my hair to my scalp, massaging the damp surface. "I didn't take you for an alcoholic. Had I known I would have hid the alcohol better." It was either a joke or a serious remark. Either way I wasn't entirely sure.

"I'm no alcoholic Marco, I'm just really good at drinking." His nails scratched at my scalp, if I were a dog surely my leg would be bouncing up and down.

"I'm afraid that is what an alcoholic is, my dear." A groan escaped my lips, but I stayed put. It would be foolish for me to give up such a nice head scratch. It reminded me of how my mother used to play with my hair when I was small enough to lay on her chest. "Do you really hate it here?" The tone quickly fell from playful to something much more doleful.

Hesitation creeped into my unready response. Had I told him something last night? The last thing I could remember was opening the second bottle, the rest of my memories were oblique. "Most women would love this Marco, sure. If we had met like normal people, if you didn't try to bloody kill me? Maybe things would be a bit different between us." Choosing my words carefully was something that had to be done. One wrong move on the chess board and I'd be history.

   "You're avoiding the real question I asked you. Whether or not you hold feelings for me isn't the issue I have, after all your much more forthcoming about your feelings when you're drunk." Ah hell.

"I want to go home." Admitting something I had expressed to him countless times seemed pointless now. "This place is a normal girls dream, but I've never cared for luxuries to this extent. I want my old job back. I miss working with bones who can't talk back or get me shot. My mother is worried sick, my Abuela has maybe another year before she passes. My nephew needs a mother figure and lord knows Julio isn't fit to raise him alone." When his hand moved to my back I stopped talking, fear creeping in.

     Much to my surprise he only rubbed his hand against my lower back in back and forth motions. Was this his attempt to comfort me? Perhaps Marco wasn't able to comfort someone, I suppose being raised by a mafia leader does things like that to you. "If you went home, if I allowed it.. would you be happy?" What sort of question was that?

     I'd be more than happy about going home. Shit I'd do fucking cartwheels if he'd allow me to go home. "You're letting me go?" Excitement bubbled from within.