American Bad Blood: City of the Dead

Black Magic

"M."

Please tell me I'm dreaming this.

"Sssppptt. M."

I swear to God-

"Taaaloofaaa...M...."

I feel someone nudge me on my shoulder. I react by nestling deeper in the bed, bringing the blankets closer to my chin. I can feel another nudge, followed by a gentle tap on my head. I mumble irritably as a response.

"M..."

Seriously?

"Boop."

Did Death himself, harbinger of darkness, epitome of evil and spawn of Destruction himself, really boop my nose?

"Boop."

Yep, he did.

"M baby, wake up." Oti nudges at my shoulder, shaking me a little bit harder so I have to react to it. I grumble out a slow "What" before popping open one eye at a time. My vision is blurry at first but slowly Oti's figure comes into clear view. He's dressed in his black"Salem Est. 1626 Massachusetts" hometown graphic t shirt paired with all black PUMA jogger leggings and his matching PUMA tennis shoes. He cocks his head slightly to the left, giving me a haunting yet sweet smile. Oti was usually a walking example of a panther-lurking yet ready to pounce-but today he looked like a sweet little kitten.

"Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty. Get dressed. I want to grab some McDonalds for breakfast."

"And you couldn't just buy it and bring it back here?" I groan with annoyance lingering in my tone. I try nestling back into the bed by hooking my arm under the satin black pillow but Oti slaps my ass and snickers. "Nope. Let's get out of the house for a bit. Come on. Let's go."

I turn my head towards the alarm clock. Are you kidding me? "Oti, it's six thirty in the morning." Does he not realize I'm not Senorita Perfecta? She loves to wake up at this un-godly hour. Not me. I rather sleep in until ten o clock if I could.

"Early bird catches the worm, Lo'u Olaga." He yanks the blankets off me, making me jump. "Let's go, little lady. Time to start the day."

"That McDonald's better be fucking worth it." I gripe while hooking my legs over the bed to sit up. I look over at Anubis, who is laying like the prince he is on his side on his black fluffy dog bed by the master bedroom's large bay window. Our eyes meet, and even he, Anubis himself, a dog, gives me a look as if he's bothered by Oti's early morning intrusion.
I feel you, bud.
I continue to gripe and grumble as I'm climbing out of bed. I listen as Oti jogs down the third flight of stairs, whistling then calling out to me, "Ten minutes, M!"
Ten minutes? To what? Get dressed? He's full of shit.
I growl under my breath. I pull out a pair of black yoga leggings with flare trim from my drawer of the dresser, then rummaged through the second drawer to pull out a shirt. I grunt, opting for a "It's just a bunch of Hocus Pocus" shirt I diy-ed into a cropped one, allowing my belly button to show.
Like a zombie, I groan and drag myself to the master bathroom, not even giving two fucks to even get ready. Oti comes dancing back into the room snapping his fingers moments after, no doubt checking to see if I'm ready. His early upbeat attitude is rubbing me the wrong way; don't get me wrong, I love my husband but right now, I want to chuck a pillow at his face.
"See? Now was that hard?" Oti says to me as we're getting into the truck, Oti flashing an annoying yet sexy smirk I desperately want to wipe off his smug face.
"Nah uh. Coffee first. Then we can talk." I grunt while buckling my seat belt. An amused chuckle escapes from under Oti's breath. "I can tell you're not a morning person, M."
"How did you reach that conclusion, Sherlock?"
"A McMuffin with a side of sarcasm. I'm a lucky guy."
The truck lurches as Oti backs out of the driveway, the sun not even shining over the horizon on this new day here in Salem. My body is still aching from helping Oti nail in new support beams for the layout for the new office. My calves hurt, my triceps were killing me and my head is still heavy in weight  from all the crying I did yesterday. I rub my eyes while letting out a yawn, Oti tapping his fingers to the beat of the music playing softly through the radio of the pickup.
He stops by a nearby McDonalds, orders two McMuffins, side orders of hashbrowns, two coffees and a order of McDonalds hotcakes for us to split. The aroma of the food immediately swirls around in the cabin of the pickup, Oti thanking the attendant after paying for everything. He tucks his American Express card linked to the Dou account into his back pocket of his jogger leggings, then grips the gear shift of the truck to drag it down to "drive".
"In better spirits?" Oti grins as I sip on my coffee. I blow on it before placing my lips on the brim of the cup.
"No talking. Still sleepy." I answer zombie like.
"Well I'm starvin marvin. This looks like a good place to stop and eat."
That "good place" was none other than Broad Street Cemetery. Old IronSide jerks when Oti stops the truck into park, the pickup parked right outside of the cemetery's perimeter.
"Breakfast with the dead. Hmm." I sip on my coffee while Oti rummages through the McDonalds bags to fish out his McMuffin, his specially made with extra bacon and sausage. He unravels the packaging around the McMuffin, then with one giant chomp, almost half of the sandwich is gone.
"It's called eating your food, not inhaling it." I giggle. I unwrap my McMuffin to pick at it, pulling off a piece of the sausage to pop into my mouth. Oti takes a swing of his coffee, watching as a couple walks across the street. We sit in utter silence, eating, slurping, sighing until Oti is the one to speak again first.
"You know, I envy you, Muerte." He says, his words taking me by surprise. I whip my head towards him, my mouth mid chewing on a hashbrown stick.
"What? Envy me? Por que?"
Oti pops a hashbrown stick into his mouth, chomping on it before shrugging. "You're so empathetic with the dead. You mourn for them. You cry for them. Hell, you feel in general." He turns his head over to look at me, his obsidian eyes meeting mine. "And I just...stand there...emotionless."
My eyes blink a couple of times before I answer. "Ti, you're not emotionless. You care for the deceased. I've seen you."
"Well yeah because you taught me how, but I still don't feel anything, Muerte. I watch you cry as you're mourning them. I watch how you can connect with that person without even knowing who they are or even if you weren't part of their lives. I'm just the asshole standing there not even feeling not one single emotion. I may say I'm sad but I don't feel it. I want to mourn the deceased but I can't."
"You mourned your mother, Ti. Don't tell me you didn't."
"Muerte, her death was the only death that I came close to mourning in general." Oti sighs deeply. He frumps back into the seat, while his fingers fiddled with the wrapping paper of the McMuffin. "My Father forced me to rid of any emotion when I became Death for him. He had Matteo rip out any trace of emotion within me so I would be numb when it came to killing. And you know what? It worked. I killed without any thought or emotion. Angelo saw it as a strength. If he only knew it became my weakness."
I chew on the inside of my cheek before letting out a soft breathy laugh through my nose. "Funny, I always envied you because of that."
Oti's eyes become fixated on me. "Envy me? Of being emotionless? Why, Muerte? It's not a good feeling to have."
"No but you're capable of doing the gruesome part of being Death, Oti. I can't. While you may have no emotion, I have too much. I pity the deceased and I'm not supposed too."
Oti leans back further into the seat, placing an arm out across the bench seat of the pick up. He takes a sip of his coffee, then lets out a satisfied sigh. "I think you have just the right amount of emotions, Muerte. I would give anything to feel like that. Believe me when I say it's not puppies and kittens to be on autopilot. The only thing, perhaps, I feel is just emptiness. A void within me."
"That's not true-you feel love."
"I had to re-learn to love. For a lot of reasons."
Yeah-one of them being the impending doom that was our relationship cracking at the seams.
I sigh again. "I don't see you as being an emotionless asshole. I think of it as having thick skin."
Oti let's out what I assume is a mixture of a grunt and a snort. "Thick skin. Oh sure. This thick skin has caused me to become a hollow shell of a man, Muerte. I can see what unfolds before me but I can't react. I want to mourn for the dead-instead I just nod, accept their fate then move on."
"Meanwhile I'm crying my eyes out. Believe me-you're not missing much. I hardly doubt you want puffy eyes from all the crying." I take a bite of what was left of my McMuffin. Meanwhile Oti has already eaten into his portion of the shared hotcakes.
"I like your puffy eyes." He muses gingerly. Softie Oti was apparently making more appearances lately.
"My ass. I look hideous afterwards."
A low timbre laugh escapes from Oti's mouth. He pokes at the final piece of his hotcake before handing the plastic plate over to me. I take it, then dig into my portion. "Puffy eyes or not. I give anything to be somewhat empathetic."
"Maybe I like you all broody and shit." I purr seductively. I rake my fibers into his thicker goatee hairs and wooly, wrangled jawline beard hair. "You're perfect to me, my love."
"Huh-I need to buy you McDonalds more often." Oti smirks. He laughs when I smack him playfully on his arm. I glare at him but only in a teasing manner. I stab my plastic fork into my hotcake, cutting off a piece.
"Don't flatter yourself, hotshot."