Scorched

4

Cleos blood is sizzling through her body, her head is buzzing from the effects from the opiates. She has never felt so buoyant and fulfilled, she couldn't even feel her fingers and toes. It felt as if all her predicaments and problems were turned to ash whenever she relished  weeds.

She arches her back from where she was laying lateral across Jezio's futon her head nearly dropping over the edge; to rid of the tight knots she is feeling in her back. Her hooded shirt and boots are discarded on the floor —the first thing she rid of when she got into Jezios room. Her vest clung to her torso because of how soaked her body became from the sweat. It clung to her breasts like it was second skin, and she never missed the way Jezio was eyeing them, hunger overtook his gaze.

Cleo rolls her head and faces Jezio to where he is rolling more blunts of the opium she bought. She follows his expert slender fingers rolling the paper filled with weeds. Oh, but he has beautiful hands. She can't get enough of them.

Jezio sits on the floor before the low table in front of his futon, a small oak dresser sits in the corner of his rather cramped room, and an unlit hearth is stationed opposite the dresser in the other corner of the room. A minuscule room for a jester and thief. It seems ironic to Cleo — she refrains from laughing out loud; one would think that Jezio would of made tons of coin from the way he plunders goods all around the Market. Yet currently in his room he had nothing but the basics.

"Why are you smiling?" Jezio looks up at her curiosily. He has made a messy bun sitting at the nape of his neck. She could see the perspiration caused some strands to cling to his face. Her bangs clung to her forehead as well, so she flipped it up feeling utter relieve from having those heavy bangs awry from her.

"No reason... I was just thinking about your hands." She flips to her side and props herself up on her one hand facing him.

He eyes her chest again, and continues his work swallowing hard, "My hands aye?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you tell me about your hands?" He gives her a grin.

Cleo freezes. Has Jezio seen her hands? She is trying to think of how he saw her hands, but her mind was so corrupt she couldn't think straight.

Mira? Yes there was a Mira.

She told Jezio about Mira, that was why she so tardy. She told him about how she glanced at her so furtively. But she remembers. She never told Jezio about what she did to the old man. So -

"Cleo?" His eyes are big, pupils very dilated, "Why does it look like you've been caught by a guard?"

She suddenly feels chilly and Cleo never feels chilly, "I just feel hungry again." She lies and walks towards the chest of drawers where the bread, pastries and cakes were waiting for Cleo to devour them whole. In her most humble opinion there was nothing better than a meal.

She hears Jezio rise up, "Cleo... What is wrong?" He takes Cleo by the shoulders and turns her around  so that she faces him.

"Is it that Mira girl? I can-"

Cleo hits his hand hard, a scowl crossing her face, "You will not under any circumstances hurt or talk to her. You don't  even know her."

"Well, I wasn't exactly suggesting hurting her, but I could cajole her into leaving you be." He caresses his hand from where she hit him.

"No." She snaps.

Jezio sighs and goes back to his work station, "Don't go into Grasels place again. You never know what they're up to. And if they are, it's up to no good."