The Sinners We Love |18+

[22] old rose

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MASSAAA WHAT'S UP MASSAAA 🙌

It was violent.

The furniture made a rattling sound on the mosaic as I swept the rear end to remove the cluster of cobwebs that had designed the area. Sniffing my nose, I brought the piece of napkin out and a nest of webs came with it. There were a few baby insects and closing my nose I sprinted towards my door.

I opened the door, walking out, unfolded the cotton napkin and set it on the ground for the insects to walk away. "You are not invited to my home. Please see some other place." They scattered in search of another home and I sighed giving the napkin a harsh whip before walking inside.

The study table was in dire need of cleaning. Removing a pile of books, I set them on a chair, cleaning the rest of the mess. Useless papers, pens that had run out of ink a long time ago, worn out brushes, empty color tubes, cut-outs — I threw everything on the floor, reasoning to myself that I would clean the floor later.

A familiar tone blared and I strode to the living room to check my phone. The displayed contact illuminating the screen was unsettling. Michael was calling.

Debating if should receive it or not, I swiped and put it near my ear. Words flew— a little angrier this time but Michael was always clever enough to tone it down. Every answer I gave did not seem to satiate him.

"I tried, alright? What was I supposed to do? Fuck him after he had removed himself?" Agitation swirled in me with a heavy feeling. From the call and the fact that the man had removed himself. Why did he? He was so primal whenever it became physical so now, why?

"You sure he didn't reciprocate?" Michael asked, as if to confirm.

"Yes," I repeated to convince. "Listen, please keep me out of this. He isn't really interested in me anyway." I sighed, this had been going on for a long time now. I knew my request would be turned down but I could try. "Please, just stop."

"Don't worry, Charlotte." I bit my lip in anticipation, taking scardy steps towards my bedroom. Opening my wardrobe I took a polythene bag out, filled with custom designs and newspaper cut-outs. I shuffled and placed them on the now clean table before rummaging through the items— two stapled pages that had poisoned my mind caught my attention.

"We just need to buy some time." He said, sighing and on the verge of defeat. "We'll get to the bottom this time."

I looked down, observing the rough calloused handwritings and the red circled keywords. I told Michael what I had been telling him for the last months. Because if all of these were true: "I don't think you stand a chance." 

I cut the call in a haste. Sweat and fear beading my body.

The doorbell went off twice and my body jerked breaking sudden tension. I gathered all the papers and put them back into the thin bag. Emma wasn't supposed to be home tonight. I strutted towards the wardrobe with a new-found hurry, opening it to keep the file and dumped some clothes over it. Somehow, it didn't feel enough. So, I took a red scarf hanging, rolled it, and bunched it over the already covered spot.

The wardrobe close shut and I went to open the door. Every step I took was mirrored by the firing of my neurons on the left side of my head. I was going to have a headache soon. I clicked the locks and pulled open the door, a little, to form a creak so that I could see the outside. How many times did we forget to install an eyehole?

The last neuron fired, clogging the oxygen flow in my veins and I felt a pound in my head. "What are you doing here?"

My fingers wrapped around the thick edge of the wooden door, fearful eyes traveling down his shirt with three buttons open. Disheveled. Slightly out of character. It seemed Luca had torn his fingers through his hair several times.