The Creation of the List
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"Son of a man, set thy face against the Ammonites, and prophesy against them."
Ezekiel (25:2)
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"What?" I asked, my voice quiet. "Who? Was it Roberto?"
BRO– imagine. I couldn't. What if it was? Would Vincent even be around her? Not because of me but because of my dad. Did my dad's friendship with Vincent mean something? If it was Roberto, would Vincent keep Donna around when he was friends with my dad?
Were my thoughts making sense? I felt like my mind was working too quickly.
"I'm not talking about it anymore. Talk to Vincent, tell him about what you think you're going to do. Talk to me then. He's not going to like what you say," Dante reminded me as he stood up.
"No, please," I begged. "I won't say anything to him!" I tried to persuade him. I definitely wanted to talk to Vincent about it though but it'd be majorly insensitive if I did. If someone asked me who Conor cheated on me with, I'd sock them in their face.
He patted my shoulder. "He'll be back here tonight to see you and sleep. I'd wait until the morning to tell him of your thoughts."
"He's sleeping with me?" I asked. When did this become official? He never asked if he could sleep in my bed. What was he going to do? Just crawl in my bed when I'm asleep and scare me half to death?
Dante shrugged as he walked to the door. "Not carnally. He'll probably sleep on the sofa or something depending on the time and how you feel. I got to go. Take care of yourself– in fact. . . ." Dante walked back over to me, rather, to my nightstand. He picked up my gun and put it in the waistband of his pants. "I'll give this to you after I talk to Vincent."
"But–"
"Focus on yourself," Dante corrected, cutting me off. "If you need me to call a therapist, let me know," he added.
"That's my gun, Dante," I called. I wanted it back.
"You talk to him, he talks to me, you'll get this back," Dante explained and made his way to my door.
"Wait, why?" I called from my position on my bed. "My dad got me that. . . ." I didn't want anyone to take something that my dad got me. No one. I was angry at him for taking it. How dare he? After our bonding moment? Seriously?
"You hurt yourself," Dante recalled. "I don't feel comfortable with you being around a gun. I'll talk to you later. Take care of yourself, Alexis."
I frowned as he closed the door. I didn't like that he mentioned hurting myself. I felt like that topic needed to be blacklisted, or redlisted, as if they were about communism during the Cold War. No one should talk about my moments. Ever. But I knew I needed to face my mistakes. Scooting off the bed, I grabbed my notebook and found a pen. I curled up on my sofa to make a list of things that I had to do.
Talk to Vincent
Hmm. . . .
What else do I add? I had so many ideas, how come they left when I needed them the most? Maybe I needed to rest? My bad dreams would fuel me! That's how I had my epiphany!
I stood up, hid my book, and crawled into bed. I quickly fell asleep under my warm covers. I woke up when my mind decided that it was time. Of course, my dreams weren't pretty. In fact, they were just as sad as beforehand.
Rolling over in bed, I started to think about my dad. I couldn't stop. I didn't know what to do to make it stop. His memory made me feel depressed. I wanted him around me. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for being the worst daughter alive. He deserved to hear an apology and he deserved to have his murder avenged.
Finally, after many somber thoughts, I pulled myself up and out of bed to go socialize with whoever was downstairs. My dad's memory and my wanting to avenge his murder made me realize that I needed to make new allies. My bond with Dante needed to be repaired. I needed to apologize to him for my behavior in the last few days. It was uncalled for. Did depressive episodes happen like that? All willy-nilly and uncalled for? Ruining bonds with people? I wouldn't know. I was unclinically depressed. A doctor would have to tell me.
I made my way downstairs. No one was in the kitchen so I started to make myself lunch. Lunch consisted of a can of cheese and broccoli soup with a side of bread. I liked the warmness of the soup. I enjoyed the subtle thickness. It made me feel a little less blue and a little more yellow.
My ears perked up when I heard a door close from my left. I leaned back to see who was coming from that area. Dante emerged, a phone glued to his ear. He glanced between me and the bowl before he grabbed a glass to fill with water. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder. Once he set the glass down, he said his goodbyes on the phone before ending it.
"Vincent will be here around three," he started. "In the morning," he clarified, although he didn't need to. It was already four in the afternoon. "Did you make that?" he asked me.
"From the can," I confirmed. I had no energy to make soup but I was touched that he thought I'd be that great of a chef. It was good to know that he had some faith in me.
"Good. . . . I know you're probably eager to talk to Vincent but I don't encourage you to speak to him when he comes back here," Dante gently explained.
"Why?" I asked. It wasn't hard to guess (he'd be tired) but I just wanted to keep the conversation going. Also, I wanted extra details. The more the merrier. I needed as much information as possible.
"He'll be out doing things that are tiring and things I don't think you should be seeing."
"What do you mean? How would I see him doing things if he's home?" I asked.
Home?
He is not yours.
"It doesn't matter," Dante dismissed. "You'll be asleep and he'll. . . ." He sighed heavily.
"Are you okay?" I asked him, concerned. What was this behavior, Dante? You couldn't be affected by everything around you, you needed to be my rock. My point of information and friendship and comedy.
"Mhm," he hummed but I didn't believe him.
No, sir.
"Dante?" I called. He looked up from his glass of water. His eyes seemed distant, and I wanted to look away but I couldn't. I didn't want to come off as weird. "I'm sorry for how I've been acting. . . ."
Dante stared at me for a while. I didn't know what to do but I felt like I shouldn't break his eye contact. He sighed and blinked. I took it as my cue to look away. I took a sip of water from my tumbler. I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt too awkward– what do I do with my hands? Am I breathing too hard? Was–
"Thank you," he acknowledged. "I know this isn't an easy time for you and you might be extremely confused. I'm sorry for that. But, Alexis, you are a beautiful girl with much to learn still, but when you whore– I'm sorry for using that term but I don't know how else to put it– when you whore yourself out, you only hurt yourself.
"There's a lot of things that you've done that I don't understand and, truthfully, I'm apprehensive to talk to you about it because I think it might trigger you. I know the teen years are hard, I get it more than the people around you probably do. But, everyone could help if you talked. Grief isn't easy."
A natural frown made its way onto my lips. I felt guilty although that might've not been his goal. Guilt would be a large part of my life though, even if I didn't realize it. I felt at fault for Dante's not understanding. I felt at fault for Donna's pregnancy. I couldn't help but imagine that if I didn't break up with Vincent then it'd never have happened.
I felt at fault for my dad's death– partly.
My dad's death was not my fault.
Yes. Yes, it was.
Despite all of that, I apologized, not knowing what to say.
"Don't apologize, kiddo. Please. Everything already happened. Just, I can only ask for you to be more open. I know that it's going to be difficult. But– when you talk to Vincent tomorrow, he's going to ask you about everything, again. Be honest."
"I am honest," I lied. "Sometimes. . . ." I corrected myself. I needed to start telling the truth. "I just wanted to apologize to you. I didn't want to lose a friend because of my immature acts," I told him. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he finalized, smiling at me, keeping his lips together. "Just please listen to what I said. I only want to help you."
"Thank you, Dante," I expressed, trying my best to show him that I was being genuine.
"That's what I'm here for."
I smiled and he returned it. "How's you and your fiancee?"
"We're good," he confirmed. I noticed how his face lit up when he talked about her. It was such a short conversation but he seemed so much happier when it came to her.
"Where is she staying while you all are here?" I asked.
"It depends. We have an apartment– a hideout– but sometimes we stay here, usually when I stay the night but she prefers a bed," he explained.
"Oh. . . . are you sleeping on the sofa?" I asked. It sounded like that's what he was implying. Dante nodded, confirming my suspicions. "I have an air mattress. You could use that."
"I appreciate that, Alexis. I think I might actually have to take you up on that offer. My back has been killing me," he admitted and stretched.
"I'll go get it for you," I declared. I grabbed my empty bowl and plate, put them in the sink, washed them off, along with my hands, and then ran off to find the air mattress. I hauled it downstairs, plopping it down in the living room. It was heavier than I remembered. It made me feel exhausted and I didn't know why. I've carried it plenty of times and never felt like this.
Because you've gained so much weight, fatty, you can't do anything.
I don't even know how much I weigh right now. . . .
Your bloat speaks for itself.
I glanced at my body, covered by my clothes. I needed to be healthier. I wasn't eating correctly and that's why I was bloated. How was I supposed to operate if I wasn't healthy?
"I still need an air thing," I mumbled as I sat down.
Dante tilted his head as he eyed me. "I don't need this set up now. I still have a few hours," Dante explained.
"Thank God," I sighed. "I'm tired. I think I might go to bed," I stated.
"Bed?" Dante questioned me. "You just woke up an hour ago," Dante pointed out.
I shrugged from my position on the ground. "I know," I noted. "Um, I'm going to go pee, and then I'll get the air pump so I don't have to get it later."
Dante nodded, not bothering to argue with me. I hauled myself off the ground which only made me feel more tired. I made my way upstairs although there was a bathroom downstairs. I had to also get rid of my jeans in the tub. Once I was in my bathroom, I drained the tub. By the time I finish peeing, then it should be empty and I can take away the pants.
Pulling down my pants, I sat on the toilet. There was discharge in my pants. How often does my set have to clean itself? Jeez. . . . I sighed, cleaning it out. After I finished, I changed my underwear before dealing with the jeans in my tub.
Putting the jeans in a trash bag made me nauseous. I held my breath while I did it but it just made me feel worse. I wanted to faint but I knew that I had to be stronger. If I was going to go after Roberto, I'd have to be stronger.
Like Ye.
I'd have to add that to my list.
I made my way downstairs to throw away the bag. Dante was in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine. He eyed the bag in my hand as he capped the bottle. He didn't ask my questions as I slumped it in the trash can. Tomorrow was trash day.
After I washed off my hands, I filled up a glass with ice for me to chew on. I liked the cold hydration. I liked the movement of my jaw as I chewed. I liked chewing ice.
"Are you going to bed, kiddo?" Dante asked me.
I shrugged. "If I go now then I won't be able to sleep tonight. Um, are you supposed to be going back to Italy?"
Dante nodded. "Soon. Don't worry about that though," he dismissed.
"Is Beatrice going?" I asked as if she wouldn't. I mean why wouldn't she? Who wouldn't want to be with their fiancee?
Vincent?
No, just not with you.
"No, she'll stay for a month here," Dante said. His answer surprised me.
"Why? Is she pregnant or something? Can't fly?" I questioned as I chewed on some ice.
Dante raised his eyebrow at my question but there was a very faint smile on his lips. "No, she's not pregnant. She's staying with her family. And you can fly when you're pregnant, up to thirty-six weeks," Dante informed.
"Oh," I mumbled. "How far along is Donna?" She flew. Of course, there was no way that she was thirty-six weeks along, I was just curious.
"Hell if I know," he muttered.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "You don't know?"
"No, I know what she claims," he denied.
"Claims?" I questioned.
"Personally, I think she's lying about her date," Dante shrugged. "What do I know? It's not my kid."
"Wait, they conceived it before? When Vincent and I were together?"
Dante shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It doesn't affect you."
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A/N
I'm kinda in a slump right now. The next update will be on the 21st. I plan to do more updates in August/November. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.