Conception
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Song- Tangled, Maroon Five
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"And say unto the Ammonites, Hear the word of the Lord GOD; Thus saith the Lord GOD; Because thou sadist, Aha, against my sanctuary, when it was profaned; and against the land of Israel, when it was desolate; and against the house of Judah, when they went into captivity."
Ezekiel (25:3)
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Dante's words did affect me. Self-doubt started to simmer in me. I dismissed myself from the room shortly after Dante said that. I told him that I was going to bed because I was tired.
I was tired but I didn't sleep. I just crawled in bed to think about his words. At least, I planned to lay and think. However, I didn't think for long because my mind drifted and I ended up sleeping. I only slept for an hour before I naturally woke up. I felt exhausted but after laying there for twenty minutes, I figured I'd stand up. I migrated downstairs. It smelled good: steak and garlic green beans.
Dante and Beatrice were in the kitchen, laughing. They looked so happy. Beatrice looked over when I walked into the kitchen. I didn't think my steps were that loud. Dante followed her gaze. His smile was still evident although he tried to stifle it.
"Hey, kiddo. We made dinner if you want anything. I thought you were sleeping," he noted.
"I was," I confirmed.
Quietly, I got a plate. Dante took it from me when I turned back around, and Dante gave it to Beatrice. She put food on my plate before passing it down the assembly line. I mumbled a "thank you", suddenly feeling too awkward to speak around them. The food looked so good. The steak could be in a magazine for fine dining. I typically didn't like warm green beans but these changed my mind. They were so juicy and flavorful. Just smelling them made my mouth water with eager saliva. I sat at the island without any words, and I ate before I went back upstairs.
I changed into a loose long-sleeve shirt for bed. I didn't wear a bra. My bra made my already-hurting-breasts hurt more. My breasts felt somewhat better against the fabric of my shirt. It felt like a hug– the perfect type of hug. Not too tight and not too loose. I felt as if I haven't been hugged in a while. I didn't want to be touched though. Was that normal?
I would let my dad hug me. . . .
I brushed my teeth and my hair before I sank under the covers. For a moment, I just lay on my back. My whole body felt content. The small cramps in my abdomen didn't bother me at the moment because of how plushy my bed was. As heavy as my eyes were, I didn't want to sleep on my back. I wanted something to hold, and I wanted to be held– somewhat. Usually, that would be Vincent but he wasn't here tonight. I turned and grabbed a pillow. I hugged a pillow to my chest as I started to doze off, my lips slightly parted. It was easy to slip asleep when my bed was comfortable.
My dry throat, nausea, and bladder woke me up. I sighed and hauled myself out of bed to the bathroom. I waited for, like, ten minutes but I never threw up. I gave up, used the toilet, and left to go downstairs to get water. All the lights were turned off. I didn't care. I could make my way around without the lights being not off.
A stair creaked under me as I descended them. I walked into the kitchen, my steps inaudible, and turned on the light so I could see what cup to grab. When I turned around, I jumped, my hand flying to my mouth to hold in any noise.
Luckily it was just Vincent in the kitchen. My eyes met his before they naturally trailed down. Air locked in my lungs. My eyes stayed on the carmine stains as if his shirt was white icing that needed to be dyed.
"Alexis?" Vincent called but his words floated in one ear and out the other.
His hands obstructed my view as he started to unbutton his shirt. He had a wife beater underneath along with sus[enders to hold up his pants. He discarded his shirt so I couldn't stare at it anymore. I slowly brought my eyes back to his. A small crease indented itself between my eyebrows as a pout rested on my lips.
"Um. . . ." I mumbled, not knowing what to say.
"Perchè sei sveglio?" Vincent asked me. "È notte fonda."
I didn't know exactly what he said but I picked up "night".
"I'm just getting water," I managed to get out. My eyes darted to the time that was displayed on the microwave. It was three in the morning. "Um. . . . Do you need to shower? You can use mine," I offered. I remembered that I wasn't wearing actual pants. I tugged my shirt down to cover my ass. My underwear was cheeky. "Um, I gave Dante the air mattress–"
"Cara, get water and go to bed. Mi prenderò cura di me stessa, dolce ragazza."
"Okay," I whispered, not understanding what he said. I really only understood the English part.
List. . . .
American Scum doesn't deserve to know another language.
I silently filled up a cup with water and took a few sips before I made my way back upstairs. I noticed Vincent following behind me. I snuck a hand behind me to hold down my shirt so I didn't flash him my cheeks. When we got into my room, he went into my bathroom. I heard the shower start quickly. I sat in bed, pulled the covers over my legs, and then laid down. My eyes were heavy. When I blinked, they felt hot. Oddly, I had a minor headache. I thought they were gone but I could feel the dull throbs. I rolled over and closed my eyes to force myself to distract myself.
Close to sleeping, I felt my bed shift. I forced my eyes to open to see what was happening. Vincent was making his way into my bed. I didn't object. I wanted to sleep with him. I wanted extra comfort. He wouldn't know that though if I didn't say anything. I didn't move though, I was entirely way too exhausted to. I fell asleep.
When I woke up, an arm was over my waist. My face was resting against my blankets, some drool sliding down. As much as I wanted to stay in bed, I had to pee so I pulled myself up. My back was facing Vincent. He was still sleeping.
He's so gorgeous.
If we had small ones, they'd have the cutest sleeping face–
You'd never father his children.
Fucking American Scum.
I blinked.
. . . .
I struggled to get out of bed without waking Vincent. I'd feel bad if I woke him up. I would hate if someone woke me up because they were crawling over me. Either way, my mission was successful. Once I was in the bathroom, I was good. I felt a bit nauseous but after I washed my face, I felt bett–
Italian.
I needed to speak it.
I need to learn.
I didn't know why I thought of that all of a sudden but I did. I'd have to add that to my list– right now! So I don't forget, again!
Washing my hands, I walked out of the bathroom and into my room where I kept my book. I grabbed my pen.
Learn Italian
Become stronger
I put away my materials. On the top of my list was Talk to Vincent. As I hid my things, I glanced at my bed. He was still sleeping. I sat down on my sofa. I started to think about what Dante said– Donna cheating on Vincent and then him saying that he doesn't think Donna is right about her pregnancy weeks. The second thing was bad. Her conception date was extremely close to the day Vincent and I broke up. If it was longer, then that'd mean she slept with Vincent when we were together. Why would Vincent cheat on me if he knew how it felt?
Cheating made me think of Conor. I was reminded that my body looked terrible. I felt disgusting in my body. Like, actually. That was always such a weird concept to me. How did people not feel comfortable in their skin? It was on them twenty-four-seven. It's not as if they knew what it would feel to not be in their skin because they were always in it.
Now, I understood what it meant to be crawling in your skin. I understood Chester Bennington. I understood.
It was terrible. I felt incredibly revolting. I felt bad for everyone who has seen me naked. I felt bad for everyone that has seen me– period.
I hugged my legs to my chest as I sat. I needed to do my makeup for the day. I couldn't have people see my natural face. I got up off the sofa and put on some sweatpants to cover my now-none-existent ass. I walked into my bathroom and closed the door.
I had the odd urge to check my body. It started with me pulling my shirt. I was still bloated. Usually, I was never bloated in the morning. My shirt fell down when I let go. I shimmed my sweatpants low enough for me to see my ass.
I literally wanted to cry. I had no ass. It fucking looked like the early 2000s. I used to have a small curve– not too big but it was something!
Angrily, I pulled my pants up and started to do my makeup. How come my body decided to give up on me during the worst time of my life? What was God's plan for this? What was my response?
Doing my makeup calmed me down from being so angry but the aftermath wasn't much better. I became sad. Impotence was strong. I felt useless, all around. I didn't have a purpose for those around me. At all. Frediano hated me. Rose was busy; Vincent was expecting; Dante was engaged.
Once I finished my makeup, I made my way downstairs to make some coffee. I quietly sat as the coffee pot worked its magic. I didn't want to wake up Dante, who was sleeping in the other room. It was eight in the morning. Soon enough, the coffee was done. I poured some into two mugs, making sure to leave some for Dante. I knew he usually drank some in the morning.
Once I was back in my room and set the mugs down on the side table near my couch, I took off my sweatpants. I didn't like how the fabric was touching my legs. I didn't like it one bit. I didn't want to be touched. Were my mind and body taking it too far?
Picking up my sugar with coffee and cream, I sipped the hot beverage. I needed to plan out what I'd say to Vincent. Maybe the problem was that when I told Dante, I was too straightforward? Maybe that was a bad thing? Would Vincent react the same way? Would he see my point of view and offer advice? Would–
"Amore mio?"
I looked up from my coffee mug. Vincent was sitting up in bed. I blinked. I didn't expect for him to be up already. He went to bed around three-thirty.
"Stai bene?" he asked.
I nodded because I understood him. "I made you coffee. . . . You can go back to bed though, it's early," I offered. "I need to talk to you though but you can sleep first," I added.
I had a lot to talk to him about. I was going to just discuss my plan with him but Dante caused me to conjure more questions.
He shook his head as he sat up. "Che cosa?"
"Um, let me give you your coffee," I announced. I set mine down and stood up. I pulled down my shirt to hide my grey underwear with pink lace trim. I grabbed his cup and walked it over to him. I didn't notice his eyes were glued to my legs. I wasn't paying attention to it. I was focusing on trying to get my hand to stop shaking so I wouldn't spill the coffee all over me. "Here," I mumbled.
"Grazie," Vincent thanked me, keeping his eyes down before slowly taking the cup. I made my way back over to my couch. "Come back," Vincent called as he sipped his coffee.
I shook my head. I'd get distracted if I went over. Plus, I had an agenda. "I have to ask you something. . . . Um, is Donna lying about her date? Like, about how far along she is?"
Vincent made eye contact with me but it revealed that he wasn't expecting me to ask him that. He was off guard and curious about why I was asking what I was asking, at least, that's what it looked like.
"Why?" he asked me.
How about you just fucking answer the question, hun. Don't fuck with me right now, I'm about four five seconds from wildin' on YOUR ass.
I couldn't control Nicki Minaj's voice ran through my head:
Just answer the question, please don't play with me right now.
"Because I want to know," I answered. "With her date now, it's close to when we broke up. If she's lying, that pushes it back and it means your baby was conceived when we were together. . . ."
"I didn't cheat on you," he answered.
"Because you know how it feels?" I asked before I could catch myself.
ALEXIS!
STUPID, STUPID, STUPID! Why would you ask such a thing? You are a bad person! Terrible! What is wrong with you!
Do you seriously want a list?
"What did you say?" he asked. His brows came together. "Who fucking told you about that, Alexis?"
"No one," I mumbled and broke eye contact with him.
"Alexis–" he repeated but I panicked and cut him off.
"Are you lying to me?" I whispered although I believed him. "When was it conceived?"
"Why would I lie to you? I've told, since we met, that if you asked me something, it was yes or no. I'm not fucking with you," Vincent swore. "I expect you not to fuck with me. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, Alexis?"
I slowly nodded.
"Don't ever bring that up again. Si?"
I nodded again. "I'm sorry," I whispered. I wanted to know what Dante wouldn't tell me (who it was) although it was none of my business. I just wanted to know, I didn't know why. This had nothing to do with me. "You don't have to be fuckin' rude," I snipped. "I asked about our date. There's no reason to get all angry and defensive if she wasn't lying about her date." I sipped my coffee.
"Do you wanna see the fuckin' papers, Alex?" he asked. "Why the fuck would I lie about my kid?"
"Well– what makes you so sure it's your kid?" I asked.
You are terrible. A horrible person. Just kill yourself.
"I took a DNA test– you wanna see that too?" he angrily said.
I narrowed my eyes on him, not liking what he said and not appreciating his tone. "No," I muttered and looked down at my coffee because I knew if I looked at him any longer then I'd glare at him.
"Are you wearing face stuff?" he asked me. His tone was still a little harsh. He was definitely mad at me for bringing that up. Truthfully, I was kinda mad at myself, too. I didn't mean to, not at all, never me. But I did. I felt so bad about it.
"What?" I questioned. I had no clue what he meant.
"The, um, make– makeup? Si, makeup," he mumbled to himself.
"Oh, yeah," I confirmed, slightly triggered that he brought it up. I thought it looked natural.
You wish you were naturally pretty.
"You're a very gorgeous girl, cara," Vincent admitted. It sounded like an odd thing to hear with his tone. "You no need makeup."
No, I need makeup to survive but thank you for your opinion, Vincent.
"Dante took my gun," I brought up as Vincent made his way over to me, sitting next to me on the sofa. "The one my dad bought me," I added. Maybe he knew how much my dad meant to me despite our father-daughter fights that he witnessed.
"Perché?" Vincent asked.
I knew what that meant. "I don't know," I shrugged. "Maybe he thinks I'll kill myself or something," I answered. "Don't worry– I won't. You don't have to panic just yet," I sarcastically added to try and lighten the topic.
I looked at Vincent but his eyes were intensely trained on me. I didn't know where to look. He wasn't amused.
"It's fine, don't laugh, I wasn't trying to joke," I sarcastically muttered. "Um, yeah, but he said he'll give it back after I talk to you."
Vincent nodded. I was waiting for him to say something but he didn't. Talk about awkward?
"But, I guess you'd have to talk to him to confirm that," I added as Vincent sipped his coffee, keeping his eyes on me. I needed to bring this up in the best way I could so he would side with me and not dismiss it. I knew what would work, or at least get his attention, but I didn't really want to say it. To avoid speaking, I sipped my coffee.
Just say it–
You can't get much lower,
Or more pathetic.
"Vincent? Do you love me?" I asked, my voice small. I shifted my eyes from the light brown coffee to his dark brown eyes. I was somehow nervous about his answer. I think it was because I was so reliant on his answer.
"Si," he confirmed without hesitation. "I'm sorry, Alexis, for how I treated you. You don't deserve to be strung like this– strung? Um, pulled?"
"Strung," I confirmed. "You used it right."
He nodded. "Grazie. Si, strung. I'm sorry, you deserve so much better–"
"So, you love me?" I asked, cutting off his words.
Any other time, I would want to hear him because I did still love him but I was on a mission, and I feared that if I didn't get it out now then I'd lose my time. Time wasn't on my side, regardless of what Rod Stewart said.
"I need your help," I started. "It's very important to me, okay? I need your help so I can track someone down, and everyone he knows."
"Perché?" Vincent questioned. "Who? Did someone hurt you?" he asked.
"Yes," I confirmed. Maybe not physically but mentally and emotionally and spiritually and every -ally that could occur– he hurt me that way.
"Chi?" Vincent demanded, his tone hard. "Quando?"
"Vincent– if I tell you, are you going to listen to me?" I asked. Last time, I felt like the moment Dante heard "Roberto" he mentally logged off.
"Si," Vincent confirmed.
"Roberto– Vincent, I want to kill him and I can, I just need help to get information and I deserve to do it after what he did and Dante told me that you wouldn't help me but I've never asked you of anything and this is the only thing I want and I don't know anyone else who can help and I don't want anyone else to help me and if you don't agree then just listen and try to understand."
I held his gaze, pleading with my eyes because my lips weren't working properly. Vincent held my look. He was thinking, it looked like.
"Please, Vincent," I begged, my tone quiet. I even took it a step further by using my hand to grab his free one.
"By yourself?" he asked me. I nodded. "No– I'm not lettin' you hurt yourself. You fuckin' stupid? This isn't a game, Alexis. People want to kill you," he stressed.
"I know, Vincent, I do. I won't be alone," I stressed. "I just want to kill him."
He sipped his coffee, keeping his eyes on me, studying and waiting. "It won't be easy," he noted and hope blossomed in me. I was hopeful that he'd help me. "And it's not going to happen in a day. I don't know what thought you have but it'll take months, most likely years."
"I know," I confirmed. "I know all of that. I do. I just need information about everyone that Roberto knows and where he goes– stuff like that."
"More than that, Lex," Vincent denied. "It's taken Michael years to track him down and then he couldn't even kill him. It's hard, and I don't want you involved like this."
"I'll be patient," I promised. "I'll learn Italian– fluently," I added. "I already have a list."
Vincent quietly sighed as if I presented him with the most difficult decision of his life. He sipped his coffee, tearing his hand from mine to hold his mug with two hands as if what I said to him rocked him so hard that he needed to grab on to something to focus on. He took another long sip before grabbing my hand again. "I have to leave in a few days. I'll be back in two months. We'll talk then. I–"
"No, Vincent," I whined. "That's so unfair!" I complained.
"Shh," Vincent cut me off. "In the meantime, if you want to do what you want to do, you have to be quick. You need to practice that. Your time and fitness," he explained.
"Fitness?" I mumbled. "I'm fit. . . ."
"Not like your body," Vincent corrected when I glanced down. I wasn't able to shake his comment as easily as he did. "Your reactions and all-around comfort in the area," Vincent tried to explain but I didn't follow.
"I don't understand what you mean," I admitted. I needed to work on my communication if I needed my plan to work.
Vincent only nodded before he stood up, taking me with him since he was still holding my hand. He set his coffee mug near mine before he walked into the bathroom. I didn't understand what he was doing. He let go of my hand to put on his pants from last night. I was confused about why he was putting them back on. Did he not want to wash them?
"What are you doing?" I asked as he turned around to look at me. I glanced him up and down. "You could've washed your pants," I offered. "I think Frediano still has some pants here if you want to borrow his. I think they'll fit–"
I didn't see it coming. His arm barely moved and within a split second– less than, practically half a millisecond– I felt something pressing against my stomach. I looked down. A black gun barrel was poking my stomach. I quickly looked back up at Vincent, utterly lost.
"Vedi?" Vincent questioned. "Quick. If you were anyone else, you'd be dead by now. If you want to even think about doing what you want, you need to be quick," Vincent explained as he put the gun away.
"Were there any bullets in there?" I asked, taking a step back.
"Not anymore," Vincent answered as he left the bathroom.
"You used them all last night?" I continued, following him out as he sat on the sofa. His eyes landed on my thighs when he sat down. I pulled my shirt down to attempt to cover my legs. I didn't have any confidence. Vincent nodded as I sat down. "What happened?" I asked.
"Snitch," he simply answered.
Odd. This is what I was talking about. Vincent told me things but he clamped up when I asked him about why he stayed in Italy for that period of time. If he just told me his mom was sick, I would've offered my support. I wouldn't think less of him– it's not his fault Donna's a bitch. I wondered if he would tell me who Donna cheated with? It wasn't my place to ask though.
He told me not to bring it up though.
"You can go back to bed if you're tired," I offered.
Vincent nodded but didn't move. "Can you hand me the mug? I don't want to reach over you," he politely asked.
"Yeah," I agreed and did as he asked.
He took a sip of his coffee and gently grabbed a strand of my hair. He played with it, twirling it around his finger. "Il tuo compleanno è tra sette giorni," he noted.
I thought for a second. He was talking about my birthday but I swear, he said the seventh. "I wasn't born on the seventh," I corrected.
"Si," Vincent agreed. "Decimo," he corrected himself.
"Oh! In seven days," I mused. "I thought you said on the seventh. Sorry," I mumbled.
"Don't be," Vincent dismissed. "Do you want me to stay? I don't want to keep stringing you but–"
"I'm not celebrating," I said, feeling as if that's where he was going with this. "You don't have to stay. Aren't you getting married next month? You should get ready for that," I pointed out.
Vincent looked at me for a moment before he slowly nodded. "Okay. . ." he agreed. "While I'm gone, Tito is staying back for your protection. If you're serious, he's good when it comes to timing."
I nodded. "Thanks. . . . I need to sort out this casino business. You can stay here, if you want, I'll be out."
"You're not going out," Vincent denied.
"Outside this room," I rephrased as I stood up. "Do whatever just don't go through my stuff, I don't want my things to be messed with."
"Grazie per il caffè," Vincent called as I grabbed some clothes to change into.
I closed the bathroom door to get dressed. All I did was change my shirt and put back on the pair of sweatpants I had although the fabric was bothering me. Vincent was still on my sofa when I walked out of the bathroom but I didn't mind. I left my room, descended my steps, and entered the kitchen. Dante was there.
"Hi," I greeted. "I made coffee," I announced.
"I see," Dante agreed, sleep in his tone. "You're energetic," he noted.
"Yeah," I replied although I didn't agree with him. I was not an energetic girl. "Guess what I just did?" I didn't give him time to respond. "I just talked to Vincent, and he approved of what I want to do," I sassily said as I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'd like my gun back now, please."
Dante narrowed his eyes on me as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "I said you'd get it back once I talk to Vincent," he recalled.
"BrUh," I groaned. "Then let's go talk to him, right now," I encouraged. I started to walk away. When I got to the steps, I turned to check if Dante was following me. He was slowly, like a fucking baby caterpiller, making his way to me. "Dante! Let's go!" I sighed. "He's tired! The longer you wait, the higher the chance is that he went to bed!"
Dante put his hand up to wave me off as I continued up the stairs. I quickly made my way into my bedroom. Of course, I didn't knock before I barged into my own room. Vincent was making his way into my bed. He paused when I walked in. He looked over at me.
"Vincent!" I greeted and walked up to him. "Dante's coming in. He wants you to tell him that I can have my gun back!"
"No," Dante dismissed as he walked in behind me. "Did you tell her that you wanted her to go after Roberto by himself?"
"No," Vincent answered.
"Vince!" I whined, my hand going to his chest to pull on his shirt, forcing him to look at me. "Yes, you did!" I restated.
Vincent wrapped his arm around my waist. "Shh," he mumbled before carrying out a conversation in Italian with Dante.
"No," I groaned. Vincent looked down at me, confused. "Speak in English," I requested. "Not everything has to be a secret."
"Okay, doll," Vincent agreed.
Dante sighed. "Alexis, you're waiting two months," Dante finalized. "You can get it back then."
"That was not the agreement," I pointed out. "Vincent!" I called, wanting him to back me up.
Dante spoke before Vincent could get anything out. "I'm not giving a suicidal girl a gun and bullets."
"I'm not suicidal!" I denied, removing my hand from Vincent's shirt so I could look at Dante. "I'm not going to shoot myself."
"And a few months ago you told me that you wouldn't cut yourself and look where we are at," Dante recalled.
"Why are you so against helping me?" I asked. "Did I do something to offend you?" I genuinely asked. "I thought we were friends. I'm sorry if I did something but I'm literally asking for one thing."
"Alexis," Dante sighed. "I don't think you are well right now."
"Dante?" I questioned, hurt that he'd say that.
He saw me as unwell? Did Vincent? I looked at him.
Vincent made eye contact before sighing. "She can have it without bullets. Remember what I said? You don't need bullets for that."
Dante sighed and kissed his teeth. "When's your birthday? Ninth or tenth?"
"Decimo," Vincent answered.
"I'll give it to you then," Dante answered before he left my room.
Gratefully, I turned to fully see Vincent. I wrapped my arms around his neck to hug him. I thanked him.
"Si," he replied and wrapped his arms around my waist.
I pulled away. "Don't touch me," I quickly said. "Sorry," I whispered, refusing to look at him. "Thank you, though, Vincent. Get some rest, okay?"
"Si. . . ."
I left him after that. I had to go talk to Dante about the casino and then apologize and thank him. He was in the living room, drinking his coffee and he sat on the sofa. I walked over and sat somewhat next to him.
"Thanks," I admitted.
He eyed me but didn't respond.
"And I'm sorry if I did something to offend you," I admitted.
"It's not your fault," Dante dismissed before he sipped his beverage.
Not my fault? So I did do something? But he doesn't see it as my fault? Probably because he saw me as "suicidal". Maybe he actually did see it as my fault and he just didn't want me to kill myself? I wasn't going to now. I had things to do, and actions to carry out.
"What?" I asked.
"You're young," he started. "I know this is a difficult time for you. I'm sorry if I've been cold or distant towards you," Dante admitted. "Sometimes I forget that you haven't been through all of this before. I think Vincent forgets that, too. I want to apologize on his behalf, too. He doesn't mean it, and I think he's recognizing his behavior now."
"Is this because I hurt myself?" I asked, not really taking in the seriousness of the situation.
Dante stared at me for a second. "It's more than that," he answered. "I'm sorry. If I seem upset with you– I'm not, I'm just trying to process what you're going through."
I nodded but didn't say anything. Normally, I would've felt bad and apologized and hugged him but I wasn't that girl anymore. I was turned off.
"I need to know what to do with this casino. Do you know anything about that?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Si, a little. The people you need to talk to are Andy and Freddie. They know the most bedsides Michael's men in Vegas."
"Okay," I nodded. "Can you call them over? Frediano probably won't answer me– in fact, he probably won't even come over but if Andy does then maybe Frediano will?"
He nodded. "I'll call them later. Your brother isn't up right now."
"Why?" I asked.
"He's sleeping. Didn't your dad do that?" he questioned. "Sleep for most of the day? Wake up near two or one?"
"Sometimes," I answered.
"It's the same thing, kiddo," Dante informed. "Do you want me to make you some breakfast? I'm leaving in about twenty minutes, I have time."
"Where are you going?" I asked as he stood up. I followed him into the kitchen.
"See Trixie and family," Dante answered. "Vincent will be here."
"I'm gonna use the restroom," I announced. "I'll be back."
"Have fun," Dante mumbled as he got out a pan.
I didn't realize the coffee went through me so quickly. I used the restroom. By the time I walked out, Dante was cooking eggs. I liked eggs, I never had a problem with them. I never liked the smell though. This time, however, it made me feel so nauseous. I put a hand over my mouth and ran straight back to the bathroom. God, that's so nasty.
Not a lot came out, just a whole lot of acid.
The terrible feeling lingered as I left the bathroom. I was not hungry anymore. I was nervous to tell Dante though. I felt bad that he took his time to make me something, and I wasn't hungry anymore. But there was no way that I could eat that. I didn't even want to be in the kitchen because the smell was lingering.
"Are you okay?" he asked me as I grabbed a glass to fill with water.
"No," I answered. "I'm really sorry, Dante, but I'm not hungry anymore. I feel sick. I'm just going to lie down."
"It's fine," Dante responded. "Did you throw up?" he asked me. I nodded, not wanting to say it. "Go get some rest. Tell Vincent. When you wake back up, have soup– something light– so you get something in you."
I nodded and then left, taking my glass of water with me. I felt exhausted which was odd. I only had coffee, and I slept for a while last night.
Vincent was sleeping when I walked in. I changed into something that was looser before I climbed into bed. The covers were so warm as they rested over my shoulders. Vincent wasn't too close either but I think I woke him up when I climbed into bed. He shuffled a bit. I didn't stay awake much longer.