| HEAL |
It was late. He should have been asleep. Sitting at the edge of his bed, he ogled the bottle of whiskey on his counter. He felt a fleeting sense of the pleasure that would come when he cracked it open, took a swig, and closed it back. However, he knew better than to trust himself.
The thought of Rocco and Mia flashed through his mind, and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut to evade the memory. He imagined severing his brain from his body and plucking at the prefrontal cortex until he forgot everything.
He would risk losing all the knowledge he attained over the years to forget every bad thing that had happened to the people around him. He would risk anything.
He remembered Mia's delicate words, her voice so young and sweet. Rocco's eyes were so concerned he cared so much for that kid. It was the most delicate thing The Beast had ever seen.
He no longer fought against the memory.
It was the night of her surgery.
The doctor came out and both men jumped to their feet. Anticipation threaded Rocco's visage. The Beast could have seen through his eyes that he imagined the worst yet to come.
The doctor, however, had many years to hide what he thought and felt in his eyes. Not even The Beast could derive meaning from them.
There was a beat.
All The Beast could have smelt was hand sanitiser and indiscernible hospital food. The distant beeps of machinery suddenly felt closer; almost pounding on his ears.
A muscle ticked in Rocco's jaw. He, too, didn't seem to understand the doctor's intent behind the silence.
The man said the cliched words. "We did everything we could." The words that were revised and repeated so often they eventually lost all meaning. The significance was lost to the doctor himself. "Mia Cataneo didn't make it."
Rocco couldn't contain the weight of the words. They slammed down on him, and he crumbled under the weight. He slumped onto the seat, glaring at the floor. The Beast was yet to imagine the turmoil that torpedoed throughout the man's head.
A terrible ache rumbled in The Beast's chest, but he never allowed his expression to change.
Rocco held his own face and sobbed. The reverberation came out estranged and muffled.
"I'm sorry," the doctor stated.
This worsened the man's cries. The Beast's practised expression threatened to crack. He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Rocco called.
The Beast froze.
Rocco walked over. "You can't...."
The man walked to the front of the kid and stared at him as if he were his own. The Beast's lip quivered the slightest bit. He couldn't allow himself to crack in front of Rocco. That was this man's kid, not his.
The Beast was scared he would slip up, but he stood there, not stopping the man when he embraced and sobbed onto his shoulder. He gently enveloped the man, whispering soothing words into his ear.
The scene reminded him of his relationship with his father. The only difference was that The Beast would have never hugged his father back. He would shove him away and tell him to get over himself. He would have told him to grow up and fill in the father's role as he was meant to.
The Beast lit up a cigarette and emptied his lungs before finishing it in one breath. He flicked the cigarette away and held the smoke within his body. After he felt he was damaged enough, he let it out, coughing as tears filled his eyes.
He blinked them away and got up. He couldn't bear being alone anymore. He had to go somewhere. Anywhere.
He went patrolling the streets. Crimes were becoming worse as the Kensington's were back in town. The Beast knew everyone was plotting for their demise. They were a significant part of Hudsonville's history, and not an inch of that was positive.
The Beast wished Victor would start a charity or something to get the people to like him or others would be sent for him and his family.
The night was relatively peaceful. The streets were boisterous in the ghetto, but not as loud as usual.
He was not superstitious, but he always trusted his instincts. So, when he felt an illogical pull toward a specific alleyway, he went.
•
•
•
Victoria went for a late-night drive with her new driver. She noticed how he was behaving strangely; weirdly. Not creepy-weird, but anxious-weird.
He peeked at her from the rear-view mirror. Catching his gaze, she asked, "Everything alright?"
"Yes." He answered quickly; too quickly.
She shrugged it off and looked outside a window. There was a convenience store open at the side of the street.
"Chocolate," she breathed. "Can you stop here?"
"What for? Is something wrong?"
She squinted. "No... I want something by the store."
"Okay." He was leaning forward in his seat. Why wouldn't he just relax? "I'll drop you here and park over there." He pointed to a free park further ahead.
"Okay." Though her suspicions grew, the thought of chocolate made her forget all about it. She leapt out of the car and went in.
She browsed until she found they had Lindt chocolate. She hadn't tasted it since she came to America. Two felt suitable enough to share with her driver so they could be on good terms. She couldn't help herself but buy a coke.
When Victoria went to pay, someone familiar passed outside the glass walls. It was The Beast.
The cashier gasped and took a while before she caught herself. Victoria stood there impatiently, hoping she could reach him before he got too far. The woman finally cashed her goods and Vicky sped out.
He was gone.
She sighed and looked for the car. The filthy American wasn't where he said he would be. Terror was a relentless evil that refused to give her a breath. She jogged around in heels. She hated running—her tits, ass, and tummy moved far too much for her liking—but she had no other choice.
She felt nauseous, like the world went too fast. Something black flickered across, but when she turned, nothing was there. Incessant scenes of terrible fates played out in her mind.
She jogged at a slower pace, but her heel-jogging skills weren't reliable enough. She lost her footing but before she could feel the infliction of her butt hitting the ground and the burn of embarrassment; she was caught.
She relaxed her face to see The Beast hovering over her. He held onto her arm, his other palm on her back. He gently brought her stationed to her feet.
His eyes were a warm brown. She hadn't seen his eyes before, but an innocent brown was the last thing she expected.
She waited for him to say something flirtatious or endearing, but neither came. He only stared at her. She noticed he was wearing a biker's outfit minus the full-face helmet. He was only wearing a ski mask.
He checked her body for bruises. "I'm fine." She smiled, and he relaxed. An unexplainable feeling of safety enveloped her. Was it an illusion perpetuated only because he was familiar, or was it true?
•
•
•
He hesitated before approaching her again. The moonlight glistened beautifully against her skin. He felt that if his contacts weren't obstructing his view, he could see the stars reflected in her eyes and the true beauty in her smile.
The way she dressed was to distract him, but nothing could stop him from gazing into her eyes. She was wearing contacts too, blue ones. Even though her eyes were concealed, the depth never failed to reach out and grasp him.
Glad that his gloves left his fingers naked, he raised his hand and ran a finger along the softness of her cheek. She shuddered; she was shaking. She had been ever since he met her that night. He wanted so badly to hold her tight and waft all her worries away. He wanted to hold her and promise her that no one would ever lay a finger on her again. But he couldn't.
Those things were far too intimate, and frankly, she wasn't supposed to hear his voice. They had already met without his concealment. It would benefit them both if she had forgotten what The Beast sounded like entirely.
They were so close he could smell her. The aroma could only be described as elegant. He grasped her jaw and instinctively raised her chin. He realised what he was doing and let her go.
He stepped away from her. The silence hung for so long that it grew stale and awkward.
"My driver's waiting for me, but I lost him."
He stared at her, unwavering.
"Okay... um... would you like to help me find him?"
He nodded.
"So, you're shy now, huh?"
He nodded and smiled, but he wasn't sure if she noticed until she returned a grin. She had an unearthly white smile and subtle dimples on both sides.
She spun on her heels and strutted away. He averted his gaze from her ass multiple times, but he wasn't as strong as he wished he were. She knew what she was doing, too. He was so entranced that he noticed too late when she stopped walking. He bumped right into her ass. This flustered him more than her.
"There he is," she called.
They walked over to the car, and The Beast opened the door for her. She climbed in.
She looked up at him with her doe-like eyes. "Would you like a ride?"
He shook his head and playfully flicked her hair before closing the door.
Their small interaction was all it took to brighten his mood for the entire night.
•
•
•
The driver almost broke his neck to stare at her. "I was just going to come looking for you."
"What happened?"
"Someone took the park before I could."
"You could have called."
"You have my number; I don't have yours."
"Ugh." He was right.
He started the car and drove off. "So... escorted by The Beast himself."
"Yeah. So, you should know, fucking with me is dangerous."
He glanced at her through the rear-view mirror. "Maybe, I like dangerous."
"What?"
"Nothing."
✩✩✩