[ I guess I should write an introduction or so.
Hi! Bonjour!
M'name's frenchie, pleasure to meet you.
I warn you all now—my writing is random and I take very long breaks at times, and sometimes I'll upload three chapters a day.
It really depends on my mood.
Anywho, the main characters in this are Antonio and Carmen, Carmen being my own version of Nyotalia!Spain. She's very tempermental and prone to violence, and forever trapped in her own past. Not in the literal sense, she's just… she hasn't moved on. ]
Time keeps moving forward… and I can't, move… with it
It always started out like this. I'd want to go out, usually dancing, clubbing. He'd reject the idea, try and convince me to stay home, to please don't do this again, I can't take it.
But I'd leave anyways, storming out. As usual. And as usual, Antonio'd be out in moments, a jacket hastily thrown on and keys shoved in his pocket. He'd never let me do it alone, god knows he doesn't trust me.
Without a word he'd be in the passenger's seat, ignoring me for the majority of the car ride, only checking once to see if I have my license. I think he figures if he's distant enough I'll feel bad, maybe turn around and go home.
I never do.
He never learns.
It's always, always the same thing. We go in and it's fun for a bit, the lights blinding and the drinks cheap but good, and always plentiful. Bodies moving, turning and twisting and we're caught up in the swell, tugged apart by the sea of people. He'll search for me for a bit but it's too dark, too packed. And if he does spot me and I spot him I edge away, I leave, lose myself in the throng of bodies and I'm hidden again.
By that point Antonio gives up, seats himself on one of the grimy barstools and orders a soda. Never a beer, never a proper drink. Because he knows he'll be the one driving, he knows I'm wasted by the end of the night. Every time.
So he sits and politely turns down a few woman, though doesn't completely object to her company. He never knows how long I'll be and he gets bored, he doesn't have much patience.
So he's on the other end of this nightclub and I'm over here, in a darker corner, surrounded by cigarette smoke and burley motorcyclists.
I've caught the eye of one of them. He looks about forty, I think. Forty and his beard is scraggly but he's brawny, a bit of a stomach. His eyes are sharp, cutting, barely dulled by the alcohol.
Perfect.
This will do. This'll make him angry, pull Antonio's attention to me. All of it. Sharp glare. Face alight with anger and his chest heaving, breath going in and out sharply. Tensed and fists clenched, coming from a distance. Eyes narrowed and knowing full well that I do this on purpose but he pretends like he doesn't know that, that I'm just naïve. Prays I'm just naïve and don't really go this far out of my way to hurt him.
We're (the motorcyclist and I, I never even caught his name) outside now, and I'm sure Antonio's spotted us leaving, the cold air and light from the outside are pretty damn obvious when the doors are opened. He'll be outside soon; I just have to be patient.
A shared joint, a bit of movement and a rough hand, calloused and fingers yellowed from years of smoking is sneaking up the back of my shirt and I won't, can't push him away. Pressed against him, back arched and ignoring the hand, waiting. It'll only be seconds now-
The hand is pulled back and now clutching at a bloodied nose, a strangle noise and someone's grabbed onto my waist, pulling me back. All I can hear is rapid, angry swearingin my own native tongue, streaming through my ears. I love it. I'm grinning and laughing and I shouldn't be.
The man (What was his name? I swear it was an English name.) is swearing and backing off, frustrated. Not worth it, jesus bloody Christ. You keep your damn harlot then, yuh damn wanker.
I don't think Antonio's acknowledged him, though, and I'm being tugged to the car, I swear he's ripping my arm out of my socket but I really don't care, it doesn't matter.
Shoved into the passenger side of the car, grabbing onto the rough fabric of the seat in an effort not to sprawl over into his seat as well. The interior of the car is cold, far too cold and the seat is scratchy, has it always been this rough?
My head must be stuffed full of cotton. I have no balance and I swear the car is tilted left, so it takes me a moment to sit up properly. When I do the door is slammed and another opened and Antonio is in the car, hands gripping the wheel as he takes a moment to calm down.
His knuckles are white and one of them is split, blood dripping slowly out of it. I can't help but giggle. He shoots me a look and I smile sheepishly, leisurely kicking off my heels and getting comfortable in the seat, prepared to sleep on the way home. He looks like he wants to get upset with me but he keeps his mouth shut, knowing it won't do anything and starts the car, driving down the winding city roads. The stars are out and the streetlights are on, people walking down the streets. Mostly businessmen going home or people not unlike myself, just getting out of or going to parties, clubs.
I think I'm going to vomit. The motions of the car are causing my stomach to turn and oh, please, no, this is my good jacket-
I hold it in but make a little noise, pressing my forehead to the cool, moist glass of the window as I fight off the urge to empty my stomach, a light tune playing in the background. Tonio must have turned on the radio. The tune was slow but had a beat to it and I tapped my finger along with it, smiling a little.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap-tap tap. Tap. Tap.
If he was listening to music like this then he can't be too mad, which is… Actually, I can't tell if that's good or not. I do this to /make/ him mad.
Unless he's listening to it to calm down.
Tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap."We're home." I hear him, his voice low and cracking if slightly. I can't tell if that's because he hadn't spoken in a while or because he was legitimately upset—I hope it's the latter.
" Yeshhh we are." I nodded, smiling at him and leaning back into my seat. My speech was slurred but comprehensible, but like hell if I was walking on my own. You know that feeling you get when you stop walking for a while and sit down? As in, your legs were fine while you were walking but the moment you sit down it's like all your energy is sapped and your legs are sore as hell?
Yes, that's exactly it.
He glanced over at my comment, one corner of his mouth twitching, his eyes narrowed and glaring at me in… one could mistake it as disgust, but it wasn't. I knew that much. But it was different than his normal reactions.
I peered at him, analyzing his face. Cheeks flushed, eyes darkened and his mouth set in a thin line, though his hands were relaxed. One on his lap, one poised to open the door.
I think he was going to say something. The muscles around his mouth tense and loosened but he shook his head and got out, leaving me to giggle in his absence. I'm not even sure I can explain why it was funny but it was.
I puffed out my cheeks when Antonio opened my door and held out my arms for him, still smiling. I wonder if I'd even stopped smiling tonight.
I doubt it, this evening was going so well.
He frowned and moved in to lift me up, ducking his head inside the car. He was gentle with me. Always gentle with me, he wouldn't dare hurt me.
We were such opposites.
Strong arms hooked under my knees and around my stomach and I was lifted up like a bride. The idea made me laugh again and I wrapped my arms around his neck, my laughter quickly dying when I was lifted.
I was going to die.
I lived a good life.
He was going to drop me! There's no way he could carry me all the way from the car to the door and he was going to drop me oh dios-
Well, he made it. He shifted me so his hand was free and unlocked the door, nudging it open with his shoulder as he carried me in, arms straining with my weight. He placed me down, carefully as ever and I leaned against the wall, still a little fearfull.
Light filled the room and I grimaced, shutting my eyes for a moment, too accustomed to the darkness of the car and the roads. I opened them again and blinked, noting the coat rack and pale yellow walls.
I had let Antonio choose the colors for the house, he was better at it than I was.
But, I'd never admit that.
He was just kicking off his shoes and moved to wrap an arm around my waist, though I don't think the gesture was meant to be affectionate. I think he was just worried I was going to fall over with how much I was swaying on my feet but that's fine, that's fine.
"Grassshias." I muttered, finding that my tongue felt very thick, very heavy.
Well, that fit. The rest of me felt like that too so no matter.
He just shook his head in response, letting out a sigh as he helped me walk up the stairs, stopping every once in a while to let me readjust my feet (Which seemed to keep walking wherever they wanted and I swear I would have fallen five times by now if it weren't for the man holding me upright.)
Fine. Let him be quiet then, he'll have to talk to me soon enough.
We made it, surprisingly, to the bedroom in one piece, Antonio letting me go as we neared the bed. I teetered and fell on the bed, legs lazily kicking in the air as I pulled the blanket closer to me, Antonio standing at the foot of it.
"You have to get changed, you know." He spoke, already rummaging through the drawers for my clothes. I didn`t move. I wasn`t getting up and he knew it.
So I felt hands on me, tugging and pulling off my clothes, lifting me up slightly to ease my shirt off.
I was tempted to do something sexual but I didn`t really feel like it, and I'm more than sure he'd have turned me down.
Still would have been fun to annoy him, though. He lifted me up slightly, dangling off his arm, one arm wrapped tightly around my stomach as he slipped a shirt over my head. He didn't put on any bottoms but that was fine, the shirt was long enough.
By this point he's moved me to my side of the bed and has sat down beside me, his lips pressing themselves softly to my forehead, brushing my hair out of the way.
"Why must you do this?" He asked, straightening himself. He was still mad but he looked more in control now, disappointment overtaking his anger.
I had opened my mouth to answer, used to this question, this game. Used to all of this—the same conversation. Every time.
And every time it ended with me crying and him giving in and hugging me, but leaving me to sleep on my own for the night.
This happened every time.
"Tonio, I—" Oh. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
…My phone's going off. Across the room, in my pocket, my phone is going off.
Oh, fuck.
Antonio got up to answer it for me, and I couldn't help but panic.