Nick's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light slipping in his room. He blinked himself awake. There was a pressure on him, and upon looking down, he found a sleeping Lucianna. She was folded up on him, their legs entangled and her bare chest on his equally bare one. Her long black hair lay in waves over them both.
Nick took a deep breath before slowly untangling himself from her. He didn't chance another breath, just stayed as silent as he could as he slipped out from under her.
When he stood, his eyes went directly to Troy's empty bed across from them. His hands found his way to the back of his neck and he rubbed it hard. He couldn't believe himself. After all the fucked up shit he's done before, this just may take the cake. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, attempting to force the growing nausea he felt to subside.
He turned back and collected his clothes that lay strewn about. His back ached from laying as straight as a board, and his chest hurt, for reasons beyond that. The second he pulled his jeans on, he grabbed his shirt and boots and high-tailed it quickly, but quietly out of the room.
Nick stopped in the hallway, leaned back against the metal door. He tried to let the cold from the surface seep through his back and numb his insides. Numb his feelings and thoughts. But, it didn't work that way. He dropped his boots to the ground and slipped into them, sock-less. He started towards the bar. After another few yards he slipped his shirt over his head and rounded the corner through the doorway.
El Matarife stood, with a stained rag, wiping literally nothing from the scratched and dented surface of the counter. He stopped when Nick neared, not pulling his stool as per usual. The older man could tell he was off. "What's bothering you this morning, mijo?"
Nick took a deep breath, blowing out hard. He found he was trembling and was thankful it was minute and barely noticable, but it wasn't. El Matarife was an expert in body language, and the boy in front of him was entirely distraught. Nick spoke, "I didn't go there to do that."
"What is it you speak of?" El Matarife questioned, taking on a slightly harder tone. Nick didn't notice. He felt a buzzing in his ears. The voice that drifted in was just that, a voice.
His stomach turned again and he lurched away from the bar, sprinting out into the hallway. Immediately after he crossed the threshold he doubled over, vomiting up what remained in his stomach from his light dinner. After a few goes with nothing but stomach bile, he dry heaved a few times. When he was sure he was finished, although the nausea never went away, he leaned up onto the frame of the doorway, setting his head against his forearm.
Nick stayed like that a few moments, waiting on the aching in his temples to ebb before turning back into the bar.
He pulled the stool this time, and El Matarife just waited for him to speak. After a few silent moments, he did. "I was just supposed to go off on her. Tell her what's on my mind and be done with it. Let her stew on it. But...it just, escalated. I don't know."
El Matarife leaned onto the bar, narrowing his eyes at Nick. His voice was definitely hard now. "Boy! Are you fucking serious?"
Nick looked down immediately, his brown eyes beginning to water slightly. "I didn't go there to do that, I swear," he repeated, voice breaking, a few tears spilling and plopping silently onto the bar below him.
The older man rubbed his face hard in disbelief. "How does it even go from that to that? And after what that boy's done for you."
Nick just listened silently, he knew he deserved this. Although it didn't make it hurt any less, hearing someone voice his own thoughts.
"From trying to divert your mother, to agreeing to go with her so you could reunite with your sister. Pitiful, Nick. Hell, he even threw away what he had left of morals and took the stems with you! For you! And that's just the things you know about." El Matarife couldn't help himself. He had grown attached to Nick, the boys in general, and he felt angered that Nick would act in such a callous way. El Matarife could see the struggle battling inside the boy. It wasn't helping, but now he had gotten it off his chest. He spoke again, his voice softer this time. "I know you didn't mean to. But, you did. Now you have to move forward. Continue on with what you want. And what you want. And what is it that you do want, mijo?"
Nick though about that for a moment. He wiped the dampness from his cheeks and sniffed hard. "I don't know. I just...I want to get to the Orchard and then I want to come back home."
"Work towards that, then," El Matarife guided, "But be wise until then, what you say and what you do from this moment on will affect things. And how you handle the girl is one of them."
Nick nodded, swallowing. It hurt; his throat was raw from throwing up and it felt dry and gritty.
El Matarife seemed to sense this and retrieved a bottle of water from under the bar, sliding it across to Nick.
Nick took the bottle, but he couldn't make himself drink the water. A little piece of his brain telling him his throat should hurt. He should hurt. So, he left the cap on.
"So, go back to your room and finish it. Before it escalates beyond last night," El Matarife finished definitively, leaning off of the bar and crossing his arms.
Nick did not argue, for there was no use. He was right. He had done a bad thing. A terrible, low, selfish thing, and it was his responsibility to nip it in the bud. He wasn't sure how he would handle it, but he was damn sure it wasn't going to be like last night.
What concerned him more was when he did get to go back to the Orchard in a day or so. He would have to face Troy. How would that work? Would he tell him? Or would he bury the truth? Would Lucianna out them? Or would Troy sense something was different? Figure it out anyhow? His head was reeling, and he felt the stinging pain slowly drift back to his temples.
Nick finally gained the sense to open the water, and he drank it down greedily, not sitting it back on the bar until three quarters of it was gone. He had found his resolve somewhere in that clear liquid. He wiped his face down again and blew out a long breath. He would find a way to fix this. He had done this, it was his mistake. Nick had made his bed and now it was time to...find a new bed, a small part of his brain chimed at him. He would face it. There was nothing else to it. He nodded to himself as he stood from the barstool.
Then, he nodded at El Matarife as he ducked out of the barroom, his face serious, eyes sure. Walking back to his room he went through his mind what he would say. By the time he reached the door, he still had no clue. Best to wing it, he guessed.
Nick opened the door with a new found confidence. He need to put this to rest, stop it in its tracks. He had been here before and it wasn't easy leaving it behind in the first place. He wouldn't subject himself to that again. But, Troy also didn't deserve that. They hadn't really, concluded anything about what was between them, but still. It deserved a chance.
Lucianna sat leaned up into the corner of Nick's bed, reading the Spanish book again. She had donned a white tank top and black boy shorts. She sat forward when he walked in and laid the book face down in her lap. "Nick, about-"
He cut her off, "Before you go on, let me stop you right there."
She tilted her head and creased her brow. "Okay. What?"
"Nothing. Let me just stop you there. There's nothing to discuss, so we'll just leave it at that. We're not who we used to be." With the last line, he was sure. He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. It wasn't this. It wasn't her. And a small part of him tugged at his insides but he ignored it.
Lucianna took a deep breath but slowly nodded, scooting back into the bed and lifting the book back to her face, hiding a small tear that slipped down her cheek.
Nick turned and sat into his chair, sliding back into its depths. He perched his head onto his hand and closed his eyes, hoping time would move faster from this point, so he could get Troy and come back here, go on with his life.
(Intermission)
Night was falling quickly, and as hard as Nick had tried to forget he was hungry, his stomach hadn't. He couldn't ignore the ache anymore, and he knew Lucianna hadn't eat but a can of Raviolis around midday. He didn't want to eat. Besides his already bare palate, the events from last night permitted him to believe he didn't deserve to. That he would just not eat and take the pain in his abdomen as punishment. But, Troy wouldn't like that. He knew that, too.
So, barring his beliefs on it, he ordered he and Lucianna a plate of pork chops. The man from the chicken pen, his wife was an extraordinary cook. She even made her own sauces and dips.
Once he got their plate, retrieved a cup of sweet tea for Lucianna and they found a table, Nick practically inhaled a whole pork chop. Must have beaten some record somewhere. But, he left the rest for Lucianna. One was enough to quell the ache in his belly. That's all he really cared about.
"Sometimes the food here is asombroso," Lucianna said, tearing greedily into her second chop. She looked up to see Nick's confused gaze. "Amazing," she repeated, in English. "I forget sometimes, you know?"
He only nodded at her, a meaningless half-smile on his face. He tapped his fingers onto the plastic table in front of him, fidgeting. Nick heard the hum before the overhead string lights popped on. They lit up in succession, spreading from one side to another. Night had officially fallen. Oddly, the Bazarr wasn't as crowded tonight. People still milled about in large groups or pairs, a few singles here and there, but there was about thirty percent less in the population tonight than usual. Which was weird.
He ignored this and instead turned to the other side, looking through the stalls on his right. His face lit up in a smile as his eyes caught sight of the black metal ladder leading up to the small platform where Troy had taught him how to slide down. It made him feel good. Then he looked back at the table and Lucianna still sat across from him, eating. The feeling ceased to exist immediately and Nick grimaced. He needed to take the edge off. Or else he wasn't sure he'd make it through the next few days.
Nick dug into his pocket and Lucianna looked up, eyeing him curiously. He pulled out the baggie, his dwindling supply. Fingering the bag open, Nick popped three out and directly into his mouth.
Lucianna pursed her lips, but said nothing. What could she say? He smiled broadly at her and grabbed her plastic cup, holding it up in a mock 'cheers' motion before taking a swig and swallowing his tablets of unreality. "Ahhh."
Lucianna only shook her head and looked back down to her plate.
"Come on, Luce, what did you expect? I'd become a stand-up apocalyptic citizen? Like I said, we're not who we used to be." This time, the phrase held less weight, and it caused him to laugh, eagerly awaiting the inevitable brain fog.
Just then, a shot rang out through the plaza, the bustling sound slowed a bit. Then several more shots, continuing in quick succession. The sound of screams filled the center, echoing like a hollow log, as bodies began to drop.