Maggie Maloney stepped up to the curb on the Viper's side of
the street. She could not quite recall the last time she had been out
this way - she had lived in this town all of her life, but over the
last three years, her memory faded.
She glanced from left to right, taking in the tranquil appearing road.
This one block, she silently lamented, has brought such misery - heartache.
Instantly, the image of Miss Esther flashed through her mind, bringing back
a dreaded soft night that she had so wanted to disregard - to wipe it from
her mind completely. It haunted her - the echo of rain battering concrete
and road, was mostly all she could heed - and the screeching.
Maggie blinked away the insane filled night terrors of weeping for a
dead son. From the frigid, stone like window in Jimmy Pockets' apartment
- she saw - and recalled how Leon Esther stumbled up the street with his
brother's corpse in his arms. The torment alone, evident in his face was
just enough to make Maggie short of breath. Nothing could describe what
she felt when the dull eyes stared blankly up into a starless night sky.
The young boy's orbs, Allie Boy's, would never behold a virgin day, nor
would they vask in the glory of the setting sun.
A young boy bumped into her, apologizing quickly - he ran into the
candy store. This broke her sorrowful thoughts and she told herself
that the sooner that she bought what she wanted, the quicker she could
get home. Taking a deep breath, Maggie Maloney walked across the street.
As she passed the line in the road, she increased her step and the line
became a translucent shard of glass.
Hesitating momentarily, as she clasped the warm door handle - she
was going in unaided. Not one body in the candy store was a Viper,
the gang that everyone knew she had affiliated herself with. Those
people in there had loyalties that lay elsewhere - the Deuces. The
Deuces would not understand - value while she lingered with demons.
The door swung open and Maggie ambled in. The door slammed closed,
much louder than she had hoped it would - she did not want to bring
any kind of attention to herself. It was too late for that, though
- all that resided inside had turned their heads - gawking. Paying
close attention to her shoes, she walked to counter and called the
clerk's attention. The newly polished counter top gleamed, reflecting
her nervous countenance and stature.
"Hard toffee - a bag full?" she whispered.
The clerk silently nodded and flounced to fill her request.
Some still gaped at her gall - to stride in - alone in a place that
was commonly known as Deuces territory - perplexing. Eyes - pairs
and pairs of eyes - blinding her to the very core - a certain gaze.
From her immediate glances, she could feel the hatred glaring at her
entire existence. Maggie inclined her head slightly to the left -
Bobby Esther.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
The first thought she had to aide her defense was to counter
with, what the hell does it look like I am doing? No - that would not
do - Maggie had to stay quiet - a wallflower. She would never do anything
to incite anyone - at least not intentionally. Then, she felt Bobby grab
onto her wrist - the bag was half-full.
"Did you hear me? Get the hell out of her!"
She wrenched her arm from his clammy grasp - goose flesh
prickled and sent trembles of chills all over her body. Leon stood
and pulled his brother backwards from the fragile girl, who cowered
in the presence of the enemies. The clerk slid the bag of candy
across the table - the sound seemingly deafening sound to her ears.
As she pulled the dollar from her purse, Leon slid into the seat beside
her. The clerk took the bill from her and dropped a few pennies on the
counter top. Maggie scooped the change up in one swoop and almost turned.
"Get her a ginger ale,"
A few intakes of breath were loudly expressed, including
hers. Shock - unpolluted shock rocked the walls - their minds.
The ginger ale sounded extremely loud as the clerk placed it on
the counter. Maggie, momentarily stood - dumb-founded - she had
not spoken to Leon in three years or more, yet now, here they were.
"Sit down," he told her, as if sitting were the only obvious thing to do.
Her legs, she felt, were about to buckle - she sat next to him.
The ale bubbled and she sipped it - taste, there was not any - dull and
lifeless - tasteless. The brown bag of candy sat unattended - silently
by itself - alone.
"Those for him?"
Maggie grimaced; him registered in her mind swiftly.
She nodded slightly - Maggie wanted nothing more than to go home.
Leon turned, directing his full attention on her. She drank more
of the unsavory elixir.
"Why do you stay? It would be so simple to leave . . . "
"You mean to run?"
"No, I mean to leave - go away from here - from him,"
Maggie met his eyes, and then hastily looked away. Standing
up, she grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. She knew - she
somehow knew that what Leon had to say was not to be of pleasantries,
but of his displeasure with her associations. Though, that word would
be the last thing that she or, any other person would use.
"Thanks for the ale,"
Maggie glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. She could
understand well enough that time consisting of twelve numbers and to
hands could not be the meaning to existence, yet it held so much vitality.
Only two minutes would tick by each time she looked back to the face. She
did not know exactly how to greet Marco. Was she to stand, sit, or lounge
on the bed? The most simplistic thing to do was to fix him what he liked -
what he longed for. Indeed, in his coming home, Maggie made sure that he
would have everything he had been deprived of for three years.
The slamming of a car door and the immediate driving away
sent her chills that existed in fierceness. Maggie fidgeted and
straightened her dress. The dress - she had not thought of that.
Searching from the depths of her memory bank - he still favoured
black, didn't he? And her hair - which way did he like it best -
down, up, or was there a twist? Nothing registered in her cogitation,
save for the footsteps walking up the stairs.
Then, the door was undone and he was there. Irritated,
Marco Vendetti closed the door. At once the odour of cigarettes
glided through the aroma of freshly cooked morsels - entering every
cleft of the kitchen. The reflection that she should stand came to
her. So, Maggie slowly rose on shaky legs and went to him.
Maggie stopped shortly of embracing his body - she felt the
inclination to ask him if it would be okay. Her gaze lingered on the
floor as she felt his eyes trace over her. She closed her eyes tightly -
praying that there would not be any comment of imperfection. Subsequently,
the thought was obliterated when Marco strode past her, dispassiontingly,
unbuttoning his leather shirt.
She sighed profoundly - of relief pierced her thoughts and
disappointment. Maggie took his shirt and clasped it softly, like
a mother would an infant - she held it. She walked to the living
room and placed it on a chair, folding it first - allowing the musty
smell of dead animal flesh and smoke to seep into her awareness.
Timidly - her head downcast, she unhurriedly made her way back
to the kitchen - back to him. Marco had already begun eating, but
suddenly her appetite fled. Maggie switched her weight onto her
left foot, strolling to the refrigerator. She enwrapped her pallid,
petite fingers around a bottle - frigidly dead, it sent a new wave of
chills to her, silencing the others that had never quite left. She
uncapped the bottle of beer and sat it before him - he instantly took
up the container and drank a extended mouthful.
The table, small as it was, seemed outsized enough for a
feast. Maggie sat across from Marco, marveling at his hands.
They were lengthy, she finally decided - lengthy, knowing, and . . .
Cutting, selecting the food - devouring it, then, speedily. Then,
she wondered how many people he had killed with those enchanting hands -
how many souls had he stolen like a thief in the night? Surely,
though the numbers were great - this she knew - no amount could
grant him on of his own.
His eyes had not left her - since he had sat down, her image
graced his vision. And, he took notice promptly how she dared not
even once to gaze directly at him. He knew from the very first time
that he saw her, she feared him - he terrorized her to the very medial
of her own existence, and even then she did all he wanted - all she
longed for was to please him - for him to approve. This gave him an
unmentionable amount of power and confidence, a great amount that made
him feel invincible.
Maggie trembled in knives of anticipation - for him to move -
to speak. The fork and knife clattered onto the plate, she jerked her
head to the floor to his hands once more. Marco lit a cigarette and
took a drink from the bottle. The smoke filtered its way toward her
and she breathed deeply. Maggie placed her hands down upon the table,
reveling in the feel of the smoothed wood.
"What? You not gonna' eat anything?" his voice swept over her as
mist does a harbour.
She jumped almost and realized that it was a question and not a
contradiction. How wonderfully sweet it could have been if she could of
allowed her defenses to part - but she could not do that - not with him.
Maggie shook her head slowly, keeping the silence prolonged for as long
as possible. Because the blanket of time was favoured to whatever he
could possibly say. Marco slammed his hands down on the table - the
silverware, plates, and bottle of beer shook with shame. She winced
with terror and finally her eyes flickered to his for a moment. He
threw a fork at her, it bounced off her chest and clattered to floor.
"Hey, fucking close-mouth! Look at me!"
Maggie looked up, dropping her hands to her lap - surprised
to find that his face was not completely lit with anger. They held
each other's gaze for a lenghthly amount of time. Then, he gave a
half-grin, which only led to her offering a full smile that lightened
her heart. He stood up, suddenly, knocking over the empty bottle
accidentally.
This time she froze as he walked toward her. His body was
terribly close to her - she thought of the first time he had ever
touched her. His skin was rough, but she never grew tired of the
ill feeling. Time and time again she would allow him to grab her
- around the waist - hips that fit so increadibly snugly against
his waist that she felt at times that they were meant for each other.
Marco kneeled down, laying one hand on her upper thigh, the other on
her waist. Goose flesh ran up her entire body - late at nights she
fantasied that he would come in through the bedroom and leave her
being racked with these tiny bumps as well as pleasurable pain.
"I read all those sweet letters you sent me," he said, stroking her
leg, "they gave me something to wait for."
"Why wouldn't . . ."
Maggie trailed off, gazing down upon this demon that threatened
her entire mentality. He merely stared back, eyes ablaze with lust and
passionate abhorrance. Marco adjusted his body and kissed her wrist,
trailing wet kisses up to her arm - the cigarette smoking on the table
in the ash tray realizing it would never be finished.
"Why wouldn't what?" he asked, through nibble of her soft flesh.
She moved her free arm, stroking, feeling the tangible
skin that called out to her own. He was warm - fire erupted
over his body as her coolness washed over him in waves. The
diction shared between them could be words of spite - hateful
language - spitefulness - it would all lead to the same place
as it always did.
"Why wouldn't you let me come to see you, Marco? All you had to
do was ask - give one word and I would have walked over the oceans
to be with you,"
"If you had walked your sweet ass into that fucking cage, the
bars or screens couldn't have held me back from fucking you
right ther - on the floor, the counter - anywhere,"
He stood up, clasping her hand as he went to his feet.
He jerked her to her feet and held her tightly, painfully against
his body. Marco forced his lips upon her, running his hands over
her hips and breasts. He inclined his head toward the bedroom.
"Come on,"
the street. She could not quite recall the last time she had been out
this way - she had lived in this town all of her life, but over the
last three years, her memory faded.
She glanced from left to right, taking in the tranquil appearing road.
This one block, she silently lamented, has brought such misery - heartache.
Instantly, the image of Miss Esther flashed through her mind, bringing back
a dreaded soft night that she had so wanted to disregard - to wipe it from
her mind completely. It haunted her - the echo of rain battering concrete
and road, was mostly all she could heed - and the screeching.
Maggie blinked away the insane filled night terrors of weeping for a
dead son. From the frigid, stone like window in Jimmy Pockets' apartment
- she saw - and recalled how Leon Esther stumbled up the street with his
brother's corpse in his arms. The torment alone, evident in his face was
just enough to make Maggie short of breath. Nothing could describe what
she felt when the dull eyes stared blankly up into a starless night sky.
The young boy's orbs, Allie Boy's, would never behold a virgin day, nor
would they vask in the glory of the setting sun.
A young boy bumped into her, apologizing quickly - he ran into the
candy store. This broke her sorrowful thoughts and she told herself
that the sooner that she bought what she wanted, the quicker she could
get home. Taking a deep breath, Maggie Maloney walked across the street.
As she passed the line in the road, she increased her step and the line
became a translucent shard of glass.
Hesitating momentarily, as she clasped the warm door handle - she
was going in unaided. Not one body in the candy store was a Viper,
the gang that everyone knew she had affiliated herself with. Those
people in there had loyalties that lay elsewhere - the Deuces. The
Deuces would not understand - value while she lingered with demons.
The door swung open and Maggie ambled in. The door slammed closed,
much louder than she had hoped it would - she did not want to bring
any kind of attention to herself. It was too late for that, though
- all that resided inside had turned their heads - gawking. Paying
close attention to her shoes, she walked to counter and called the
clerk's attention. The newly polished counter top gleamed, reflecting
her nervous countenance and stature.
"Hard toffee - a bag full?" she whispered.
The clerk silently nodded and flounced to fill her request.
Some still gaped at her gall - to stride in - alone in a place that
was commonly known as Deuces territory - perplexing. Eyes - pairs
and pairs of eyes - blinding her to the very core - a certain gaze.
From her immediate glances, she could feel the hatred glaring at her
entire existence. Maggie inclined her head slightly to the left -
Bobby Esther.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
The first thought she had to aide her defense was to counter
with, what the hell does it look like I am doing? No - that would not
do - Maggie had to stay quiet - a wallflower. She would never do anything
to incite anyone - at least not intentionally. Then, she felt Bobby grab
onto her wrist - the bag was half-full.
"Did you hear me? Get the hell out of her!"
She wrenched her arm from his clammy grasp - goose flesh
prickled and sent trembles of chills all over her body. Leon stood
and pulled his brother backwards from the fragile girl, who cowered
in the presence of the enemies. The clerk slid the bag of candy
across the table - the sound seemingly deafening sound to her ears.
As she pulled the dollar from her purse, Leon slid into the seat beside
her. The clerk took the bill from her and dropped a few pennies on the
counter top. Maggie scooped the change up in one swoop and almost turned.
"Get her a ginger ale,"
A few intakes of breath were loudly expressed, including
hers. Shock - unpolluted shock rocked the walls - their minds.
The ginger ale sounded extremely loud as the clerk placed it on
the counter. Maggie, momentarily stood - dumb-founded - she had
not spoken to Leon in three years or more, yet now, here they were.
"Sit down," he told her, as if sitting were the only obvious thing to do.
Her legs, she felt, were about to buckle - she sat next to him.
The ale bubbled and she sipped it - taste, there was not any - dull and
lifeless - tasteless. The brown bag of candy sat unattended - silently
by itself - alone.
"Those for him?"
Maggie grimaced; him registered in her mind swiftly.
She nodded slightly - Maggie wanted nothing more than to go home.
Leon turned, directing his full attention on her. She drank more
of the unsavory elixir.
"Why do you stay? It would be so simple to leave . . . "
"You mean to run?"
"No, I mean to leave - go away from here - from him,"
Maggie met his eyes, and then hastily looked away. Standing
up, she grabbed the bag and turned toward the door. She knew - she
somehow knew that what Leon had to say was not to be of pleasantries,
but of his displeasure with her associations. Though, that word would
be the last thing that she or, any other person would use.
"Thanks for the ale,"
Maggie glanced at the clock hanging on the far wall. She could
understand well enough that time consisting of twelve numbers and to
hands could not be the meaning to existence, yet it held so much vitality.
Only two minutes would tick by each time she looked back to the face. She
did not know exactly how to greet Marco. Was she to stand, sit, or lounge
on the bed? The most simplistic thing to do was to fix him what he liked -
what he longed for. Indeed, in his coming home, Maggie made sure that he
would have everything he had been deprived of for three years.
The slamming of a car door and the immediate driving away
sent her chills that existed in fierceness. Maggie fidgeted and
straightened her dress. The dress - she had not thought of that.
Searching from the depths of her memory bank - he still favoured
black, didn't he? And her hair - which way did he like it best -
down, up, or was there a twist? Nothing registered in her cogitation,
save for the footsteps walking up the stairs.
Then, the door was undone and he was there. Irritated,
Marco Vendetti closed the door. At once the odour of cigarettes
glided through the aroma of freshly cooked morsels - entering every
cleft of the kitchen. The reflection that she should stand came to
her. So, Maggie slowly rose on shaky legs and went to him.
Maggie stopped shortly of embracing his body - she felt the
inclination to ask him if it would be okay. Her gaze lingered on the
floor as she felt his eyes trace over her. She closed her eyes tightly -
praying that there would not be any comment of imperfection. Subsequently,
the thought was obliterated when Marco strode past her, dispassiontingly,
unbuttoning his leather shirt.
She sighed profoundly - of relief pierced her thoughts and
disappointment. Maggie took his shirt and clasped it softly, like
a mother would an infant - she held it. She walked to the living
room and placed it on a chair, folding it first - allowing the musty
smell of dead animal flesh and smoke to seep into her awareness.
Timidly - her head downcast, she unhurriedly made her way back
to the kitchen - back to him. Marco had already begun eating, but
suddenly her appetite fled. Maggie switched her weight onto her
left foot, strolling to the refrigerator. She enwrapped her pallid,
petite fingers around a bottle - frigidly dead, it sent a new wave of
chills to her, silencing the others that had never quite left. She
uncapped the bottle of beer and sat it before him - he instantly took
up the container and drank a extended mouthful.
The table, small as it was, seemed outsized enough for a
feast. Maggie sat across from Marco, marveling at his hands.
They were lengthy, she finally decided - lengthy, knowing, and . . .
Cutting, selecting the food - devouring it, then, speedily. Then,
she wondered how many people he had killed with those enchanting hands -
how many souls had he stolen like a thief in the night? Surely,
though the numbers were great - this she knew - no amount could
grant him on of his own.
His eyes had not left her - since he had sat down, her image
graced his vision. And, he took notice promptly how she dared not
even once to gaze directly at him. He knew from the very first time
that he saw her, she feared him - he terrorized her to the very medial
of her own existence, and even then she did all he wanted - all she
longed for was to please him - for him to approve. This gave him an
unmentionable amount of power and confidence, a great amount that made
him feel invincible.
Maggie trembled in knives of anticipation - for him to move -
to speak. The fork and knife clattered onto the plate, she jerked her
head to the floor to his hands once more. Marco lit a cigarette and
took a drink from the bottle. The smoke filtered its way toward her
and she breathed deeply. Maggie placed her hands down upon the table,
reveling in the feel of the smoothed wood.
"What? You not gonna' eat anything?" his voice swept over her as
mist does a harbour.
She jumped almost and realized that it was a question and not a
contradiction. How wonderfully sweet it could have been if she could of
allowed her defenses to part - but she could not do that - not with him.
Maggie shook her head slowly, keeping the silence prolonged for as long
as possible. Because the blanket of time was favoured to whatever he
could possibly say. Marco slammed his hands down on the table - the
silverware, plates, and bottle of beer shook with shame. She winced
with terror and finally her eyes flickered to his for a moment. He
threw a fork at her, it bounced off her chest and clattered to floor.
"Hey, fucking close-mouth! Look at me!"
Maggie looked up, dropping her hands to her lap - surprised
to find that his face was not completely lit with anger. They held
each other's gaze for a lenghthly amount of time. Then, he gave a
half-grin, which only led to her offering a full smile that lightened
her heart. He stood up, suddenly, knocking over the empty bottle
accidentally.
This time she froze as he walked toward her. His body was
terribly close to her - she thought of the first time he had ever
touched her. His skin was rough, but she never grew tired of the
ill feeling. Time and time again she would allow him to grab her
- around the waist - hips that fit so increadibly snugly against
his waist that she felt at times that they were meant for each other.
Marco kneeled down, laying one hand on her upper thigh, the other on
her waist. Goose flesh ran up her entire body - late at nights she
fantasied that he would come in through the bedroom and leave her
being racked with these tiny bumps as well as pleasurable pain.
"I read all those sweet letters you sent me," he said, stroking her
leg, "they gave me something to wait for."
"Why wouldn't . . ."
Maggie trailed off, gazing down upon this demon that threatened
her entire mentality. He merely stared back, eyes ablaze with lust and
passionate abhorrance. Marco adjusted his body and kissed her wrist,
trailing wet kisses up to her arm - the cigarette smoking on the table
in the ash tray realizing it would never be finished.
"Why wouldn't what?" he asked, through nibble of her soft flesh.
She moved her free arm, stroking, feeling the tangible
skin that called out to her own. He was warm - fire erupted
over his body as her coolness washed over him in waves. The
diction shared between them could be words of spite - hateful
language - spitefulness - it would all lead to the same place
as it always did.
"Why wouldn't you let me come to see you, Marco? All you had to
do was ask - give one word and I would have walked over the oceans
to be with you,"
"If you had walked your sweet ass into that fucking cage, the
bars or screens couldn't have held me back from fucking you
right ther - on the floor, the counter - anywhere,"
He stood up, clasping her hand as he went to his feet.
He jerked her to her feet and held her tightly, painfully against
his body. Marco forced his lips upon her, running his hands over
her hips and breasts. He inclined his head toward the bedroom.
"Come on,"