A/N: Ya, double updates…
Schuldich yelled for the third time for dinner and I slowly entered the kitchen. Farfarello was eating a raw potato, like always, the red-haired German had his hair tied back in a loose bun and had a pink apron tied around his waist, like always. Then, the "head" of our household, the most father-like person I've ever had, Bradley Crawford, our "fearless leader", was hiding behind a newspaper, like always.
I sat down with a solid thud.
"Well, I'm glad to see that SOMEBODY has finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Schu loudly and sarcastically stated, shoveling a piece of chilled apple strudel onto my plate. It may sound weird but I swear that chilled apple strudel is one of, if not, the best ways to chill down on a really, really hot day. When everyone was seated and eating, Crawford cleared his throat and set down his newspaper.
"Well, Schwarz. It's summer vacation as of today for us," He said. Farfarello smiled evilly. "And I think we all deserve a huge rest from work." Now I was beginning to get suspicious. What did he mean by "rest"? And why was Mr. Workaholic talking about getting a rest from the one thing he loved almost as much as Schuldich? "So, we're going on a long trip, throughout Italy."
I spit out my milk. "We're doing what?" I nearly yelled. Shock must've been written over all of my face because the dark blue haired leader smiled.
"We're going to Italy this summer, and we leave tomorrow…" His left eyebrow was raised and he stared at me with a very foggy look.
I did my best impression of a smile and sat down, raving about what a treat this was. In reality, I was dying on the inside. I could think simply that my only chance to meet and talk with the rival assassin out of fighting was gone. I would never know what he would be like, what his feelings toward me would prove to be.
Dinner ended as Crawford continued telling us that our plane left tomorrow at 5 am. So I went to my room with my huge green duffle bag and as I sat on my bed as clothes began to fly into it. Meanwhile, my mind was deep into other matters. My hands grabbed the pillow resting perfectly on the twin bed and brought it to my body as I hugged it as tight as I could. I just wish it could hug back. I know I was always trying to be grown-up, but I still felt like a kid some times. When I used to cry myself to sleep, I wished then more than ever that someone had loved me and comforted me.
I fished in my pillow stuffing for the translucent orange pill cases and took them out. I had refilled one of them the day before but now it was half empty. I opened it and shoved three white capsules in my mouth, grabbing the glass of water on my bed stand and chugging it all down. Next thing I knew, I was smoking a cancer stick and emptying my stash into my carry-on.
Bradley wasn't the comforting type, Farfarello didn't like crying little punks, and Schuldich… well, Schu did calm me down, no matter what it was about, but he didn't really think of me like family. He'd kill me for saying this but he was like a mom to me, the only kindness I've really had.
But this time I was sure that I couldn't tell him what was wrong, and what was making me cry, though he could probably find out despite my protest. He was telepathic after all, but I don't think he would pry if I asked him not to. If they found out though, I'd be out of the team, out in the rain and cold to fend for myself in the world of judge-mental humans and bitter people.
A tear splattered on my pillow. Followed by another and another, all stained black from my now running eyeliner that I layered on daily. Saying I was soft or weak wasn't the truth. In fact I did more by my 12th birthday than most people did in their entire lives. I was just deprived of love, of soft contact, of peaceful words and I had never been very appreciated, even in this team. It had been going on so long that I should've been used to it, but I wasn't, and my heart had been currently aching for a few weeks. I didn't have a clue what was going on with me, but every time I saw things that reminded me of Siberian, of his deep brown eyes and dark chocolate hair, of how he smiled when he was teaching kids soccer, and now thinking about it made something hurt even more.
It was like having a steak driven into your heart, and everyday it was twisted deeper and deeper because you weren't near him. Then, when you felt like you were going to crack under the pressure, it's momentarily numbed, then driven deeper again. I wanted to tell him… but I really didn't know what I would do if he said he didn't like me at all. So I hadn't told him, for fear of another rejection, which I probably couldn't handle though it was probably evidential. Though it seemed more than inevitable. We were enemies and that's all we'd ever be.
I was packed and stared at my ceiling, wondering what to do with myself. The flower shop closed in 2 hours, I could still make it… just to buy myself a bouquet of red roses and make believe it was from my enemy, the one guy who could love me but probably regarded me like the rest of the world, a freak murderer. Hopelessly in love, that's what I think it was called when you love someone so much that nothing else matters and you'd do anything, pay any price, just to have them. That's what I felt. I was ready to give anything up to fate just for a shot at love.
