Nicholas: Interesting chapter...not what I usually write...maybe that's because somehow, naughty adult videos inspired me to continue writing...anywho...

Looking out the window from the living room of Angie's apartment, one can see straight down to the alleyway, right on the edge of a busy boulevard. It was easy to catch a glimpse of the cars as they passed at about ten a minute. A lazy, fat tabby cat wandered about, belly scraping on the concrete. The sun was finally peeking out from behind the building across the way and casting industrial shadows over the pavement. Marco glared with a sour expression at everything on the outside, mostly angry that he wasn't out there. He'd just got done with three years of being kept inside…I thought I was done!

Sitting still made him fidgety, knees bouncing, hands wringing, teeth clenching harshly. If he had finger nails he'd be contemplating clawing his own eyes out just as something to do other than sit and wait. Hours tick by so slowly when one has nothing—and that does mean nothing—to do except breath and blink. This was worse than prison, even despite some of the horrible things other inmates did to him during his sentence. This was being starved and then told not to drool when a steak is dangled in front of his face. Glaring down at his wounded leg, stuck the pad of his thumb against the scab and pressed down until it stung so bad his eyes watered. "Stupid shit," he muttered accusingly at the gruesome red that seeped up once more.

Angie will probably be pissed if I get blood on her cushion… That thought alone was enough to make him want to just let himself bleed out on the couch. Fortunately, he didn't feel all that masochistic today.

Wiping up the drizzle of liquid that oozed up from the fissure in his thigh, he decided to occupy himself by watching as it dried to a brown crust on his hand. He deeply regretted this wound of his and the outcome of the fight with Leon last night. Even if he tried, he couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when he actually lost. Nothing made sense about this stupid situation. When did I get sliced in the leg? When did I pass out? What the HELL? The last thing he remembered was Leon socking him in the face. Then he woke up to a pounding headache and a skirt by his head. He didn't know why he grabbed her, but it made sense at the time. Now he wished he hadn't.

"This is bullshit," he snarled at himself, "Stupid fucker." He leered at the long, gnarled slash in his flesh as though staring at it long enough would make it run away in fear. Deciding that falling on his face a few times was a hell of a lot more interesting than sitting there, he became determined to stand up and walk around if it killed him. In light of the situation, there was a possibility that it would.

Pressing his feet down into the off-white carpet, he winced as he tried to put weight on his leg. He glared down at his toes as if it were somehow their fault that he couldn't stand properly. He'd get up sooner or later, he promised himself that much.

"So if I let you dress me up at department stores and then buy the clothes, you'll forgive me?" Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he followed Angie out of the library on her lunch break. For a while, he couldn't help but wonder what the heck had gotten into her when she started talking about all of this nonsense of buying men's clothes. It wasn't really his business to question what Angie did with her life, and he was on thin ice at the moment, so make inquiries was out of the equation.

"No, if you buy me clothes that fit you, I'll forgive you."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to and you are my friend…and I don't have that much money at the moment, and these clothes are a necessity." Angie was suddenly grateful that he could not read her thoughts because they had gone straight to Marco sitting in his living room wearing nothing but a pair of briefs.

With a frustrated sigh, Jonathan lead the way to a cheap thrift store and threw the door open to let her in. "Why are they necessary? I don't want to go around wasting money on clothes. Who's going to wear them, you?"

"No…well yes…darn it, I don't know how to answer that! Just do me a favor, will you?"

They both were slightly on the angry side, but neither wanted to really go there or they'd end up screaming at each other. They went through the rows of clothes, Angela looking for something she thought Marco would wear and Jonathan looking for something that he would want. A few moments passed in silence so that he could get pants and she could get shirts. Only a few outfits, Angie reminded herself silently. Don't want him staying forever…not that he'd want to. Annoyance buzzed about her mind about all of the mysteries the man brought up. Sifting through hangers, she let her mind take it's own course for a moment.

So many things about Marco Vindetti were just as she would have expected—if she had indeed had the chance to expect this. He was harsh, quick-witted and had the cruelest smirk she'd ever had to deal with being directed at her. But still, he was a tangible human being. Straight out of stories and the world where everyone knew his name into her living room, he was like a demon. One doesn't know if he truly exists until she sees him, and of course that demonic quality that made her jumpy whenever she was in the same area as him. It was impossible for her to believe that he was really just another guy.

Her fingers slid idly over a satin dress shirt that somewhat resembled the remains of Marco's before she'd trashed it. He was indeed a man to wonder about, but mostly a man to fear. The librarian found herself almost terrified at the thought of going home to a drug-dealer who'd killed someone she had been quite familiar with. Then, like a tidal wave, strong-will and determination set in making her feel like she was made from iron. Last night, she'd decided that she would win. Last night, when things had been so odd and hectic that she hadn't taken much time to think them through. She had promised herself that she would not buckled under his spoiled-brat attitude.

With a new-found sense of security, she picked out that satin dress shirt and then a few other more plain ones. "Jonathan, what did you get?" she asked, looking over into the next aisle of clothes.

Jonathan lifted up few hangers that clung to pants. Just a few pairs of denim trousers along with a very interesting pair of black slacks. Angie raised an eyebrow. "What? They're comfortable. Got long pockets."

She interrupted before he could elaborate. "I really don't want to know. Just go buy these." Shoving the bundle of shirts into his arms, she made her way to the front of the store and out of the doors to get some fresh air. A smile had lit on her face as she looked up at the sunrays. She was confident now, that was all she needed.

"Ah fuck!" So far, Marco had managed to knock over a total of three chairs (the only ones that were at the kitchen table), a plastic pot of a fake plant, his cigarettes from the counter and a dish that he'd barely been able to catch before it shattered on the tile. For a bit, he had his feet under him and legs working fairly well, but then he stumbled and it was all the way to hell from there. This was all the convincing he needed to take a break. Luckily, he had his cigarettes. Reaching up awkwardly, he found his lighter and lit one up, not caring if Angie wouldn't be too happy about him smoking in her apartment.

He took a long drag and blew white smoke up to the ceiling, watching it curl and dance until it disappeared. You get a different perspective from the floor, he begrudgingly mused to himself. Being someone that wasn't used to this type of weakness, it was all he could do not to be furious with himself. Looking up at the tile counters, periwinkle blue walls and down at the pinkish floor tiles, he scratched his head in contemplation of his next move.

If asked, he wouldn't admit that he wished Angie would hurry up and get her ass home. The last thing he'd give any evidence to is needing help, especially from a woman. Still, he knew she was useful in the sense that he was for the moment handicapped. On top of that, she had some twisted devotion to his safety, so that was a bonus in case he somehow desperately needed to manipulate her. Say it's fucked up to think that way, but he had better things he could be doing with his life than sitting on the floor of someone else's kitchen waiting for them to come to his "unneeded" rescue. Propping his foot up on the cupboard in front of him, he finished his cigarette in another three long, drawn out drags that let his mind go numb if even just for a few seconds. "Damn girl," he muttered glumly.

After licking his palm, he pressed the lit end of his cigarette against the wet skin to put it out. A circle of hot, reddish flesh remained and he stared at it dumbly. Now that the quickened heart rate and racing thoughts of his thrilling adventure of meeting the floor a few moments ago had faded, he found himself to again be bored out of his mind.

The after noon passed bye with him idly twiddling his thumbs and assessing the damage that Angie would no doubt be furious for. One of the chairs had a broken leg and that fake plant was probably going to suffer a few cracks in the pot. He picked up the dish he'd caught and noticed that it remained flawless. A smirk lit on his face as he looked at the shiny, white plate and he felt the need to be particularly evil. He tossed the thing across the kitchen and it crashed to the floor with a loud bang and a shatter. Shards of white glass flew everywhere, and his eyes went alight with mischief.

It seemed like only a few moments after that, he could distinctly hear the sound of rushing footsteps in the hallway outside of the apartment. Three…two…one, he counted down in his mind. The front door flew open and there was a rustle of a plastic bag and then loud, wheezing pants. "Marco!" that was definitely Angie, but he didn't even try to respond. "What was that crash?"

Straightening his legs, he leaned back against the counter behind him and waited for her to appear from the other room. "I fell," he stated flatly.

Her entire body went rigid, earrings still waving slightly at her sudden stop. Wide eyes scanned the mayhem and her arms suddenly dropped the two big plastic bags she was carrying. "What did you do?" she squeaked quietly. Carefully, she stepped over him and her feet crunched over pieces of broken plate. Her first instinct was to shout at him because for some reason she just knew he'd done all of this on purpose, but then she turned and glared at him. Both of his arms were bruised darker than they'd been before, as though he'd bumped into something or…fallen.

As she made a desperate attempt at sighing away her stress, she knelt down beside him and picked up his hand. "You burnt yourself," she observed, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Couldn't find an ash tray." He offered her the cigarette butt, which she took and disposed of. "Wanna help me up, or do I get to sit here all day?"

Angie's face went slightly sour at his rudeness. She stared down at him, wondering how someone who at the moment looked this pitiful could possibly be such a jerk. "You can wait for me to clean up this mess," she told him, leaving no room for argument. Suddenly, she smiled at him. "And then you can get dressed. I bought you clothes."

Eyebrows creased in confusion, Marco kept on watching her even as she looked away to pick up the pieces of glass to throw away. Women never cease to amaze and annoy him. Either she was a damn good actor, or she really was unfazed by all of this, in which case Marco would just have to try harder.