One week after Antonio's departure . . . .
"Lovino . . . what . . . what are you doing?"
Lovino pushed himself off of the floor to sit up and face Grandpa Roma. He wiped away the wine infused drool dripping down his chin and wiped his sweat covered forehead with his sleeve.
"I'm done being helpless. I've had some time to think on what has happened, and they've probably slaughtered Antonio just like they've slaughtered the other Jews in Barcelona. And I'm done. We're not going to Italy," he said.
"What?! Why, figlio? You have what you've always wanted and you refuse it?"
Lovino smiled bitterly, wiping his clammy hands off on his pants. He grabbed a piece of bread off of the table and shoved it into his mouth before getting down on his hands and knees again. Roma sat in a chair. He had to take this in sitting or he was going to pass out.
"Lovi, are you . . . exercising?"
"I'm tired of being fucked with. They may have taken Antonio but they aren't going to take anyone else without a fight. And let me tell you something," Lovino let out a forced, frightening chuckle. "It's a battle that I'm going to fucking win. I'm a man. I'm not helpless. I'm not going to be treated like a child anymore. And I'm sure as hell not going to look like one. I want the respect I deserve."
Grandpa Roma popped open a bottle of wine and took a drink straight from the bottle. He wasn't sure if he was proud or disappointed right now. "Why do you want to stay in Barcelona, Lovino?" Roma felt as if he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Lovino.
"I'm taking as many of those sonsabitches down as I can before they take me down."
"So your sadness has been replaced with rage?"
Lovino stopped what he was doing and looked up at his grandfather. His eyes were cold and somehow still fiery. "Nothing could replace the sadness I feel. But I will not let that control me. The rage . . . coats it." Lovino looked like he might start crying again, but he wouldn't let himself cry. He was a man, dammit.
"Lovino, what is that around your neck?"
Lovino didn't answer. He held up the two pendants that hung from the chain around his neck. One was clean silver and one was gleaming gold. Both overlapped eachother and made soft noises as they clang together. Roma held the pendants on his fingertips. One cross and one star.
The words caught in his throat and finally, he nodded at his grandson. "We'll leave in three weeks, Lovino."
.
Two weeks before execution . . . .
Time was non-existant. Days were no longer. This had to be what was hell was like. Sitting in a room all day with your hopes and dreams but having no way to reach them. The pain was agonizing, worse than anything else they could have inflicted on him. He rolled his head back to rest it on the cold stone wall. The cold didn't get to him anymore. He had adjusted to it and it now seemed normal. His body was almost always numb.
His left eye still ached, though not like it had when it was first cut. It didn't bleed. It didn't feel like it had gotten infected yet which was some kind of miracle. Not that Antonio cared if it did. He would be dying anyways and he no longer needed that eye. He could still see out of it very, very faintly. Mostly he could see silhouettes. His right eye was just as it was, and seeing was no problem. The cut on his eyelid was healing, slowly but surely. Again, not that it mattered.
His hair was always kept short but his face still hadn't been shaved and he had a short beard now. He at least wanted to die without facial hair, but that was a petty wish. He always hated facial hair. Why was he thinking about facial hair? God, he needed to get out of the cell.
He did have the occasional good thought that brightened his day, but most days that didn't happen.
They still hadn't boarded up the window. They had noticed it and just figured it wouldn't be a problem, he guessed. It wasn't like he could escape or had someone here to help him. Sometimes he tried to look out the window at the sky, which had been blue lately. He could see a sliver of it if he angled himself just right. He would try to think of a way to escape, but escape was impossible. So he waited.
.
Three weeks before execution . . .
"Feliciano, stay quiet. You are lucky to be out."
"Yes but you dressed me up like a woman! How am I lucky?"
"It is to hide you and you know this."
Feliciano held onto Ludwig's bicep. Ludwig flinched away at first, as they were in public and Feliciano was a boy, but Feliciano just let out his bell-like laugh and said, "It's okay, everyone thinks I'm a girl! And you wanted this, so you're going to deal with it. You better treat me like a duchess while I'm dressed like this or everyone will think you don't have proper manners and-"
"Fine. Just stop speaking."
Feliciano smiled and tugged on Ludwig's arm. "Oh! Let's go look at swords! I always wanted a sword." The Italian pushed open a shop door and ran inside excitedly. He turned to see if Ludwig was coming. He had a huge grin and wide eyes. He looked like a damn doll and it was almost scaring Ludwig. He pulled on Feliciano's arm harshly and held onto his hand. "Do not let go of my hand, Feli. I do not want you running off."
"What? What was that?"
Ludwig squinted. "What?"
"Oh, Luddy, I love it when you call me Feli!"
The German grimaced and looked away. "Verdammt. It was accident."
"No, I don't think it was. You're so funny, Luddy. You're sciocco."
"What does that mean?"
"It means when you . . . you . . . " Feliciano gasped at something over Ludwigs shoulder. "L-Lovi . . . Grandpa Roma!" He pulled away from Ludwig and ran over to two cloaked figures entering an alleyway. Ludwig followed him, eyebrows furrowed and hand gripping his sword handle. His grip lightened when he saw two sets of arms wrapping around Feliciano.
.
A fortnight. That is what they had told him. He would be executed in a fortnight. It was night, now. The only light that shone was that from the moon. Antonio tried to sleep as his eyes traced the form of the rectangle of light from the busted out wood slab.
His eyes unfocused and he didn't know where he was looking. Somewhere to his left, he thought. He couldn't see in this darkness, anyway. His eyes refocused and fell to the light again. He could see a shift in the darkness of it. The clouds were covering it. The darkness quickly was replaced with light. So quickly, though. Quicker than a cloud. Antonio didn't turn to face the window. He would have if this was any other time, but he hadn't had the energy to do anything in weeks. So his eyes stuck to the now half covered lit area.
Two thick lines blocked out half of the light, then finally, a silhouette of a face and a hand invaded the lit area. Antonio had to look up now, and with all of the energy he could muster, he stood to see who was at his window. He could see a chin and the faint outline of lips. A hand slid into his cell and rested against the cool stone just beneath the window.
"Antonio?"
Antonio froze. His lips parted and tears freely fell from his eyes, but he kept them as quiet as possible. "Lovino? Oh my God. Oh my-" He looked around at the floor, not hesitating to dump the contents of the bucket out into the empty cell next to him. He'd be beat for that tomorrow, but tomorrow didn't matter tonight. He turned the bucket over and stepped on top of it. He reached up for the hand and grasped it as tight as he could, which wasn't very tight.
"Antonio, I didn't think . . . I thought you'd be dead. Shit. I'm so happy you're alive. I love you. I love you I love you I love you." He ran his thumb over the top of Antonio's hand, which was thinner than he had remembered, which reminded him of what he had in his pocket. "God I've missed you. I have something for you." He pulled out a cloth with things wrapped inside. He pushed the entire thing through the bars, but it landed on the floor and went unnoticed for the time being. He could deal with it when Lovino left. But Lovino was here now and there was no telling if he'd see him again.
He didn't even expect to see him this time. "Thank you so much, Lovino, but it was stupid of you to come here. You need to go. You need to take the money I left you and go back to Italy. I don't want to see you killed."
"No. I'm sorry Antonio, but no. I came back thinking you were dead and I planned to take down these bastards until they took me down, but I found out you were alive. I'm going to get you out of here or die trying. Either way we will be together, in life or in death. Don't argue with me, bastard. You have no say in this."
Antonio wiped away the wet sheen on his cheeks. It wasn't as if Lovino could save him. He was beyond saving at this point. "Lovino, listen to me, please. I only say this because I love you. Get out of here. Leave me. Save yourself and your family. Live the life you want."
"I can't live the life I want without you in it."
"Lovino . . . " Antonio didn't know what to say. It was pointless to argue with the Italian. He would do whatever the hell he wanted. So he stayed silent.
"I have to leave, Antonio. I love you. I love you! This isn't goodbye, though. You said it yourself; we're going to meet again. So until then, bastard, stay alive and well. If you've lost all hope, you better regain it."
"I love you, too . . . "
Lovino stood up and ran off through the ice covered streets. Antonio listened to the sound of his feet hitting the ground until he was out of earshot. He glanced down at the pile of things the Italian had given him. He opened the cloth and peered inside. There was a half loaf of bread, a tomato, a small bottle of rum, and a knife. Antonio's first thought was actually to shave with the small knife, but they would have noticed that he had something to shave with, so that was out of the question. He popped the cap off of the rum and tilted his head back. He positioned the bottle's neck carefully over his cheek and poured a small amount of the spirit into his left eye.
The rum burned the healing cut, but at least it would be clean. If for some reason there is a way out of this, he thought before stopping himself. There was no way out of this and he wished he didn't have to burden himself with false hope.
To Be Continued . . .