Drum roll please.
I think Lana del Rey is the official artist for this story! lol
I recommend listening to the song I tag underneath. There is thoughts behind why I choose then.
You're falling hard, I push away, I'm feeling hot to the touch
You say you miss me and I wanna say I miss you so much
But something keeps me really quiet, I'm alive, I'm a lush
Your love, your love, my love
I can see my baby swinging
His Parliament's on fire and his hands are up
On the balcony and I'm singing
Ooh baby, ooh baby, I'm in love
I can see my sweet boy swaying
He's crazy y cubano como yo, la-la
On the balcony and I'm saying
Move baby, move baby, I'm in love
I'm in love (I'm in love)
I'm in love (I'm in love)
West coast - Lana del rey {tiktok version}
Chapter 18 - Morality - 1998
It is Saturday, July 4, 1998.
The morning sun beamed through the large bay window, soaking the home office in a golden ray. You can still smell the turkey bacon your mom cooked an hour ago. You sit across from your father, and he casually sips his morning coffee, eyes calculating. The chessboard sits in between you. You know he had a good week, only then, does he ask you to play chess on the weekend, otherwise, he would be reviewing documents.
He makes a move, rook e3. He leans back, the handle of the coffee cup held between his thumb and index finger. Your eyebrows pinch, looking at the chessboard quizzically. When you look up at him, he smirks at you from behind his cup, his pinky-rising mockingly. `
It doesn't make sense; your eyes must be tricking you. You have been watching him, trying to predict his next 5 moves, but now everything is off. In your head, you run back the last five moves backward, going over what he did, vs what you did. You lean forward, elbow to knees, and sit there staring for a while.
Something is off…
And then it clicks…
"You cheated!" You gasp in realization. When he moved his rook, he had also shifted his bishop backwards with the back of his palm, stealing your next possible move… cheating.
"Did I now?" His voice is ridiculing, "and what proof do you have?"
"I don't, but I know. I know every move you made." You tell him and he smiles. It's the smile that tells you he is pleased with you.
"Good. Never let your guard down. You can not blink, not once, not ever, you understand?" You nod your head as an answer. He places his cup on the table, leaning forward. You are close, and he looks you in the eyes.
"But you said, fraud and deceit are not skill in the game." You chastise. You were going to win; he knows you were. You weren't even five when he started teaching you the game. He had said to never cheat, to never take the easy way out, but to know your opponent in and out.
"I did say that, didn't I?" He hums in humor, and you nod firmly. "You're old enough now, and It's time for another lesson. I want you to pay attention, Mia figlia." With that said, he gently moves the chessboard aside to have your full attention. You know this is no longer about chess. You shift in your seat, your eyes returning his gaze.
"Morality is for the week, a social construct for the herd. There are only two things in this world. A predator and a prey. A lion, and a sheep, same as the wild, the rest is built to keep the mass a bay. There is no heaven or hell, when we die, we just die. So, if you want something, then the world is your oyster. Take it, nothing can stop you." His voice is unwavering, and his hands reaches out for yours, holding it in both of his.
"If you must step, then step, if you must cheat, then cheat, if you must stump, then stump." He leans closer, his voice a whisper, "and if you must kill, then kill." You watch him, eyes wide, soaking everything he says like a sponge. A mold for him to shape in his image. Unlike God in the bible, there is no righteousness here, only what fits the fittest.
"But if you must have morality, then make it only a few, draw a line where you would never cross. For me, it's you and your mother. The two of you I will not risk, the two of you I will protect, and kill for, no one and nothing comes above the two of you, everything else is just another piece on a chessboard." He releases your hands, leaning back in his chair. He reaches for his coffee again, and there is a light in his eyes, and a smirk on his lips.
"I thought I wanted a son, but the day I held you in that hospital, I knew you are going to be my greatest legacy. Because you are a woman, the world will underestimate you. That's your power. A lion might be stronger, but a lioness is the ideal hunter. Quick, agile, merciless. She feeds the pride." He pulls the chessboard back in place, his fingers also returning the bishop where it was. "You are a lioness, Mia figlia. And when the time comes, never hesitate, you go for the jugular, you understand?"
"Yes, father." You nod. Yes, you understand. The world is not black or white, but only shades of gray.
Just then, there is a knock on the door panel, and you try not to laugh as your mother peeks her head in from the office door. Her long dark hair is pulled in roller sets, her face stiff underneath the dry green clay mask.
"Dave, we have to get dressed now if we want to get there on time." She scolds, having a hard time moving her lips.
"Yes, sweetheart." Your father raises his hands in surrender, and winks at you as he gets up to follow after his wife.
In the background, you can hear your mother huffing and puffing about the party they will be attending this afternoon. A grand 4th of July party at the governor's mansion. It took some time to convince your mother to let you skip the party, there was some tears involved as well.
After all, you're taking Daryl to a 4th of July carnival.
Daryl is unsure what's happening to him anymore. He no longer walks through an ordinary day in an ordinary week. Every second, every waking moment, a face began to interfere with his existence. Lips so soft and sweet like Georgia's famous peaches, and eyes the color of honey, twinkling like the stars he sees when he's up in the mountains, and that ridiculous head thrown back, childlike laughter. He wakes up and she is the first thing he thinks of. He sleeps, and she is the last thought that runs in his head. He dreams and it's her lips, her touch, right where he aches the most for her. I guess this is what he asked for, he should have known better.
He wanted to bathe in her sunshine, but she ended up pouring gasoline and setting him on fire. But, if he must, if this is what it feels like to be consumed by fire, then he hopes he burns forever.
And how easy for her to do so, she would set him a blaze with just a look, a bite of her bottom lip, looking up at him with a slightly narrowed eyes, through her thick long lashes, and just like that, like a fuckin fool he loses his ability to think straight. It's been like that for him since the moment she set her lips on his, he knew he was done with, no hope of surviving this, so with his arms raised in surrender, he let her take him.
Take him to this dream world where she is his, where she looks up at him like he hung the fuckin moon, where she kisses his neck, and say his name so sweetly like a prayer. A world where she looks to him to protect her from harmless reptiles.
In this dream world, who he is, doesn't matter, his worthlessness, doesn't matter, all his lacking, doesn't matter. What matters is him waiting for her at the park in 100 degrees weather, and she would run to him like the heat doesn't bother her.
Daryl never been a religious, not like his brother who picked up a bible a few times. Daryl knows right from wrong; he doesn't need a deity to tell him that. He has never called to God even when everything in his life gone to shit, not even when the metal side of his father's belt buckle came down on his back. But when she sits in the passenger seat of her car, chatting about everything that went on with her day, he would watch her, and pray not to wake up.
Pray that this is real.
Because even though he is unsure about everything else, one thing he knows for certain. His future is teetered on her long feminine fingers. The fruity perfume, the one he is starting to smell on himself nowadays, is quickly becoming the foundation his world of bricked on. For he is already hers, even if she is not his.
"-should be fun" her voice brings him out his thoughts. He looks to her, today she looks like a flower. Her yellow sundress, red lips, and pink cheeks. She must have noticed his confused look because she repeats herself.
"I know you don't really like crowds, but I promise you, this will be fun." Right, he nods his head. He is fidgeting, he knows he is, there is anxiety holding him tightly. He opens the clear bottle in his hand, and takes a sip, feeling the liquid burning down his throat.
"Yep, I reckon standin in line to ride some raggedy ass roller coaster is fun." She looks at him, squinting her eyes at his sarcastic tone.
"It's not just roller coasters, you know, but the food is delicious. We can get some flannel cake, cotton candy, and watch the fireworks." She counts with one hand, the other guiding the car. He had never been to a carnival, not even as a kid. No one to take him. As he grew older, so did the fear and dislike for crowds, and people looking at him like he's some type of redneck degenerate.
He normally spends the 4th of July, grilling the catch of the day anyways, after Merle and him go out hunting in the morning. Later in the day, some of his brother's 'friends' would show up with homemade liquor and girls. Paid for their service kind of girls. Sometime in the evening, one of Merle's dumb friends would set off some fireworks. He remembers a few years back, when Big Lou blew up his thumb trying to set off a firework…
"What is that smell... what are you drinking?" She says as he takes his second sip of the day. She squints her nose, sniffing the air like a dog.
"It's moonshine," he tells her, and she does a double take, her eyebrows raised. "Liquid courage."
"Where the hell did you get moonshine, you're not old enough to drink?" He just smiles. Another part of her innocence, the part of her that's so sheltered. She is unaware alcohol was more accessible to him than food. There's always been alcohol… he had to learn how to hunt to eat though.
"One of merle's friend, skinny Pete, be making this shit at home." Friend is big word, more like one of Merle's clients.
"It smells like gasoline." She laughs.
No one does 4th of July like the South.
By the time you stepped out of the car and onto the parking lot, Daryl had consumed half of the liquor in the plastic bottle. If this is what it takes for him to have fun and let lose, so be it. You were surprised when he said, he had never been to a carnival, especially since Georgia's annual pumpkin patch carnival is legendary.
The festival is set down overhang, facing the bay water, and from where you stood, you can see a few boats down below, slowly drifting around, large American flag anchored on their sides.
You hold on to Daryl's hand firmly, his fingers locked in yours, and you lead, dragging him behind. The moment you passed the ticketing booth, you are hit with a rush of sounds, sights, and smells that immediately transported you back to your childhood. Memories of you holding on to your parent's hands comes to mind, they would lift you off the ground and you would swing your tiny legs as you walk through the festival.
You and Daryl explore leisurely, but eventually you follow your nose, to the scent of fried food, sweet cotton candy, and fresh popcorn mingling in the air, making your mouth water with anticipation. The crackling of fireworks echoes in the distance, promising a night of dazzling displays of celebration.
You decide to get a hotdog, and Daryl gets a double cheeseburger, with seasoned fries. You find an unoccupied outdoor bench to sit on, with your respective food. You look at him sitting across from you and think of the first time he took you to Uncle Joe's. Your eyes draw to his fries, and you reach for it, and he smacks your hand before you can touch his plate.
"Come on, just want one." you whine, trying to make your eyes as big as possible.
"Nah, you said you ain't want any when the guy asked you in the booth." He pulls his paper plate closer.
"I know, but now I want one. Pleeease! Just one," you bring your hand together indicating begging.
"Always be wantin everything I have," he grumbles, but nonetheless he pushes the plate closer.
The moment when is within your reach, you scoop a handful, sticking your tongue out at him. When he gives you a look, you grin, munching on his fries, which you had declined to order earlier.
Soon, you are back on your feet, exploring down the aisles. With booze and food in his system, he seems less anxious, but still jumpy, as children darts by him clutching stuffed animals or balloons, their faces lighting up with happiness.
As you walk farther, you are met with the vibrant colors of the carnival rides, each one beckoning you with its own unique charm. The Ferris wheel towers above you, its bright lights illuminating the afternoon sky like a beacon of sunlight. The roller coaster roars in the background, its metal tracks twisting and turning in a dizzying display of thrills.
Laughter and chatter filled the air, as families and friends mingled together in a shared sense of excitement. You move your hand up Daryl's arm, holding him to you as you casually walk. You look up at him with a smile, and he keeps his eyes on you, like you're the most exciting thing there. Your smile gets wider, and you can't help the warmth that spreads deep in your chest.
The next turn brings you to the carnival games, each booth blared with music and flashing lights, challenging all to test their skills and win a prize. In one of the stalls, something catches your eyes, and you stop dead in your track before you tug unsuspecting Daryl to it.
"Oh, look at that monkey! isn't he cute!" You point at the stuffed toy, a brown monkey with long arms, and big button eyes, kind of creepy looking, but cute. It reminds you of one you had when you were a kid.
"That shit is for kids, you know." He tells you, following what you're pointing at.
"No, it's not-" before you can even finish your sentence, a little girl skips pass you, clinching the exact replica of the monkey toy. "Shut up!" you smack him on the arm, as he chuckles at you.
"Even a grown woman is allowed to feel young and special sometimes." An old man behind the counter addresses Daryl, overhearing your conversation. "It's only five bucks, if you want to win that one for your girl," he says to Daryl, his voice gentle. There is a moment as Daryl looks to you, then to the man, before nodding. He wipes his hand on his shirt first, digging in his back pocket for the few singles he has.
"Oughta boy," The carnie grins, handing the plastic rifle and a pile of pellets in exchange for the money. "That's how you win a young girl's heart," he whispers not so quietly. You can see the blush on Daryl's cheeks, and he looks away from you. "Now the rules are simple, shoot 10 out of 10, and the monkey is yours, anything under 10, and you can pick from these," he says pointing to small, stuffed toys, "anything under 5, you can pick from the key chains." He informs Daryl.
You bounce on your toes in excitement, watching Daryl take aim at the row of metal cans set up as targets before him, eyes narrowing in concentration. With deep breath, he fires, the pellets whizzing through the air towards the targets. He hits bullseye on every single one, with a deadly accuracy. You have never seen anything like it. You cheer, hollering in scream, jumping up and down, before you yank him to you in a hug, and press your lips to his cheek.
The old man laughs at Daryl's flustered face, handing you the monkey. You shriek in happiness hugging the toy close to your chest, beaming up at Daryl with gratitude. "I'm gonna name him beans." You announce.
"Come on, you big goofy," Daryl says pulling you away from the game booth, and you wave goodbye to the old man watching you both with a soft smile on his face, eyes far away.
It doesn't take long for you to find yourself indulging in something sweet, begging Daryl to trade half of his deep-fried Oreos, for your funnel cake.
Daryl isn't the roller coaster type, after all, he's used to something fast like his motorcycle constantly pumping his adrenaline on the daily. So, you opt to just walk and look, and you get a chance to try a few games yourself, which you are terrible at.
As the sunset approaches, you are pretty tired, and with a little bit of convincing, you followed Daryl, up the overhang that face the bay water. He helps you climb the small cliff, holding your coke in one hand. Once you are at the top, he pulls the left-over plastic bottle of booze from his back pocket, and finds a tree to sit under, facing the twinkling lights of the carnival rides below.
You stretch your arm up, releasing the tension from your body.
It was a good day.
Unlike the usual, instead of sitting next to him, you place yourself between his legs, leaning back on him like a comfortable sofa. You hold Mr. beans, the monkey, to your chest, and your Coca-Cola in the other. You look up at Daryl, as he takes a sip from his booze, he too seemingly relaxed.
"Can I try some of that," you ask reaching for the bottle of moonshine.
"You had liquor before?" he asks as he hands you the alcohol with raised eyebrow.
"Yea, of course I have." If taking a sip from your mom's mix drinks counts.
You huff your chest and with bravery, you bring the bottle casually to your lips. Of course, immediately you regret it after one sip. You shove it back to him, coughing, as it scorched going down your throat. You feel like it's not just your throat that burns, but your lashes as well, making your eyes water. "It's the weed thing all over again!" you voice trying to clear your throat. "This shit taste nothing like my mom's cocktails."
"That's whacha get," he laughs, and you smack him on one of his thighs that embraced you on each side.
"Here, give me that shit," he says taking your coke from your hand, only to pour some of his moonshine into it, you watch him in wonder, as he stirs it and then takes a sip. He nods in approval handing it to you, "enjoy." He tells you with a laugh.
You cautiously bring the straw to your lips, and surprisingly it's alright, you can only taste a bit of the alcohol at the back of your throat as an after flavor.
"Hmm, not bad." You hum, calmly leaning back on him, enjoying your portion of the booze. You let out a sigh, the scenery is peaceful, the air is warm, and the sky is clear. Down below, you can see people moving closer to the bay water, the anticipation in the air palpable, as families gathered, and the boats move in sync setting up for the firework.
You are brought back to Daryl, when you feel his fingers moving your hair to tuck it behind your ear. You look up at him, and you are surprised by the look on his face, his eyes lost to the curvature of your neck, as if he found something fascinating there. Gently, he brings a cautious hand to softly trace the lines of your collarbone, like there is something special about that particular spot… something beautiful.
Just like that, he steals your breath with just a simple touch, in exchange, setting your entire body on inferno. You don't want to break him from whatever spell he's in, so you lean back, opening your neck wider, chest moving up and down, air lost to your lungs. You want to close your eyes and give in to his sensual touch, but you are unable to move it from his handsome face.
His fingers, o-so-softly, dance across the delicate bones, as if mesmerized by the curves and slopes, leading to the soft skin of your chest. The moment hang, as your heart franticly taps away in your chest, and you bite your bottom lip, your body aching with desire. When his fingers move down toward your cleavage, lightly grazing the valley of your breast, you can't help the involuntary noise that escapes your throat. His eyes move to yours, and there, you can see, the intense intimacy and longing reflecting back.
You stare and he stares back... and you see it, when something snaps in him. He moves first, his hand wrapping around your neck, and his lips falls to yours.
Way to go liquid courage, is the last thought that runs in your head before your mind goes hush.
It is a frenzy, nothing like the gentle kiss you shared with him in the past. He consumes you, and you deepen the kiss, your tongue meeting his, and he receives you in stumbling sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him to you, fingers tangling in his hair, nothing but the warmth of his body pressed against yours.
The taste of him is intoxicating, something sweet from the sugary dessert, and flavor of the alcohol. You can feel the erotic way he reveled your lips and tongue, dancing and exploring, seeking to taste more. With a moan, your teeth nips his bottom lip, and he pulls you even closer to him, swallowing you in a passion you have never felt before. His hand slips down to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, pulling you closer if that is even possible. You sigh, unable to contain the noise as he unravels you, gently sucking on your tongue.
BOOM!
So lost, you jump out of your skin, separating from him. The first firework shot into the air, illuminating the sky in a burst of vivid colors. Reds, greens, blues, and yellows filled the atmosphere, creating a spectacular display of light and sound. The crowd below erupts into an applause, kids cheering and jumping with excitement, the adults equally enthralled.
The next round of fireworks are even bigger and brighter, lighting up the night sky with a dazzling explosions of colors. The noise is deafening, and the vibrations could be felt even so far up, where you are seated. You look toward Daryl with a smile, but again your breath leaves you, his eyes haven't left your face, not even a glance to the sky. There is something seductive in the way he is looking at you, eyes half closed, the firework light dancing in waves across his face.
You move back to him, pulled to his gravity like magnet, returning your lips to the kiss, falling once again in the fiery embrace that left you both breathless. This time, the kiss is sweeter, his head leans to the side for better access. The world could have been falling apart, right there and then, all around you, but you wouldn't have known, as everything goes quite again, your own personal firework going off in your head and deep in your abdomen.
The crowd erupts in loud cheers, as the last set of fireworks begin to go off, starting with a shape and colors of the American flag. You pull apart from him again, breathless as the kiss finally come to an end, and you both look up, trying to catch the last stunning display.
There, in his embrace, you feel his fingers trailing down your arms and coming to rest on your hands, before interlocking with your digits. There is a comfortable silence between you, and you marvel at the deep connection you share with him, a testament to how true your intimacy is.
And you know this will stay with you forever.
This is our first introduction to David Hart. Mads Mikkelsen is my perfect fan casting for him. He's just how I imagine him. I will do my best to develop his character throughout the story. One thing I dislike about villains is when writers create them just for the sake of being villains, with no humanity behind.