Page 121 of The Cute Psycho

I frown a little, something niggling at my mind as I start studying him more.

"So talk away. Tell me about yourself," I prompt him, wanting to test a hypothesis.

God, I sound like Vlad now.

Too much time in his presence and already my brain is syncing with his. I'm becoming paranoid about everything and everyone.

On that thought, though, I need to ensure Vlad doesn't get wind of Guerra or their intentions toward me. I don't think I'd want their blood on my hands, all things considered. It would just bring about a mob Armageddon, as Vlad likes to call it.

Damn it, I need to stop thinking about him for a second. Or think like him...

Turning my attention to Raf, I watch the play of emotions on his face as he's trying to find his words.

"I l-like rocks," he eventually says. "I s-tudy rocks a-t university," he continues, lifting his eyes to meet mine for the first time.

Damn, but I wasn't prepared for that.

His eyes are the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen, his blond hair only bringing out their unusual hue.

"Cool," I reply, my knowledge of rocks pretty limited. "Why do you like rocks?"

"They d-don't talk."

I stare at him for a second before bursting out into laughter. Realizing it might be misconstrued as me making fun of him, I immediately stop. But one look at his face and he seems more relaxed than before.

"You're funny," I add, stifling a smile.

He's slow, but his mouth tugs up in one too.

"I've n-never been c-called funny b-before," he says, and again, I note a strange pattern with his speech.

"Probably because you don't talk much?" I raise an eyebrow at him. Instead of being offended, he just shrugs, but there's amusement on his face.

"You're n-not what I-I imagined," he tells me, leaning back onto the couch and making himself more comfortable. His posture opens up a little, his spine no longer so hunchbacked.

"And what did you imagine?" I ask, curious about it, but also needing to hear him talk more.

"I d-d-on't know... A n-nun?" he asks, cracking a joke for the first time.

"Fair enough," I reply, and we continue to make some small talk. He still speaks in short sentences, almost as if he is afraid of saying too much at once.

I note Cosima watching us intently from the other end of the room, no doubt assessing the situation and her son's prospects.

But the more I engage Rafaelo in conversation, the more I notice things. It's in the way everything is manufactured, from his posture to his voice, and then there's his speech.

"You don't really have speech issues, do you?" I lean forward, whispering in his ear.

"Wh-what d-d-o y-you m-mean?" he asks, and I feel my lips stretch into a smile at the silent confirmation.

"You stutter only the second word in a sentence when you're relaxed, as if it's a taught pattern, but you stutter the entire sentence when you want to prove a point." I shrug, this observation being one of many I've drawn over our rather short acquaintance.

More than anything, I see the way his body reacts to outside stimuli, as if he's making a conscious effort to close himself in and coordinate his movements.

"I-I d-don't k-know wh-what y-you m-mean..." he tries to defend himself, but I note his rigid posture. If I'd been wrong, he would have been upset, maybe drawing himself back and away from me. Instead, he's holding himself tight, tension coiled in his muscles. It's more like an animal ready to pounce than one on the verge of running away.

When you spend years running away from people who mean you harm, you start learning some patterns. The body never lies, even when the mouth does.

"Raf, dear! It's time to go!" Cosima's voice rings in the room, and there's a hint of relief on Rafaelo's face.

---