Page 20 of Gluttony

Which leaves the guys. Well, one guy in particular. Problem is, Hadley is out of the office most days since he works mainly at the production studio, out in Brooklyn. He was my first thought, considering he calls me Little Rabbit, but he’s rarely here and I can’t see him fiddling around and making origami every day, then driving back to the office just to leave it on my desk. That would be insane. Unless he pays someone to do it? It’s a stretch but what do I know? Regardless, I’ll let this play out and hope I find out soon enough. Note to self: I really need to figure out a way to get out to the studios. How cool would it be to watch the bands record their albums?

Anyway, that’s a problem for later. Right now, it’s Wednesday night and Mickey has sent a coded text that means he wants to see me. Taking precautions by living in separate apartments is the smart thing to do. Meeting in the middle of the work week with a psycho Hadley roaming free? Not so much.

But this is Mickey, and if he’s feeling insecure or if he’s worried, I need to nip it in the bud or else he’s capable of flying off the deep end. Foster kids, we don’t deal well with rejection and we have clear abandonment issues. We’re all we’ve got ever since that fateful day when Mickey came into my life. We bonded in a way that no one else can replace. Not that we’ve ever let anyone come close enough to find out.

The hotel is almost exactly halfway from our respective apartments, which means I can be there in thirty minutes, half of that time just to get to the damn subway.

Quickly changing out of my work clothes and donning some comfortable jeans and a sweater, I dress appropriately for the cold-as-fuck weather outside. It’s February in New York. I should be used to this level of Tundra, yet, I’m not and never will be.

By the time I reach 2nd Avenue for the F train, I’m pretty sure the tip of my nose is in the first stages of frostbite. Theonly reason my fingers are still functional is because walking like someone is chasing you makes for great blood circulation. Also, I have gloves and warm pockets on my winter coat.

As luck would have it, the train arrives just as I jog down the stairs, and because it’s direct, I let myself relax a little and hope for the best tonight with Mickey. I have to stand since it’s just past six and everyone is going somewhere.

My gaze falls on a little girl looking up at her dad—at least I hope it’s her dad—telling him all about her day at school and then daycare. Her cheeks are as red as mine feel and her big brown eyes are full of life and hope. I have to look away because I don’t ever remember feeling that kind of safety in my life. At least not before Mickey showed up.

The train makes a turn then comes to four consecutive stops before I reach my final destination. Between the time I got on and now, the passenger scenery changed quite a bit, and when I get off, I realize I’m in the throngs of the tourist world. Even in February, Manhattan is a hot spot.

After eight minutes by foot, I finally make it to the hotel. It’s not as nice as the Mancini group but it’ll do the job.

I’m looking up at the front of the hotel with all of its lights burning bright when I feel my shoulder practically dislocating from the hard check.

“Watch it, lady!” How dare he?

“No, you watch it, buddy!” Just normal New Yorkers. We say our piece and move on. Although, I hear him talking shit as I cross the street but when I turn back around to tell him to go fuck himself, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Good riddance.

Checking the time on my phone, I look around to see if Mickey is coming, and just when I’m about to send him a text message, I spot his cream-colored beanie making its way through the crowd. When he reaches me, he looks around like we’re guilty ofsomething crude then pecks me on the cheek. Being safe, just in case.

“I’ve got a room for the night, let’s go.” Ah. He’s in a mood. It’s fine, I’ll just have to coax him and reassure him that everything is on track. This is definitely not the time to talk to him about the situation from Saturday night.

The hotel is a little out there, quite kitsch. I guess the decorator went wild with inspiration. When we enter the room, I feel attacked by the decor. A zebra carpet under the bed? Really?

“The fuck have you been doing, Bo? It’s been almost two weeks and you haven’t even been to their apartment yet? Do I have to do everything around here?” Gritting my teeth at Mickey’s onslaught, I click shut the hotel room door and step farther inside. I knew he was looking out for me with his tech but I didn’t realize he was actually watching my every move.

“Calm down, Mickey. Everything is coming along just fine. I got more responsibilities today at work so, you know, little by little. We’ve got three months, thanks to your stunt.” Fuck, as soon as the words spill from my mouth, I regret them.

“Stunt? Oh, you mean actually getting rid of that bitch?” Okay, he’s pissed. How long has he been ruminating on this situation?

“She didn’t do anything to us. You broke both of her legs, Mickey. She didn’t deserve that. Jesus.” The cold from earlier is forgotten as my body temperature peaks in an instant.

Mickey rips his beanie from his head, leaving his hair in disarray. The cruel slant of his mouth, though, tells me he’s not done.

“She was in the way, and if you hadn’t fucked it all up, she’d be fine. This is on you. I got the job done because you half-assed it.” With every word, his voice rises up and up to the point where I’m afraid someone will hear us and call security. Worse, call the cops.

“Fine. Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right.” I don’t believe that at all but if I keep pushing him, it’s going to get ugly.

“Don’t fucking placate me, Bo. This is what you do. You get me all worked up, telling me shit that pisses me off and then you play the fucking victim.” At this point, I just let him vent. It’ll be fine, it’s just his frustration talking.

For twenty seconds, there’s blissful silence where the only noise is the faint sound of him turning the ring on his middle finger with his thumb. That is, until he catches his second wind and his nervous habit comes to a deadly halt.

“And why haven’t you used that pussy of yours to get things moving along? What, did you forget how to be a whore, too?” What the fuck? He’s never said shit like that to me before.

“Why are you being such an asshole, Mickey?” Well, sometimes a girl can’t stay silent.

The sting on my cheek is immediate and it takes me a second to realize he’s just backhanded me.

“Look what you made me do!” I blink at his accusation, like somehow I’m the one who forced his hand to hit my face. I’m so stunned at this entire thing that I just take my gloves out of my pockets and walk right out of the room.

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