Page 42 of Forbidden

“Salt,” I say, wiping my eyes, grasping for something solid. He hands it over, fingers brushing mine, lingering too long, and we cook in quiet. It’s fucked up, jagged, but it’s us. The two broken bastards scooping meatballs, pretending we’re not fused at the seams.

I know I will think about it late at night back in my room. Carla’s sick hands turning him into this, a man who guarded Sophia like a fortress and loves me like a rabid dog because it’s all he’s got left. It’s not soft or sane. It’s a brutal, bloody wreck, and I’m wondering if I’m as lost as he is.

But for now, I laugh and we sit down with plates of half-decent food, knees bumping under the table. He’s telling me about stealing hubcaps off some rival’s ride when he was a teenager, and I cut in with another question that has plagued my mind for a while.

“What’s our endgame here, Adriano? You and me?”

He stops, fork hovering. “Endgame?”

“Yeah. Like, I could go back to college, get my accounting degree. But I don’t know if I want that now. Not with you in my head all the time.”

His eyes narrow. “How can you not want that? Your career should be because of you and you alone. You can’t get mixed up with this life. It is for people already far too fucked up, like me. College keeps you out of this shit. My world’s a meat grinder, Pen. You’d get chewed up.”

I lean in. “Well, the way I see it, I’m already halfway there. And maybe I don’t care. Maybe I want the mess. You ever think about us, long-term?”

He drops the fork, then grabs my hand, squeezing until it hurts. “Long-term is a fantasy. You with me? It’s ducking bullets, not picking out curtains. I’d slit throats to keep you, but it doesn’t mean we’d make it.”

“So we hide it,” I say, testing him. “Sneak around. I can do that.”

He pulls me closer, breath hot on my face. “You don’t tell a soul. We keep it under wraps for now.”

“Why? You scared they’ll judge the age gap or think you’re taking advantage of me?”

He lets go, raking his hair back. “It’s not that. One slip, and you’re dead. My enemies don’t fuck around. You’re my weak spot, and they’d carve you up to get to me.”

It hits me then, it’s not shame, but survival. He’s paranoid, possessive, always grabbing me like I’ll slip away. I’m pissed hewants me caged, but I’m hooked on how he needs me, how he can’t keep his hands off me. It’s twisted, and I’m too deep to care.

The next day, I’m at his place as usual, sprawled on his couch watching TV, when I spot a crate in the corner, cracked open, bags of white powder spilling out like guts. My heart bangs against my ribs, and I’m up, pointing at it, voice shaking.

“What the fuck is that?”

He glances over from his phone, cool as ice. “Business.”

“Business? That’s fucking dope, Adriano! You’re peddling death!”

He stands, looming over me, all muscle and menace. “It’s just work, Pen. Pays for the roof, the food, the life.”

I shove him. “That’s a lie! That shit kills people. Kills kids, junkies! You don’t have to do this anymore. You’re not doomed to be the bad guy just because Sophia’s gone.”

His face twists, and he grabs my wrists, slamming them against the wall. “Don’t you dare bring her up. This has nothing to do with her.”

“Doesn’t it? Everything’s about her with you. You’re drowning in guilt because you feel she hated you for keeping her mother from her, when you could have just told her why all these years. So you’re playing king of the filth to punish yourself, and I’m the idiot wading through your shit. You think I don’t see it?”

He tightens his hold. “You think you’re any different? Screwing me, knowing I’m a goddamn rot pile? Hate to break it to you. But you’re neck-deep in this muck like I am, sweetheart so don’t pretend your hands aren’t dirty.”

“Dirty? I’m not the one giving people poison to shove into their veins, you bastard! You’re not just rotten, you’re a fucking plague, and you love it. Hiding behind Sophia’s ghost so you don’t have to face what a monster you’ve become. I might be in the mud, but at least I know it.”

His eyes flash and his voice drops an octave. “Keep talking, Pen. You’re really good at cutting me open, but you’re still here, aren’t you? Clinging to the plague because you can’t walk away.”

I wrench free, tears stinging. “I know I can’t, but you could stop, be something else!”

He steps in. “I don’t want to be something else. I’m this. And you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re above it.”

I slap him, hard, the crack echoing. He doesn’t move, just stares, eyes burning. “Go to hell,” I hiss, storming out, slamming the door shut so hard it rattles.

The street’s cold, and I stumble. He’s right. I’m not clean or different. I’m in love with a monster, a dealer, a trafficker, a man who’d burn the world for me but won’t climb out of it. I want to scream, to purge him out of my soul, but I can’t. I’m as fucked as he is, and the worst part is I don’t know if I’d change him even if I could.

Then tires screech against the pavement, spitting gravel, and Tommy’s black SUV jerks to a stop beside me. The window rolls down, thick cigarette smoke unfurling like a veil. He rests his elbow on the frame, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth. I know Adriano sent him, his shadow trailing me to take me back.

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