Page 50 of He Should Be Mine
“I am sorry for implying I wanted you to change,” Dario says.
Okay, this has to be a dream. I didn’t wake up after Rick left, and this is all my twisted imagination. It is the only explanation that makes the slightest bit of sense. Dario cannot be sitting here in the dark brooding about me,worrying about me and telling me he cares. He definitely can’t be saying he is sorry. My imagination has seriously lost the plot.
“I didn’t think mafia men apologized.” I snap.
He huffs out a dry chuckle. “They don’t. This might be my first time.”
It’s too dark to see him. He is a shadowy outline on the sofa. I stare anyway.
“I’m honored.”
It was meant to be a quip, but it has come out sounding sincere.
He laughs again. “You smell good. Is that a new bodywash?”
Wait. What? What the hell did he just say? Are my ears broken? I replay what I just heard in my mind. Nope, I’m pretty sure I heard him right.
“Um…yeah…it’s peach,” I stutter because the silence is beginning to itch and I need to say something. But I still don’t understand what is happening right now. Does he really know what I normally smell like? That does not seem possible. Or even likely.
“It’s good. It suits you.”
The red ember lights up. It casts shadows across the angles of his face. I’m hypnotized by them. Completely transfixed. It is the best piece of art I have ever seen.
The sight of it, combined with the utterly incomprehensible things he has just said to me, has caused my brain to melt. I can only stare, while a strange yearning sensation churns through me.
An eternity later, I remember I was going to make hot chocolate. I rouse myself with a shake, and walk towards the kitchen area.
Something about finally breaking free, finally moving, breaks the spell. Whatever the fuck was just happening between us fades. The atmosphere shifts. Everything feels almost normal now. Almost.
“Want a hot chocolate?”
“No thanks, I have a coffee here.”
“You’re drinking coffee at ass o’clock?”
“I didn’t know it was illegal.”
I snort. “As if illegal has ever stopped you.”
I press the button for the light on the extractor fan hood. Its soft glow is just enough to see what I am doing without being blinding.
“Is ass o’clock an English expression?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I might have made it up.”
“You are obsessed with ass.”
“Well, I do have a degree inanalogy.”I say. “The word analogy, but with emphasis on the anal.”
I can almost hear him roll his eyes. “Very funny.”
“And I’m not obsessed with ass. I’m obsessed with giving ass. There is a difference.”
He sighs. He is probably regretting starting this. Whatever this is.
I make my drink and join him on the sofa. The same space between us as always. As if Rick is always here.
“Seriously though, Molly. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
