Page 4 of Once Upon A Christmas Kiss
“Damn, you’re all fucking wet, so damn pale, and you’re fucking shaking! What the fuck,” Chris says, resting his hand on my shoulder, staring at me.
“Chris, I need to talk to you,” I say, rubbing my neck.
“Fuck Nicola, you’re fucking scaring me! Let’s go to my apartment,” Chris says, lifting his chin, pointing down the hall.
“Fuck, I need a drink,” I say, pressing my lips tight into a line.
“What the fuck is going on? What’s wrong? Is Mamma okay,” Chris asks, staring at me, walking down the hall to his apartment.
“Yeah, yeah,” I murmur, running my hands through my hair.
I look at my older brother, and I fucking know that I’m fucking stressing him out; I’m scaring him. He takes his role as an older brother fucking serious, ever since Papà died. He stepped up and took care of Mamma and me.
“What the fuck is going on! Talk to me, Nicola,” Chris growls, opening the door to his apartment
We walk inside; he closes the door, resting his hands on his waist.
“I don’t fucking know where to start,” I huff, running my fingers through my hair closing my eyes.
The fucking images of those two motherfuckers race through my mind.
Fuck!
This is going to be hell.
“Let’s go to my office to get you the drink,” Chris says, walking across the living room to the other side of his office.
I follow him into his office; he closes the door, turning to look at me.
It’s like looking into the mirror; we look alike, almost as if I’m looking at myself.
“Do you have some Whiskey,” I ask, looking over at the bar?
“Yeah,” Chris says, walking over to the bar.
Chris grabs the two crystal glasses from the stack, placing them in front of him, grabs the crystal decanter pulling off the cap. He pours the golden liquid into the glass, handing one to me.
I take the glass, take a long pull, wipe my mouth with my arm, closing my eyes. I enjoy feeling the burn run down my throat, and I feel Chris stare. I open my eyes, look at my brother, lifting my chin.
Chris takes a drink, looking at me.
“Nicola, tell me what’s going on,” Chris says, taking a drink of the Whiskey.
I walk over to the bar to refill my drink, taking a long pull. I hold the glass, sliding my hand into my slack’s pocket, lowering my eyelids. I can feel his stare; my face scrunches, shaking my head.
“I’m waiting, Nicola; start talking,” Chris growls, finishing off his Whiskey.
Chris takes my empty glass, walks over to refill our glasses, looking at me. His eyes run down my body, taking in the blood on my clothes.
I know that he didn’t see the blood at first because my raincoat is black, but now that my raincoat is open, my fucking white shirt and gray wool pants are soaked with those fuckers blood.
Chris inhales, furrows his forehead, lowering his eyelids.
“What the fuck happened? Why are you so damn scared? Talk to me; I need all of the facts. Don’t fucking leave out a damn thing,” Chris growls, handing me the glass.
“I killed the son of bitches that attacked me at Sirens club,’ I snarl, rubbing my neck, furrowing my forehead.
“What the fuck! Did they say anything,” Chris asks, walking over to stand in front of me?
