Page 149 of Bona Fide

? Million Dollar Man — Lana Del Rey ?

“Didyou want me to buy you that painting?” I take the flute of champagne from Enzo and hit him with a blank stare.

He knows I hate that shit.

He knows I’m going to say no.

He knows that the next thing out of my mouth is going to be some smart-ass comment about him stopping his shit and just be here with me. Enzo has had his own horror stories with love, but he's strong enough to keep his walls down and let his vulnerability show.

Not me.

I might have thought that I was a strong-ass bitch before, but I'm as weak and broken as the next one with breakup issues.

Actually, I’m so much worse.

Instead of eating a gallon of ice cream and crying over sappy movies, I get eaten out by two brothers and cry out for more of them fucking me into Dopey from Snow White. Anything to be rid of what I can’t fix, what I can’t and couldn’t change.

“Champagne is fine. Unless it’s a pizza, don’t mention buying me anything.” I take a sip of the bubbly liquid and continue to stare at the painting that I’ve been looking at for the last few minutes.

It’s illustrated in shades of black and white, a woman with calm eyes right above water while her dark locks float around her perfectly structured face. Underneath the surface is her mouth open and screaming in agony or maybe frustration. A two-sided coin of what you can see out in the open and what lies underneath, screeching out for someone to hear them.

It's me. The facade she wears so the world can’t see what’s beneath the skin. The pain that simpers below my flesh and within the walls of my heart will forever remain there.

My immunity for certain things or people has withered into nothing. I like to think that over the last year, I've been doing well, that I've been attempting to keep my sanity grounded and my pain buried deep. But it's reemerging, and I can't block it. I'm not able to build a higher wall because it's too far of a climb. One that I'm too exhausted to go through again.

“At least let me grab the name of the artist,” Enzo quips, wrapping his arm around my waist. “So that you can keep up with them on social media. Then maybe you can buy a piece of hers later for your modest apartment.”

He can try and throw shade around all he wants, but the reason I haven't decorated my flat is because it's not home. I won't live in New York forever. When Marty comes back, so will I because my backbone will be there.

Enzo’s lips land on my temple. “I’m sorry, I did it again.”

“Maybe we should get you a shock collar.”

He presses his kiss deeper for added effect. "Kinky, but no thanks. Tonight has inspired me to use paint to fuck you in and draw on."

I scoff, which leads to a light chuckle. "I hope at your place."

“If you agree—” He shrugs. “—then fine. I’m down.”

I cast my gaze over at him. “Why do I deal with you?”

"Because I have a big dick." I roll my eyes, which has him turning my body in his direction so that he has my full attention. "What's up, you've been super quiet."

Too bad the inside of my brain can’t say the same.

“Just tired.”

And fatigued over the fact that I sucked Wade's dick, and he pulled away from me. That he could give a rat's ass that I removed a brick from said wall and gave in.

To the point where it's tough to look at Enzo right now. I haven't kissed him on the lips since I've been back, it didn't feel right. I don't want to contaminate him in any way after what I did in Mexico.

“Why didn’t we just stay in tonight? We could’ve ordered carryout or pizza, whatever—”

"I've really wanted to see this opening," I allude before touching his forearm. "I pass it every day to the office, and I've just been so curious to see what these artists capture in their head."

“Alright, Rea Rea—” He wraps both of his arms around me. “—whatever you wanna do. Just let me know when and I’ll have the car pulled around.”

"Does that include dessert too?" He smirks then opens his mouth before I clasp a hand over it. "I walked into that one."

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