Page 10 of Lesson on Depravity

I spin around, eyes set to glare, and his hand promptly shoots up. He shakes his head with a grin; the ashes on his cigarette fall during the moment of silence.

“What the hell did you say?”

Tito sighs, dropping his hands and taking a long inhale of the smoke before puffing it out through his nose. “Careful, boss. Our enemies might think you’re going soft on a girl.”

What is happening to me is between Coco and I. He has no business being concerned for the head of this territory. Tito is lucky I still find him useful, or he’s going into the barrel with those corpses, and there are so many chances I’m willing to give out after hearing my princess’ name on another man’s lips.

“Eh.” Tito ends up shrugging. “Everyone thinks Coco is a dog.”

Coco went through many stages at the beginning. She was given the name Coco because her attitude was similar to a small puppy to me, and the psychopathic side of me wanted to keep her as a pet, but then gradually, she became my little girl, my baby, and finally Daddy’s princess.

The process didn’t take too much time or effort since she was and still is very susceptible to manipulation, and our love for each other reinforces the notion of that invisible wall around her.

She’ll be able to leave me, but not without a significant amount of guilt.

“Fucking hell, you really are a bastard.” Tito puts out his cigarette and curls his lips in repulsion.

I’m not an upstanding man, and I do many questionable things with morally wrong consequences, but I don’t ever regret any of my decisions to stay in this sinister side of the world.

“Keep that shit up, boss, and she’s going to run to the cops for kidnapping.”

I blink, unfazed by his warning. “She can leave at any time.”

“I have been in this dingy underworld for years, but I still know what Stockholm Syndrome is.”

As do I, but Coco voluntarily came into my arms and stayed there like a good girl. I didn’t kidnap, threaten, or hold her against her will.

“If you are so worried about her, you can personally ask her yourself,” I say; the suggestion is a bunch of words pieced together without meaning to me.

Tito scoffs, rolling his eyes under the flickering lights. “I’m not going to be the next victim at the barrel of your gun.”

At least he’s not stupid. Even mere association with Coco is out of the question. Little by little, I’m casting away the unimportant people from her life and letting her be used to relying on me.

Those people will guide her down a life of misfortune. They are a disease, and I need to remove those seeds out of her life before they take root and spread nonsense in her head.

I turn around, walking off without another word. My ears pick up the door being open and a string of curses spewing from Tito; he’s probably repelled by the sight of the woman’s body.

I avoid everyone on my way out. My business is going well, and I’m too skeptical to know that some shit will happen to destroy this peace. I have to be prepared for anything, mainly now that Coco is back in my home again.

I can’t be too careful.

That old hag’s shop just has to be further away than necessary, but it’s still within the border of my territory. It’s a shop that sells old candy, and business is not flourishing, but it’s strange that people still go there.

It’s most likely out of respect and nostalgia for the candies that have been out of commission. I don’t know how she has backups for them, but I could wager a guess that she has people making them to ensure that she is getting her money and staying relevant to the ever-changing days.

I push open the door, and the smell of incense stings my nose. I click my tongue, dreading this smell that stays on my clothes and in my pretty princess’ hair.

Old people and their unique taste in life. She says it’s to wash away the sins of those who walk into her shop, so the demons don’t linger, but that’s just bullshit upon bullshit when everyone around here knows that she is the most well-known sinner.

Sometimes people wonder if she is really crazy or she’s just playing around for the sake of scaring people.

Coco sees her as this old, sweet grandma that needs a little help around the shop. What a load of shit that she fed to my baby girl.

“Where’s Coco?” I ask, huffing through my mouth at the stench.

That batshit crazy woman, Dorothy Curtis, scowls from behind the counter, smacking her flyswatter on the glass.

“Where are your manners, boy?”

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