Page 66 of Petrichor

This time my phone vibrates on the coffee table, and I scramble to check it.

I received five phone calls and four texts from an unknown number.

Unknown

Where are you?

Unknown

I’ll make you pay for what you did to me

Unknown

You don’t fucking decide when we are finished

Unknown

Answer me!

I huff. Art is right, Jerry is a damn creep and a real piece of shit. He thinks he has some kind of ownership over me. Why is he so obsessed?

Me

WE ARE DONE! Lose my number!

I block him…again. I’m already so damn confused and worried because of what’s happening with Marco, and now I have to add fuming to the list. These days I’m driving myself silently nuts.

Should I tell Marco about the texts? Better not to. It looks like he has bigger fish to fry after yesterday, and I don’t want him to be distracted.

I pick up his shirt from the floor; my eyes land on the blood on the ruined sleeve. A shiver rushes down my skin and goose bumps erupt on my arms as fear attempt at overwhelming me once again.

Terror nearly choked me when Luca told me Marco got shot. I only stayed at the penthouse because Luca said Marco needed time to process what happened, and he promised he’d check on him.

I shake the dark emotion off and pull the shirt on, doing only a couple of buttons. I love how big his clothes feel on me. I can smell his cologne on it, but also alcohol and cigarettes. He went to Rino's yesterday—Luca told me. Did he let another woman suck his cock?

I fist the front of the shirt in an angry grasp before letting it go. We are exclusive, but we never actually talked about what we are doing. Are we still only having fun?

I can tell myself over and over that I’m using him just as much as he’s using me, but I know that’s just a big, fat, stinky lie. I don’t know if I’m trying to protect myself or getting hurt even more.

But in the midst of all this confusion and clattered thoughts, one thing is for sure: I want to be with Marco, and I want him to feel the same about me.

I go to the kitchen to make coffee, moving on autopilot. As I wait for the espresso to come out, my eyes fall on the half-open box on the coffee table. Marco was holding it yesterday when he came back home. My curiosity has the better of me and I walk toward it, catching the sight of something sparkling inside it. Just a tiny peek. I lift one brown flap and gasp, covering my mouth with both hands.

A delicate crystal butterfly is sitting inside. My hand moves toward it, hesitating as a rainbow of light suddenly colors my skin. I enjoy the optical phenomenon dancing on my fingertips for a while, then I gently raise the butterfly. It’s heavy and too big for my palm. The smooth wings catch and refract the light, while the faceted surface of the body has glittering, opalescent overtones. It’s incredibly detailed, from the fragile antennae to the cute little legs.

It looks expensive. Did Marco buy it? Is it a gift for me? He calls me Butterfly, and I told him about thePollyannabook when we were in front of that crystal shop. Is he going to give it to me?

I look at the crystal masterpiece one last time before placing it back inside the box. With my mood half lifted, I go back to the coffee machine and grab the espresso cup and the bigger mug just as Marco appears all fresh and clothed. He’s so damn sexy in those tailored suits. I understand why he’s so attached to them. They make him look like…a Mafia boss from those erotic MM books I read sometimes. Even more with that bruise under his eye and red knuckles.

I turn around—afraid I’ll jump on him if I keep ogling him—and grab the sugar and milk. He likes to drink his caffé as bitter as poison, but I can’t.

I’m suddenly being pinned against the counter. His hands land flat near the cups on either side of my body while his body presses against my back, caging me. I don’t feel uneasy at all. Instead, my body starts to tingle all over while it surrenders to him, like it recognizes his master.

“How many shirts are you going to steal from me?” His husky voice reaches deep inside me, making me shiver all over.

“The sleeve is ruined,” I gasp, as his hot lips start brushing my neck. I tilt my head to give him more access when his tongue starts having its fun as well. I try to keep my thoughts clear. “You would’ve thrown it in the trash. I just skipped a step.”

His guttural laugh almost makes me come. Oh. My. God. Nothing, fucking nothing has ever made me happier than hearing him laugh. Almost euphoric. I feel a sting directly in my chest as I lose half of my heart to him.

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