Page 32 of Seth
Gustavo’s feet brought him closer. With a firm hand, he tore the frame off the wall, undid the molding. The wooden stretcher had accurate holes left from removed staples. Bringing the sheet closer, he examined the strained writing as if Seth tried too hard for every letter to be readable. Gustavo’s nose twitched as he smelled tomatoes again.
Laughter broke out of his chest. Violent spasms thrashed his lungs, preventing him from catching his breath. Swishing noises filled the air wiped his leaking eyes with the back of his hand then pressed his palms against his knees.
Diego stared at him with a serious, questioning expression. “What’s so funny?”
Gustavo managed a croak, “Marinara.”
“He could have killed you. More importantly, he could have killed someone else.”
“But he didn’t.” Gustavo rubbed the corner of the note with his thumb, chuckled again.
“God knows why.”
The door to the office flew open and Hans, wearing only gray sweatpants, stormed in. His electric-blue eyes settled on Diego, then on the empty frame in Gustavo’s hands, until he finally looked at his lover.
“What the hell happened? What’s with your face?” His upper lip curled up. He frowned then swallowed. “Everyone is rushing around, but no one tells me a thing.”
“Oh, nothing happened. A mad horse kicked him in the face.” Diego didn’t bat an eye. “We went riding today. Tried to wake you up, but you had a hard-on and moaned so sweetly, so we left you to your slutty dreams.”
“I don’t like riding anyway. Horses stink.” Hans threw a glance at the front of his pants and pulled the waistband away to check his trunks for sticky spots. Diego burst out laughing. Gustavo bit on the inner side of his cheek to hold back his own laughter.
“Oh, you don’t?” Diego circled the young man, wound his arm around his bare shoulder, but his gaze remained locked with Gustavo’s. “Too bad, we are about to go and put down that mad horse, aren’t we, Gustavo? Would you fancy a grilled horse for supper?”
Hans gagged, stuck out his tongue, and shook Diego’s arm off. “I have to go to the campus. And…” He noticed the empty frame in Gustavo’s hands. “What happened to the painting?”
“It’s being restored.” Following Diego’s example, Gustavo smiled, his voice droned. He turned to the desk, put the frame and the note on it before Hans could read it, then faced his lover again.
Electric-blue eyes flickered from side-to-side surveying Gustavo’s face; Hans’ upper lip twitched and revealed his rounded teeth, bringing an unmistakable expression of disgust. “You need to do something about this…” His finger flew up and outlined his own mouth and nose. “You look terrible. You know what; I need to prepare for the tests. I’ll text you later. Sorry, I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
He shivered and fled the room.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t blame Hans,” Diego remarked.
Gustavo faced his reflection. In the middle of his battered face, his bloody nose swelled, a sharp horizontal line cutting across the bridge. At either side of it, red and blue bruises trimmed his bloodshot eyes. The dried blood around his mouth looked like an open wound. He sharply remembered the gun’s butt rushing to his nose and the blooming pain followed by the darkness. He blinked, then laughed, “The fucker broke my nose.”
“And you just got dumped. You know, you have terrible taste in men,” Diego crooned.
“Well, I have to agree. There was a moment when I thought you were cute.”
“You were thinking I’m cute?” Diego pressed a palm to his chest in a theatrical gesture. “Thank you!”
“Yes, for a split second, but then you opened your mouth.”
“Fuck you!” Diego snorted, approaching the desk. “Anyway, Mayr should have taken Hans instead of the painting, don’t you think? Would’ve solved both your problems at once.”
“Shut up and pass me a wet towel.” Gustavo shook his head but didn’t stop chuckling. “How did he do it? Fucking magic…”
Diego circled the room, opened a small fridge hidden behind one of the light displays and pulled out the ice bucket. After throwing a few cubes into a terry-cloth towel, he delivered it to Gustavo.
A headache kicked in with the first brush of ice. Gustavo moaned, slumped into the chair, and rested back staring at the ceiling.
“Shouldn’t you see a doctor?” Diego’s voice cracked with laughter. “Just for the record, if you die from this, I’ll still count it as a murder.”
“Fuck you.” Gustavo spun in the chair, and the room drifted. He closed his eyes to contain nausea, but it only aggravated. “Better say, how did he do this when he never left his villa? Did he hire someone?”
Diego’s phone chimed. Without replying, he stared at the blue screen. His brows did funny flips.
“What?”
