Page 33 of One
Chapter 8
MICHAEL
“Did people really wear those flared pants and padded shoulder jackets?” The disbelief in Raph’s voice is laughable even though the actors on TV look quite ridiculous with their outdated style.
“The series was shot at the beginning of the eighties,” I deadpan, coming out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn. I take a seat on the couch and Raph’s arm automatically comes down on my shoulder, his strong thigh pushing against mine as he tosses some popcorn in his mouth.
We’ve been watching “Murder, She Wrote” for a couple of hours, and although Raph said that the show wasn’t as bad as he originally thought, he keeps criticizing it.
What’s with the old lady’s baby-worm-tiny purses?
How many nephews and nieces does she have?
She’s a jinx. Everywhere she goes somebody dies.
The cops always arrest the wrong person.
I’d never taken him for the chatty type, especially when watching TV. And although I find it a little annoying, I’m so into him that I secretly smile behind a handful of popcorn while dramatically rolling my eyes his way.
I rest my legs on his lap and place my head on his arm, enjoying the intimate familiarity between us. Three days have passed since he barged into my life, and he hasn’t left me alone once—unless I count the time he blew my phone up with texts while he went to his place to get some clean clothes and came back with some extra for me as well. He really hates myvomit-inducingfashion style. He earned a twisted nipple for that offense which inexplicably turned into frotting.
We’ve been staying in my apartment ordering food, since neither of us can cook, watching TV and fooling around. I usually prefer to go outside at least once a day. When I have nothing to do, closed spaces feel kind of suffocating after a while and I need to move around, to feel fresh air on my face. But with Raph the trapped sensation is less pressing somehow.
My foot is practically healed and tonight I’ll finally feel his insanely perfect cock inside of me. One way or another. His protective strike has to stop. It’sover-exaggerated. He’s been treating me like a sick patient, carrying me around the apartment like a damn baby monkey. I threatened to shave my pecs to end his absurd overbearing attitude.
Yep, Raph loves my hairy chest. He likes to fall asleep on it every night. Cheek nuzzling, nose sinking, his whole body curling around mine. Almost like he’s trying to become part of me; to make sure it’d be impossible for me to disappear on him.
I still can’t believe how naturally and easily he’s infiltrated my life, and apartment. He’seccentric, reacts in a completely different way from what I expect, overwhelming and a bossy caveman at times. Out of the blue, he turns restless and quite annoying. The only way to calm him down is to distract him with my body—which is not such a hard task. Crazily, I’m utterly captivated by him, and I figure I’m not that easy either. Still, we fit somehow.
After what Raph revealed about his past, I feel even closer to him. I don’t mind his nearness. I need it. The codependency between us isn’t healthy, but it’s the first time I’m letting myself be, without overthinking everything.
But I can’t completely turn off my brain, nor the anxiousness I feel. I’m afraid of what will happen when I’ll have to go back to work in a couple of days. How thisthingbetween us will evolve… or end. The thought sits in my gut like a two-hundred-pound load.
My eyes fall on his phone. Raph is always receiving texts and calls from his assistant, and brother, and foster brothers. Don’t know why he feels the need to emphasize the difference among the brothers. But they don’t seem annoyed by it. I’ve briefly said hello to Rague one time and bantered with Rami twice before Raph left to talk to him into my bedroom.
I wasn’t hurt by his need for privacy, but I always wonder what it’d be like to be part of a tight family. I envy the close-knit relationship they have. My parents were past mature when they got me. They did their best in raising me, but I never felt like I belonged with them or their view of life.
My hands move automatically to squeeze my forearms. I always sensed something was missing. The thought still stirs a dose of guilt inside me. They adopted me, probably saving me from horrible foster families. It doesn’t matter that I never felt like I fit in with them. They gave me safety and the possibility of a future. I should be grateful.
“The first victim of the Rope Killer was a young guy, right?” Raph suddenly asks without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Yes.” I search inside my memories before saying, “Douglas Palmer, a seventeen-year-old runaway.” Can’t ever forget that name, or the brutal way his life was taken from him.
“He was found in a dark alley in Washington Park by the owner of the pub across the street,” Raph adds, tapping his fingers on his knee.
“How do you know that?” I ask him.
“Rami did a bit of research,” he causally explains. “Was there something amiss compared to the following victims? Something the killer did differently.”
I open my mouth, but then close it again needing a few seconds to think. Looking up at the ceiling, I try to remember. “Well, the way he strangled Douglas Palmer was very aggressive and rough. The signs on the victim’s neck were deep. He pulled the rope with more force compared to the others. Like…”
“Like he got lost in it.”
I nod, swallowing the sudden uneasiness in my throat. “The second and the third victims were found in different areas of Englewood. One was a small drug dealer, don’t remember his name. His corpse was in his apartment.”
“No sign of forced entry. He must have let the killer inside.”
I didn't know that, since that’s detective work not the coroner’s.
