Page 113 of Carnal

"It's strange how you're so into safety."

"Why?" He slides his hand over mine.

"Dante hardly ever puts his seat belt on when we fly."

Tristano grunts. "He'll learn one of these days."

"What do you mean?"

He shuts the window shade and confesses, "When Papà gifted me this plane for my twenty-first birthday, I took my friends to Vegas."

I lean close to his head, rubbing my hands together and chirping, "Oh! Tell me all the deets! Did you fill the plane with strippers and get so drunk you puked on them?"

He wrinkles his nose. "That's disgusting."

"Says the guy who uses kitchen tools to torture people," I mumble.

Tristano's eyes light up. "I forgot to tell you about the pizza cutter."

My eyes widen. Something about Tristano's twisted mind intrigues me. Every now and then, I'll get information from him about what he's done, and it's fascinating. It should scare me that he's capable of such violence, but it seems to have the opposite effect. All his confessions only make him more attractive to me. I blurt out, "That's a bit deranged, even for you."

He grunts. "You don't know deranged."

I drag my fingertips down his cheek. "Sure I do."

He turns and bites my fingers.

"Ow!"

He chuckles. "As I was saying, I took my friends to Vegas. Well, on the way back, there was a horrible thunderstorm. None of us listened to my pilot's warning to put on our seat belts."

"What happened?" I ask.

He traces a scar on the bottom of his forearm. "See this?"

"Yeah."

He points to the overhead bin. "One of my dickhead friends left the bin open. His knife was out. The plane hit a bad patch of turbulence when I knocked back another shot, and I flew. The knife did, too. It hit the floor at the exact same time as I did, and my forearm slid on it."

"Ouch!" I exclaim.

"Tell me about it. But I learned my lesson. From then on, it was safety first," he declares.

"Did Dante not get the memo?" I ask.

Tristano shrugs. "Obviously not." He yawns.

I peer closer at him. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, and he looks tired.

How did I miss it?

"Babe, when did you sleep last?" I ask.

He yawns again. "Maybe two days ago."

"Have you eaten?" I question.

"Not recently."

---