Mafia Desire (Erotica)

In my dream, I fought back. When the first hit connected with my nose, I took the blow. When the second hit me in the stomach, I did nothing. When he kicked for my ribs, I rolled. I yelled for Amy to get out of the house. Somehow, she was dressed now. She tries to argue with me. She’s screaming at my father to stop. He grabs her elbow and flings her away from us, intent on getting to me. I tackle him. In that dream logic way, the fight is just over. I grab Amy and we leave. We sleep in my car near the park. I tell here that we’ll be okay. I tell her that everything is fine. I wake up in the dark art studio alone.

It’s only three in the morning. Fuck. I never slept anymore. And with dreams like that, who the hell would want to?

It had now been three weeks since we’d been discovered. I hadn’t left the art studio at all except for food, even then only late at night when there were fewer people around. The idea of even engaging in small talk with people filled me with complete dread. Dr. Miller’s wife, Becky, was a registered nurse. She checked up on me several times, monitoring the healing progress on my ribs. More than once, I caught her eyeing my supply of prescription painkillers, doing a mental count of how many she thought I should approximately have left. As devastated as I was, it had never occurred to me to purposely overdose myself on the pills.

I didn’t want to be around people at all if I could avoid it. I flinched every time Becky would try to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Being touched by someone suddenly became a totally unwelcome sensation. I didn’t know how to deal with it. Grief and stress do fucked up things to your mind, I guess. I certainly couldn’t bring myself to go back to class. Anytime I got around any place that reminded me of Amy, I would be wracked with grief again. I wasn’t sleeping, barely eating, and felt like someone had carved out a large chunk from the center of my chest. I went by my parents house a few times, always after dark, and the upstairs bedrooms were always dark. I never knocked, simply stood out at the street and watched the house for a few minutes. I saw no sign of Amy there on any of these visits.

My phone had been disconnected the day after I took up residence in the art studio. It had been a relatively simple affair sign up for a new cell phone plan under my own name, but I immediately discovered that Amy’s phone had been disconnected as well. My facebook page and email accounts had several messages from friends asking where I was, why I hadn’t been to class, and so on. I didn’t want to reply. The idea of talking to anyone who knew me made me cringe. Checking Amy’s facebook page revealed that she hadn’t posted anything to it since before we’d been caught.

Facebook’s message window popped up on my laptop screen as a message from a friend appeared and I remembered that I had my settings set to show people when I was online. Instead of replying, I went to settings and deactivated the account. Then I went to my email accounts and did the same. I felt a strange sense of relief at being cut off from the world. I shut down the laptop and paced the room a bit.

I still had pain in my chest, but it had started to ease up a bit. My face only showed minor discoloration from the bruises now, but was still really tender when I touched it.

I began thinking about ways to get away from here. Some kind of fresh start. Somewhere no one knew me and I could try to put myself back together. It didn’t feel like that was possible here. I had too many memories here and all of them filled me with ache. I didn’t have enough money to really move and have any sort of security. I considered the military for the first time in my life, and quickly realized that wasn’t going to be the answer. After doing some research on the peace corps, which I was only vaguely familiar with, I decided that was not my answer either. By sheer coincidence, Dr. Miller offered me a solution that I had not seen coming just a few days later.

“I heard about a job opportunity that I think could be really good for you, if you wanted it.” He began.

I was disinterestedly picking away at a bowl of pasta and glanced up at him.

“An artist friend of mine in Milos is looking for an assistant. Room and board is included. It would be a serious change of pace for you, and you could learn a lot of technique from him.”

“Milos? Where is that?” I asked, trying to place the name but coming up empty. As long as it wasn’t here, I was probably going to take it.

“It’s an island off of the coast of Greece. Quite a beautiful place, I must say. I took my wife there to visit him a couple of years ago.”

For the first time in a month, I felt a tinge of interest in something. This could certainly be the change I was looking for. Greece? Damn. That was farther than I’d ever traveled in my life. I didn’t know a damned thing about Greece, either. In my head, I pictured that they ate a lot of lamb, for some reason. Other than some vague memories of Greek mythology stories from my childhood, I couldn’t have told anyone more than five sentences about the place. Statues, of course. They had ancient statues.

“Room and board is included?”

“Yes. It isn’t much of a salary, I should point out. But when you factor in room and board, it’s more than sufficient.”

“Is he an artist I’m familiar with?” I asked.

“Have you heard of Theron Cain?”

“He works in oils, doesn’t he? Surrealist landscape artist? You have a book of his work in your office.”

“That’s the guy. Are you interested?”

I really had nothing to lose at this point. It could certainly help clear my head to get away from here for a while. I didn’t know how to find Amy at the moment, although it was only a matter of time. What was worse is that I wasn’t completely sure that I should. For her sake, not my own. I kept thinking about letter my mother had written. Would Amy have a better life if I wasn’t in it? I know she wouldn’t think so. At least not now. I didn’t really care much what happened to myself at this point.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

The following day, I rented another storage building in the same complex as the one my possessions were already stored in and transferred everything to the new space. I did not know how long the current one was rented for and it was the last bit of control that my parents had over me. Severing that tie, put me completely on my own. I also stored most of what I had brought with me when I moved into the art studio. The rest of my possessions fit into two bags. I spent the remainder of the week getting my passport photos taken, booking my flight, and selling my car. I didn’t get that much for it because I was needing to sell it in a hurry, but the hell with it.

On Sunday morning, a few hours before my flight, I took a cab to my parents street and made a very bored cab driver park a couple of doors down while I gave the place one final look. I watched my father exit the house and drive away. Summoning every bit of courage that I possessed, I got out of the cab and walked to the front door.

I looked down at the porch cement as I knocked, almost afraid of who would answer the door. But no one did. I knocked again, and got no answer. I heard no signs of movement in the house at all. It was empty. I took a few steps out onto the lawn and looked up at Amy’s window. I couldn’t see anything except the ceiling of her room. I looked at the door handle and saw that the locks were shiny and new. Of course he had changed the locks. My keys would be worthless. Feeling defeated, I returned to the cab and headed for the airport.

* * *

Nineteen hours and three planes later, I stepped off out of a tiny single engine plane near some town called Zefiria on the island of Milos. I walked to baggage claim and waited for my luggage. The airport was not very large and it took only a few minutes. As soon as I picked up my bags, I turned to see a fairly attractive. short brunette woman, who looked to be in her late thirties to early forties smiling up at me.

“Adam Matheson?” She said in a thick British accent.

“Yes, ma’am.” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m Margaret Cain. Theron asked me to pick you up.”

“Ah! Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand. She shook it firmly with a surprisingly tight grip.

“Welcome to Greece. Was it a nice flight?”

“It was long. Especially the Newark to Athens flight. But I’m glad for a change of scenery.” I took on my recently adopted fake persona of a person who felt like they still had a reason to breathe.

“I imagine it was. But hopefully you will like it here. We’ll meet up with Theron in Klima for lunch and get you settled in.” She led me out to her car.

I had read up a little bit on Milos before leaving the States and was surprised that the entire population of the island was less than five thousand people. Then again, the whole island was only about 14 miles across. The photographs I had seen did not even begin to do the place justice. It was breathtaking. For the first time in a long while, I felt something almost like optimism. This was a far cry from home. The rock formations that lined some of the beaches were astonishingly beautiful. White and gray monoliths, carved away by the waves, jutting up proudly from the earth like bones of giant, long extinct creatures of old. Amy would love this place.