I’m jolted eventually, eyes snapping open, head darting up as noise echoes through the house. I look up, blurry eyes going straight to my brother as he appears in the doorway with his girlfriend. I must’ve dozed off, maybe just for a second, because the sudden movement makes me dizzy.
I lower my head again, covering my face with my hands as everything starts to spin.
“Hey, Morgan,” Leo says. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”
Scarlet’s hand grips my thigh as she turns around. “Yeah, I was a bit indisposed.”
“Good to have you back,” he says. “Is, uh... is he okay?”
“Uh, yeah... sure.”
“I can answer for myself,” I grumble. “I’m right here, you know.”
“I’m well aware,” Leo says. “Rough night?”
“Rough life,” I counter, looking up at him, grateful everything stays still. “I’ll survive.”
“I’m sure you will,” Leo says, frowning, glancing at his little firecracker, who looks extremely nervous right now for some reason.
I sit up straight. “What is it? Spit it out.”
Leo hesitates. “We found an apartment.”
“You found an apartment.”
“Yes, in Manhattan... Midtown. It’s kind of small, just one bedroom, but it’s got a great view. We put in an application. I think we’ve got a good shot.”
He stares at me, like he expects me to have more to say, but seeing as there are more than a million apartments in New York City, this isn’t exactly shocking news that they found one, is it?
Any schmuck with a few bucks could find an apartment if he wanted one.
Sighing, I stand up, snatching up the bottle of rum as I move past Scarlet, strolling out of the living room. I pause near the foyer, looking at my little brother... not so little anymore, frankly. I’ve only got about two inches on him and maybe ten pounds, but maturity wise, he surpassed me long ago, with his pretty blonde girlfriend and his bullshit job and now his inky-dinky apartment that probably overlooks Times Square.
“Congratulations,” I say, heading for the stairs.
“Seriously, bro? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“What do you want me to say, Pretty Boy? That I hope you’re not allergic to cockroaches, because God knows with what you make you’re probably splitting the fucking rent with thousands of them.”
“Ah, yes...” Leo throws his hands up. “There it is.”
“Rats, too. And fucking bums. Good thing Firecracker has had practice with people listening to you fuck her every night, so the paper-thin walls and nosey neighbors won’t be a problem, huh?”
I start up the stairs, my footsteps heavy, hearing my brother mutter, “I knew you’d have something shitty to say about it.”
“Of course you did. Of course I would, right? Not like I’m a decent person.” I laugh dryly. “Only spent the past twenty fucking years taking care of you after your piece-of-shit parents tried to put me in the ground.”
He says something in response.
I don’t know. I’m not listening anymore.
I make my way to my bedroom, guzzling rum, and slam the bottle on the dresser before falling into the bed on my back. I stare up at the ceiling fan, watching as it goes round and round, hoping it’ll lull me to sleep, but I’m tense and wound tight.
I want to kill something.
I want to fuck someone.
I want to fuck someone after I kill something.
“He doesn’t deserve that, you know.”
Scarlet’s voice is matter-of-fact. She’s standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear her follow me, but I’m not surprised she did.
“What I’m hearing here,” I say, “is that I do deserve this.”
“That’s not what I said,” she argues, stepping into the room. “You’re only pretending to listen again.”
“I heard you, Scarlet, loud and clear.”
“You only heard what you wanted to hear, Lorenzo. You didn’t hear what I said.”
“I’m reading between the lines.”
“No, you’re twisting shit,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I hate to break this to you, and you might not like it, but the sun doesn’t rise because of you every morning. You’re not this all-powerful entity the world revolves around. Not everything has to do with you. Leo, he’s got hopes and dreams, and he deserves to be able to follow them without you pissing all over things.”
“Look, can we not do this?” I ask, throwing my arm over my face as I close my eyes, because her running her mouth is getting in the way of the ceiling fan doing what it’s supposed to do. “Let’s just skip the part where we argue over bullshit, like we actually give a fuck about each other, because I’m not in the mood for it tonight.”
“You’re an asshole,” she grumbles, lying down beside me, close enough to touch but we’re not touching. She feels miles away right now, coldness settling in that space between us.
“Yeah, well, at least you know...”
“Yeah, and it’s a pity, really, because I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.”
She says nothing else.
I don’t say anything, either.
We lay there in silence.
For once, I don’t prefer it.
I want her to say something else, anything else, just to erase those words now assaulting my mind.
I found myself starting to give a fuck about you.
I don’t like it, not at all, because as she says those words, I come to realize, in the moment, that feeling might be mutual.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
That question is like nails on a chalkboard. It’s like Jim Carey in Dumb & Dumber. It’s like a boojie little blonde talking about her fucking wardrobe.
It grates on my every nerve.
I twitch at the sound of it.
Seven stands beside me in the old warehouse, eyeing me with caution, awaiting an answer to his question. It’s approaching noon, and we’ve unloaded a few crates, a truck coming in this morning with the guns for one of Jameson’s connections. I couldn’t get ahold of Three, but Five showed up in his place, a fact that also irritates me.
“This morning,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that it wasn’t for more than an hour. I had too much on my mind. “You gonna ask me about my feelings next, doc? Maybe prescribe me a tranquilizer to keep the nightmares at bay?”
“I’m just looking out for you,” he says, not at all ruffled by my attitude.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need my hand held, thanks,” I say, snatching up a crowbar to pop the top off of a crate, figuring I’ll just inventory it all myself.
I left Scarlet at home, in bed, asleep.
She could probably use the extra money, but I need some space to clear my head so I can try to think straight when it comes to all of this. There’s work to be done, things that need handled, and I can’t be worrying about the people around me when I need to be concerned about the ones standing in my way.
My phone rings as I start sorting through the guns. I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. Three. I hand it to Seven, saying, “Deal with this bastard before I kill him.”
Seven nods, taking the phone and answering it, saying everything that needs to be said, minus the threats I’d be spewing if I had to deal with him directly. He lectures the kid like he’s his fucking father, which is kind of funny, you know.
That’s how Seven acts. Like a father figure.
Like he knows what’s best for us.
He usually does.
Seven hangs up eventually, sighing, still clutching my phone. “He said his phone was dead, he forgot to charge it because he was preoccupied dealing with that woman.”
“That sounds a lot like an excuse to me.”
“That it does,” Seven says. “He apologized.”
“He’s got two strikes already,” I say. “If it so much as even rains on me, he’s catching the blame and that’s it for him.”
“Understandable.”
I go back to inventory, popping open the other crates before dismissing Five, paying him for the manual labor. I’m nearly finished with it all when ringing once again shatters the silence.