The alarm is going off, I pull the covers over my head, wiggling deeper into my bed and tuning out the obnoxious noise. My torso is aching, and my brain is a bit sluggish. It’s taking me much longer to wake up and I’m losing the battle to fatigue.
I eventually turn the alarm off, leaving it on any longer would annoy neighbors and that isn’t something I want to deal with.
My brain starts up; wooden cogs that squeak and whine when moved, powering abstract thoughts that bleed into each other. Having the TV on while the radio is playing music and twenty different people are having twenty different conversations, creating a tired energy and the overwhelming urge to burst out of my skin.
I fish my phone out from under my pillow and plug in my headphones, switching over to podcasts I’ve listened to a dozen times over because it gives me just enough stimulation to let go of everything else. I like the voices, how they made me feel less alone like I’m engaged in a conversation I have no obligation to take part of. Whether it’s about what goes into a terrible video game, ghost story origins, or how Lin Manuel Miranda created In The Heights. These people are passionate about what they talk about, even if I couldn’t care less.
The way my body sinks into my bed is the best feeling, loosening the knots in my shoulders. A massage might be nice.
A guy with a deadpan baritone drones on and on about Lord of the Rings, and the locations in New Zealand they filmed. I can’t tell if he was more interested in the franchise or the landscape.
I’m asleep fifteen minutes into the podcast.
♠♠♠♠
Ace is laughing around a cigar, a hand full of good cards and a whiskey within reach. Around him, men of various ages are either engaged in the light banter or are frowning at their shit hand. I stand a few feet behind Ace, keeping my eye on the other bodyguards. A few of them know are familiar enough to make their own crude jokes, but this is only the second time I’ve met these specific men.
A cheer erupts from the table, and Ace loses the round, still laugh, however. His hair is slowly turning to an ashy color due to the thick layer of smoke, he is going to hate washing it out, and I’m going to hate having to listen to him.
“Hey,” a man nudges me with his shoulder. I take a glance at the man, but ultimately I peer over Ace’s shoulder. Shit cards, he’s gonna fold.
“Name’s Dallas,” the man says.
I nod. “Art.”
“Little young to be here, aren’t ya?”
I shrug my shoulders and keep my eyes on Ace.
“Not much of a talker? That’s fine. Someone’s gonna have ta balance the kid out.”
I take the moment to really look at the man talking to me. Dallas looks exactly the way you’d expect a ganger to look like. Greased back hair, rolled up sleeves, a perpetual smirk that makes the scars on his face look gnarly and old. He could be mistaken for anyone in Ace’s family if I didn’t know any better.
“Bein’ the new kid on the block’s hard, ain’t it?” Dallas asks. “No one’s gonna pull a gun on ya, relax a bit. Can I get you something?”
“No thanks.”
“Jesus, kid. Where did Ace even find ya’?”
I don’t answer him. I wish Ace would call it a game and leave before he gambles away everything he brought with him. The mattress in my apartment isn’t the best thing in the world, but I wouldn’t argue against a nap.
Dallas sighs and scratches the back of his neck. “Lighten up a bit, kid. Take a smoke and sit yea?”
Ace turns in his chair and takes stock of Dallas before addressing me. “How ya hangin’ there, Art?”
“Same as always, Boss.”
“Geez, didn’t I tell ya’ to drop the formalities. We’re friends!” Ace laughs, but he can see how uncomfortable I am in the situation. My shoulders are bunched and my gun holster is making the muscles ache, weighed down by two pistols and a knife. The heavy bags under my eyes must look purple and unsightly. Maybe that was why Dallas tried to spark up a conversation.
“Sorry, Boss.” I grin at Ace, willing to stay if he’s still having fun.
Ace has already made up his mind. “Sorry boys,” Ace says, tossing his cards to the center and pocketing his cash, “the Nanny’s gettin’ grumpy. Gotta relieve him of duty.”
The other man groans in protest, but none stop Ace from getting up and collecting his belongings. Dallas lets his gaze linger on me, scrutinizing me and my place next to Ace.
“It was good to see you again, Ace,” Dallas says, extending his hand.
Ace takes his hand and gives Dallas a firm shake. “Thank you for having me. Send my best regards to Margaret.”
“Will do, sir.”
I follow Ace out of the building and climb into the driver’s side of Ace’s car. Ace gets comfortable in the back, stretching out with a long-winded groan.
“How much did you lose?” I ask, starting the engine and wait for instructions on where I’m taking Ace.
“I’m down twenty,” he whines like he didn’t expect to lose any money playing poker.
“You knew what you were getting into,” I tell him with a laugh. “Where am I taking you?”
“Home, obviously! I’m going to drown my sorrows with cheap booze.”
“Of course,” I say, grinning as I pull out of the parking spot and head home.
♠♠♠♠
A phone call forces me awake. I grumble and groan, but more rested than before. Squinting at the screen, I answer.
“Dude, where are you?” Derek asks.
“Bed,” I mumble, rolling over onto my back.
“Awesome, come open up the door.”
Three knocks come from down the hall, and I rolls my eyes with an exaggerated sigh. I kick off the covers and stumbled out of my bed and towards the door. I don’t even bother with a shirt, just boxers and half a pair of socks, Derek isn’t worth getting dressed for.
I flip the lock and glare at Derek’s stupidly wide grin. He pushes right past me, holding a six-pack of some shitty beer he likes and a bag of takeout, and makes a bee-line for the kitchenette. I let my head lull back, accepting my new fate.
“I thought you had keys?” I ask, joining Derek in the kitchenette.
“They’re in my other pants,” he answers, unpacking and plating the food, not caring that spare keys cost money and are kinda important.
Derek bustles around for a little bit longer before juggling two plates full of food and drinks out to the cramped living room. He sets the plates down and kicks his feet up onto my coffee table. Like he lives here, he flips through tv channels until he settles on Netflix instead and goes to queue up American Horror Story.
I retreat into my room, crawling back under my covers and pray that Derek would take the hint.
He doesn’t.
“Jay” Derek whines, drawing out every letter as he pushes open my door and invades my cave. He shoves me over until I’m no longer in the middle, then scampers back to the living room to retrieve the food I ignored. “C’mon, bud. It’s Thai.”
“Not hungry.” I shift over onto my side, away from Derek and his insistent pandering.
“Dude, seriously, you need sustenance.”
“I have Nature Valley bars somewhere….”
“Nope,” Derek gets under the comforter with me and shoves his icy toes under my legs, “I’m initiating the ‘Best Friend Override.’ Sit up before I call your mom.”
That gets me to begrudgingly comply. I side-eye Derek while pushing myself up higher on the bed. He hands me a plate, obnoxiously careful about placing it on my lap. I want to punch him.
We watch Netflix in silence, flipping between series and movies because either of us has the attention span to follow the plots. I end up eating sparsely but enough that Derek doesn’t nag me about it. I don’t pay attention to the time. I don’t want to know how long I was asleep, or how long I’ve been in bed.
Derek ends up staying the night. I wouldn’t have minded sharing the bed, it wouldn’t be the first time, but he insists on bunking in the living room. I feel bad knowing he’s at my place when he had so many other things to do. I don’t need Derek to babysit me, but it’s kinda nice every once and awhile.
♠♠♠♠
Icy water laps against my legs, the chill sinking its teeth into my flesh. The boundless horizon before me beckons me closer. I think about my sister, sick and frail, how a life insurance claim would ensure her future. And my mom, her two jobs, and her bare finger, supporting two children on her own.
I take another step, the water at my knees. I’ll drown before I freeze, the shock alone could knock me out. Behind me, the city and it’s Five Families begrudgingly go about its morning, kicking up dust, yeast, and gunpowder. I already wonder about tomorrow, next week, next year, next decade and what will happen.
I slip off my suspenders, detaching them from my slacks, and start to unbutton my tattered shirt. They fall into the ocean and I suck in the salty and sharp air, making my lungs burn. My body, trying to keep me warm, starts shaking. My teeth chatter and my arms are slow to cross over my chest.
Would anyone miss me? Sure, maybe my family, but they would have a better life without me. My “friends” would move on and fill the hole I would leave, never noticing that I left. Nothing would change on that front. Mr. Giovanni could hire another shop hand easily, kids are always looking for pocket change or rent money.
I take a few more steps, wincing as the water raises up my thighs and a bit over my hips.
“Aye!” Someone shouts from behind me. If I wasn’t frozen to the core, I would have turned to see who was yelling, but expending that energy wasn’t in my interest. “Kid!”
My fingers are blue and I can no longer feel my toes.
“Whatcha, doin’ out there?” The voice calls again.
I try to block him out. He doesn’t know me. He can just forget he ever saw me.
“Kid, hold on!” The water splashed as the guy chases after me.
I don’t know if it’s instinct or the desire to end this all quickly, no longer drawing it out, compel me to move further into the water. If I can just get a little bit farther–
There’s a red hot, iron grip on my forearm and shallow, ragged breaths coming from behind me. The man yanks me around to face him, where the water was halfway up my torso, it came all the way up to his chest. He’s staring me down with these eyes, mahogany with accents of sandalwood, and his expression is hard to read. His brows are knitted together while his lips are turned down, slightly agape.
“Are you tryin’ ta kill yourself?” he asks in all seriousness.
Out loud, it sounds ridiculous, childish. Even so, it makes my gut twist and my eyes begin to water. How is it that this entire time, I felt almost nothing, but with a simple sentence all of my composure is crumbling.
He tugs on my arm, towards the sandy beach of Long Island, and my legs follow slowly.
“Ya gotta name kid?” he asks when we’re out of the water. I drop to my knees, fingers, and toes curling into the soft sand. It’s cold, just like everything else, but something about it makes me cry harder.
I slump onto my side and curl in on myself. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, screaming and blistering.
Eventually, my tears run dry, and I realize I’m missing all of my clothes. I look up and scan the beach for my jacket at least, but I suspect that it was swept away by the ocean.
The man helps me up and hands me his jacket. “Betta than nothin’ right?” He grins like he didn’t just stop me from committing suicide.
The jacket is sandy but dry, I greedily cover as much of my body as possible. It doesn’t do much to warm me up, but I’m grateful.
“So,” the man nudges my leg, “I neva got that name.”
His smile is soft and warm, I want to trust him immediately. However, his hair is slicked back and the material his clothes are made of is worth more than my mom’s apartment. He’s far too dapper to be in Long Beach in the late fall for no explicit reason.
“Arturo,” my voice cracks a bit, raw and sore, “Arturo Machi.”
The man gives me a wolfish grin, wide enough to expose his canines. He holds out his hand for me to shake. “My family calls me ‘Ace’. I guess you can too.”
Ace. Ace. I roll the name around in my mouth, applying it to the short and lean man in front of me. I don’t think it’s his real name, and I’m a little scared to ask what he means by ‘family.’
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ace.” I shake his hand firmly.
“Back at ya, Art!”
♠♠♠♠
I lay in my bed staring up at my ceiling, completely bewildered and counting my breaths. In for three, out for five, repeat. What the hell was that dream? I mean, it was a dream, right? It was so… vivid. I could feel each grain of sand, and the chilling water.
And that guy.
Ace. He was so different to everything else around me. The dull, blunt grays and blues of New York in the early winter, he was a sharp contrast. Sunshine, almost. It’s weird and I feel weird just thinking about it.
It was a dream. It shouldn’t bug me because it means nothing.
And still, there is this pressure, pressing out against my ribs, reaching for something. I think the isolation might be getting to me.
Derek would be happy to expose me to direct sunlight.
I eventually roll out of bed, bringing the comforter with me and turning it into a cozy cloak of grumpiness. Derek is drooling on a spare pillow when I nudge my way into the living room. The rising sun fills the living room with a soft, pink, purple, and orange color arrangement that actually makes me smile instead of snarling.
With a fresh cup of coffee in my hands, and my comforter tucked in around me, I sit on the floor of the kitchenette, curled up in the corner. Just– watching the light reflect off of pots and pans, listening to the bustle of early spring and Derek’s light snoring. My chest feels a little bit lighter, and my lungs take in air a tad bit easier.
It’s going to be a good day.
Derek doesn’t question my position when he stumbles into the kitchenette. He groans a ‘good morning’ while pouring himself a cup and warming up leftovers in the microwave. I know that it’s something that I should be doing, as a host and all, and I almost try to help but Derek swats me away once he has enough caffeine running through his system.
With Derek making pseudo-breakfast, I take the first shower. Scrubbing off all the sweat and grime that’s accumulated over the last however many days I’ve been laying around this apartment. I don’t linger, pointedly avoiding my reflection in the mirror and towel drying my shaggy hair. If I go out today maybe a haircut should be a priority.
Who knows. Definitely not me.
“So, I was texting Lissa last night,” Derek grins around a mouth full of last night’s take out.
“Derek…” I warn.
“Bro, c’mon!”
“D, I told you last week I’m not interested in anything. There’s just,” I make a vague gesture at my head, “too much going on.”
“Jameson, I can’t be the only person in your life,” Derek argues. His expression turns cold and his voice drops. “Seriously, it’s not healthy. Don’t you read any of the articles I send you?”
All twenty Buzzfeed articles about seclusion and mental health are still sitting unopened in my texts.
“It’s also not good to put all that pressure on someone else.” I sigh, setting my dirty dishes in the sink for me to clean up in five days or so when the good and bad days pass and I can function like a person. “It just wouldn’t be fair to do that to some poor girl. I’m not gonna ask them to drag me out of bed.”
“And yet you let me.”
“Because you don’t drag me out. You just exist in the same space, like I’m not a hot fucking mess who need someone to come by and make sure I haven’t accidentally starved myself.” I rake my hands through my hair, trying to calm down. I was feeling good, today was supposed to be a good day.
Derek’s back relaxes and his expression softens. “At least make another friend.”
God, he’s like a dog. But I can’t think of a time where Derek hasn’t won me over in some shape or form.
“Fine,” I say, overdramatic and empty hearted.
Derek is ecstatic anyways.
♠♠♠♠
I do end up getting a haircut. It feels nice to be free of the moppy mess of dark hair, freshly buzzed sides are fun to touch and play with. It’s a little bit satisfying, and I know that a haircut won’t change anything, but I feel better.
Derek has me follow him from store to store, checking out clothes, video games, books, the works. I’m not interested in getting anything, but I flip through the books and read the back of game cases. It’s nice in the content and mundane domesticity of life. So maybe the world isn’t terrible, but it definitely feels like it most days.
I’m sitting on a park bench, head tilted back, eyes closed, and counting up and down from ten. Even good days take a lot out of me, and having the time to decompress before jumping into whatever Derek has planned next is a necessity. I let myself sink into my hoodie, having the hood and collar bunch up and warm my neck. If the bench wasn’t cold and made of metal I could probably convince myself to fall asleep on it.
“Excuse me?”
God, of course. I just wanted ten minutes alone that wasn’t spent locked in a bathroom. Why is that so damn hard to get? What did I do in a past life to cause my suffering?
I crack open my eyes, squinting to keep most of the sun out.
“Can I help you?” I ask, probably with more bite than this poor stranger deserves.
“Oh, um.” The guy says. I open my eyes all the way and sit up. The man has light blonde, almost gold, hair which almost catches in the light, disappearing into a white glow. He’s got rich brown eyes, that are riddled with concern but so familiar I wonder if we’ve ever met before.
“Are you okay?” he ends up asking. “Do you need help or something?”
I scrunch up my face, confused as to why this guy is asking or why he should even care. And I swear I’ve seen the way his eyebrows furrowed together somewhere before.
“Yea, I’m good,” I tell him, pulling my hand out of my pocket and touching the back of my head. The short hairs startle me at first but then I remember. “Just waiting for a friend.”
The man still doesn’t seem convinced. Which, is fair. I must be pale as hell, at home I hardly ever open the blinds in my room and considering I’m usually twenty blankets deep, a healthy complexion probably isn’t something I have.
“Okay.” The man hesitates like he is afraid I’m going to do something stupid if he turns his back on me. I’m not that reckless, if I was going to try and kill myself I would have already done it. “Do you–do you want company while you wait?”
I knew it. I knew it was coming. Sympathy, fear, and concern created an odd mix of motivations and actions that drive normal people past the bounds of politeness. At this point, there is no stopping. Take Derek for example. I met him our freshman year in college. He insisted on sitting next to me during class and making sure to talk to me, even after I dropped out a year later. I still can’t shake the guy.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever makes you comfortable.” I slip my eyes closed again and resume my position.
I can feel the man’s body heat radiating off of him as he sits on the bench next to me. He’s quiet for the most part, and I appreciate that.
In my head, I visualize each individual number, lining them up by value. I do this until my shoulders relax, letting stored up tension slip out. My body desperately wants to lay down and curl up under my soft and worn sheets. How much longer does Derek want to stay out? Not too long I hope.
When I open my eyes again, a cloud is partially blocking the sun, and the man is still there. He isn’t listening to music or playing a game on his phone like I thought he would. He just looks out at the park we’re in. I wonder what’s caught his attention, made his face fall into this frown, one that was almost natural.
So I ask. “What’s so interesting?”
He blinks, the frown falling away as the man processes what I asked. “Oh, nothing, I just spaced out.”
I hum. “I’m Jameson, by the way.”
“Dax,” he tells me with a grin.
“Nice name,” I say, biting back a smile.
Dax is quick to pick up. “Thanks,” he says, rolling his eyes, “my mom was really into the idea of unique names. I have a sister named Lyra.”
“No, I’m serious, that’s pretty cool. A lot better than naming your kid after your drink of choice.” I laugh, trying to make it sound funnier than it actually is.
“I think it’s pretty cool.”
Oh shit. That was way more sincere than I thought it was going to be. I’m not prepared for the flush that comes across my face, maybe he won’t notice. The tips of my ears are definitely burning though.
“So,” I cough, trying to change the subject, “what brings you out today, Dax?”
“I live and working close by, so sometimes I just like coming here and watch the world pass, ya know?”
Okay, wow. I wasn’t picking up any hint of sarcasm. He’s being totally serious with me here, holy shit. I should not be charmed by this, I wanted him to go away almost five minutes ago.
“I get that,” I supply. “It’s a chill place.”
“It’s really nice in the winter when the entire thing is covered in snow, and you can see all the little tracks birds, squirrels and dogs leave.”
“That does sound nice. My parents used to own a house with a huge backyard, so when it snowed I would go and run all over it to mess up the fresh snow.”
Dax laughs, and I really shouldn’t like the way it sounds.
Derek shows up a few minutes later, and Dax has launched into telling me about his Historical Preservation major.
“Jay,” he calls out to me. My wide smile drops just a bit.
Is it weird that I’m disappointed?
“Hey, bud, sorry for the long wait.”
“It’s no problem.” I don’t know if I’m ready to determine whether I’m lying or not. “It was really nice meeting you, Dax. I guess I’ll see you around?”
Dax’s smile is so wide and bright, I never want it to disappear. “Yea, maybe.” He shakes my hand and I wave goodbye.
I’m definitely disappointed that I have to leave.
♠♠♠♠
Ace runs his fingers through my hair, not really thinking about it, just doing it because he can and no one is here to see. I let him do it because it makes him happy and it doesn’t stop me from reading my book.
It’s a quiet day, the sun washes room in a pleasant light. Neither of us has errands to run, Ace doesn’t have any meetings, and when Ace has a day off, so do I. We don’t get these often. Long stretches of time to just exist in each other’s presence.
Nights are full of passion and pent-up energy, and the few minutes we can sneak during the day are frantic and over far too quick to ever satisfy both of us. That’s what makes today nice. We aren’t trying to prove anything to one another. We don’t have to worry about someone walking in and ruining everything.
It’s our biggest, unspoken fear.
There are days where Ace begs me to run away with him. To get out of New York and out of the grasp of the Families. Those are the days where I have to remind him how important he is. How running won’t solve anything.
I try not to think about what will happen to us in the future. Living quietly like this, hold up in Ace’s apartment, the radio drowning out our cares, is what I spend each day fighting for. Going out, dealing with insubordinate thugs, acting as a shield whenever Ace gets himself into something stupid, all of it is worth it.
The hand in my hair stops and I look up at Ace from where my head is rested against his thigh. He’s smiling softly at me, not saying anything.
“You want to talk about it?” I prompt him.
Ace shakes his head, stupid grin still on his face. “I love you.”
I roll my eyes, and shove my book in Ace’s face. He makes a noise of surprise, then complains about how poorly I treat him.
The entire time I’m smiling wider than I ever thought I could as a teenager.
♠♠♠♠
I wake up, blankets kicked off in the middle of the night, heart hammering away in my chest. My cheeks and ears are burning and there is only one thing I can really think about.
I want to see Dax again.
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Wow. Just wow. This piece is incredible. I do have one question, though. Are the dreams sort of like flashbacks from a pastille? If so, that’s incredibly cool.
Yes, they are! Ace and Art are Dax and Jameson when they lived in 1920’s-ish time. I’ve been focusing a lot more on them during the prohibition era recently, but the original concept was that they lived like three other lives before the present day but I decided to keep the camera on the 1920s. Dax and Jameson live happy lives together, only vaguely remembering their past lives’ high jinxes.