“I am… yes.” She winced, plainly hearing the drunken fuzziness in her voice. Lucio swept the curtain aside without so much as a ‘may I?’ and swiftly closed it again behind him. Softly, she heard Cesare snort in the next room.
“There you are,” Lucio said, flushing. Had he guessed she was eavesdropping?
“Here I am.”
Then she noticed the shuffle to his gait. She wasn’t the only one who had been enjoying a bit of wine that evening. Lucio shifted toward the bed, stopped, turned, tucking his hands into one another as he hovered and stared at his feet.
“You’re well?” he asked, glancing at her waist and bottle dangling loosely in her grasp.
“Quite, yes.”
“I was… I thought you might have been out in the sun too long this afternoon.” His eyes lifted to her face. “But you don’t look too red… that’s good.”
“Just a little browner,” Lena replied. This was pathetic. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. A prickling feeling stuck in her throat, an itchy embarrassment that wouldn’t abate no matter how many times she told herself the man next door – no doubt listening in – meant nothing. What did Lucio expect? For her to kiss him with a pair of rapt ears on the other side of that curtain? And after his performance earlier in the day? She frowned, suddenly insulted by Lucio’s presence.
“About today…” he said, his fingers tangling.
“You’re forgiven,” Lena said, anxious to see him gone. His eyes glittered as they moved over her face, slightly unfocused as they drifted down toward her bodice. Drunk. Drunker than she first thought. “Please… It’s very late and I’m exhausted, Lucio.”
“I only wanted… wanted to tell you that I’m not usually like that. It’s just that… that…” He lowered his voice to a ferocious whisper. “That bastardo brings out the worst in me. He’s poisonous, Lena, can’t you feel it?”
“I feel drunk,” she said impatiently, “and tired. I said – you’re forgiven. We can speak tomorrow if you insist…” She clung to the dresser, certain she would tumble to the floor if she let her grip slide.
“Here, let me,” Lucio said, approaching and reaching for the wine bottle.
“Lucio… Go…”
Her irritation flared, bright and red hot in front of her bleary sight. His stubbornness, his ridiculous little pout… She was no longer in control of her emotions, not with the wine screaming through her veins, heightening every touch and sound. Lucio pulled at the bottle, grunting softly.
“Go,” she said again, more firmly. Lena pushed at his chest but he held on.
“I just want to see you," he whined. "I just... Lena…” The alcohol on his tongue made her queasy. He was stumbling, probably two bottles into a serious binge. “Lena… you’re so beautiful to me. Listen, Lena…”
“Lucio, you’re shaming yourself. Go now, alright? I promise, we can speak tomorrow.”
Lucio pulled again, a hard jerk that made her knuckles scrape against the front of his shirt. Her temper spiked again and it took all of her control to clamp down on the urge to strike him. Yet again she had forgotten to arm herself with even the most rudimentary weapon. But the wine bottle would work, should the situation become truly dire. Not that she felt confident enough to fight – the drink was making everything spin, the room, Lucio, the candles…
“One kiss, yes? Just a friendly kiss. You have no idea… no idea how I ache for you…”
“Lucio,” she warned, finding that the threat of his kiss was like a cold splash of sobriety to the face. “You mustn’t…”
Another tug on the wine bottle. Another quiver in his chin, a wet film glazing his dark eyes. His head lowered, coming for her, his breath foul and sour.
“Just one,” he was saying, “just one, Lena.”
“I don’t think so Lucio, I don’t...” She winced, hearing a sound next door. Cesare. “Now, Lucio. You have to go now.”
“Lena, don’t be heartless. Please. I beg you…”
She pulled savagely on the wine bottle, determined to break his hold on it. Lucio’s grip had tightened and the bottle slipped out of their grasp, crashing noisily on the floor and shattering. Lena swore, crouching to sweep the sharp pieces aside. Lucio snorted, swaying on jellied knees above her.
In Name Alone 47/?
“There you are,” Lucio said, flushing. Had he guessed she was eavesdropping?
“Here I am.”
Then she noticed the shuffle to his gait. She wasn’t the only one who had been enjoying a bit of wine that evening. Lucio shifted toward the bed, stopped, turned, tucking his hands into one another as he hovered and stared at his feet.
“You’re well?” he asked, glancing at her waist and bottle dangling loosely in her grasp.
“Quite, yes.”
“I was… I thought you might have been out in the sun too long this afternoon.” His eyes lifted to her face. “But you don’t look too red… that’s good.”
“Just a little browner,” Lena replied. This was pathetic. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. A prickling feeling stuck in her throat, an itchy embarrassment that wouldn’t abate no matter how many times she told herself the man next door – no doubt listening in – meant nothing. What did Lucio expect? For her to kiss him with a pair of rapt ears on the other side of that curtain? And after his performance earlier in the day? She frowned, suddenly insulted by Lucio’s presence.
“About today…” he said, his fingers tangling.
“You’re forgiven,” Lena said, anxious to see him gone. His eyes glittered as they moved over her face, slightly unfocused as they drifted down toward her bodice. Drunk. Drunker than she first thought. “Please… It’s very late and I’m exhausted, Lucio.”
“I only wanted… wanted to tell you that I’m not usually like that. It’s just that… that…” He lowered his voice to a ferocious whisper. “That bastardo brings out the worst in me. He’s poisonous, Lena, can’t you feel it?”
“I feel drunk,” she said impatiently, “and tired. I said – you’re forgiven. We can speak tomorrow if you insist…” She clung to the dresser, certain she would tumble to the floor if she let her grip slide.
“Here, let me,” Lucio said, approaching and reaching for the wine bottle.
“Lucio… Go…”
Her irritation flared, bright and red hot in front of her bleary sight. His stubbornness, his ridiculous little pout… She was no longer in control of her emotions, not with the wine screaming through her veins, heightening every touch and sound. Lucio pulled at the bottle, grunting softly.
“Go,” she said again, more firmly. Lena pushed at his chest but he held on.
“I just want to see you," he whined. "I just... Lena…” The alcohol on his tongue made her queasy. He was stumbling, probably two bottles into a serious binge. “Lena… you’re so beautiful to me. Listen, Lena…”
“Lucio, you’re shaming yourself. Go now, alright? I promise, we can speak tomorrow.”
Lucio pulled again, a hard jerk that made her knuckles scrape against the front of his shirt. Her temper spiked again and it took all of her control to clamp down on the urge to strike him. Yet again she had forgotten to arm herself with even the most rudimentary weapon. But the wine bottle would work, should the situation become truly dire. Not that she felt confident enough to fight – the drink was making everything spin, the room, Lucio, the candles…
“One kiss, yes? Just a friendly kiss. You have no idea… no idea how I ache for you…”
“Lucio,” she warned, finding that the threat of his kiss was like a cold splash of sobriety to the face. “You mustn’t…”
Another tug on the wine bottle. Another quiver in his chin, a wet film glazing his dark eyes. His head lowered, coming for her, his breath foul and sour.
“Just one,” he was saying, “just one, Lena.”
“I don’t think so Lucio, I don’t...” She winced, hearing a sound next door. Cesare. “Now, Lucio. You have to go now.”
“Lena, don’t be heartless. Please. I beg you…”
She pulled savagely on the wine bottle, determined to break his hold on it. Lucio’s grip had tightened and the bottle slipped out of their grasp, crashing noisily on the floor and shattering. Lena swore, crouching to sweep the sharp pieces aside. Lucio snorted, swaying on jellied knees above her.
“It’s him, isn’t it? You lying bitch.”