MILLIE
Abruptly, he pivoted away, vanishing from my limited field of view. Confusion and a swirling tide of dots danced at the periphery of my vision. Just as I teetered on the precipice of laughter once more, Gio reappeared, a reassuring presence. In that moment, I was acutely aware of my own fragility, his strength offering a lifeline. A shirt, one that undoubtedly dwarfed my form, slipped over my shoulders. I caught glimpses of his physique, revealed in the stark contrast of only briefs against the dim ambient light. The shift in dynamics was palpable; roles reversed as he became my guardian.
With practiced care, he slipped his arms beneath my knees and shoulders, a cradling embrace that shifted me further up the bed until my head found reprieve on the pillow. He joined me, our proximity suddenly intimate in ways that transcended the physical. “You’re impressive, you know?” I murmured, words that held a weight I couldn’t quite fathom.
His gaze brushed over my face, and then his palm was pressed against my forehead, seeking the truth of my fevered state. A giggle, almost absurd in its timing, bubbled up. I reached out, fingers aiming to trace the inked patterns that adorned his skin, a testament to a life lived in shadows. My aim was awry, my touch grazing his abdomen, then venturing lower. He hissed, swift to intercept my unintentional exploration, replacing it with a gentle touch against my stomach. “Millie, you’re drugged. Try to sleep,” his voice was a lullaby, a plea veiled in sternness.
“Maybe I don’t want to sleep,” I protested, a childish whine to my tone. My restlessness was met with his steadfast resolve, an unyielding “Yes, you do.”
A yawn crept up on me, unrelenting in its insistence. “Will you hold me?” The vulnerability in that request was staggering, a plea for comfort amidst the chaos of the night.
Gio’s response was silent, but it was a language of actions. Darkness draped over us as the lights were extinguished, and then his arms enveloped me, his warmth a shield against the chill that had nothing to do with the room temperature. “Better lie on your side in case you feel sick again,” he advised, practicality mingling with tenderness.
“Did you kill him?” The question hung in the air, a specter that dared not be ignored.
A pause, a weighty silence pregnant with truths. “Yes.”
The admission sent ripples through my consciousness, an acknowledgement of a reality that defied the veneer of safety I had tried to construct. “Now there’s blood on my hands,” I mused, words slipping out as a whispered confession.
“You didn’t kill him.”
A rebuttal that didn’t quite absolve, a paradoxical reassurance that held no comfort.
“But you killed him because of me.”
“I’m a killer, Millie. It had nothing to do with you.” A declaration that felt both distant and intimate, a chasm bridged by circumstances beyond my comprehension. I was too weary to contest, to dissect the intricate threads of guilt and responsibility.
I focused on the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm that had become a lifeline. “You know, sometimes I wish I could hate you, but I can’t. I think I love you. I never thought I could.” The admission was a secret wrested from the depths of my heart, a confession that had long eluded acknowledgment. “And sometimes I wonder how it would be if you made love to me.”
His lips brushed against the delicate curve of my neck, a tender gesture that stirred a cascade of sensations. “Sleep.”
“But you don’t love me,” I mumbled, words trailing into the obscurity of the room. “You don’t want to make love to me. You want to fuck me because you own me.” The rawness of my utterance surprised even me, an unfiltered outpouring of insecurities that had festered in silence. His arm cinched around me, a gesture that held both restraint and reassurance. “Sometimes I wish you had taken me on our wedding night, then at least I wouldn’t still wish for something that will never be. You want to fuck me like you fucked Alyssa, like an animal. That’s why she told me you would fuck me bloody, right?”
My tongue felt leaden, and my eyelids weighed as if laden with sand. I recognized the incoherence of my ramblings, the revelations I should have held back. But the grip of consciousness was slipping, darkness tugging at the fringes of my thoughts.
“When did she say that? Millie, when?” The urgency in his voice was a knife’s edge, slicing through the fog that enveloped my senses. But even that urgency wasn’t enough to staunch the impending descent into oblivion.
Gio’s voice, sharp and laden with concern, dwindled into a distant hum. And then, with a final, valiant struggle against the pull of exhaustion, the darkness surged forth, claiming my consciousness in its velvety grasp.
~*~
I was abruptly pulled from the depths of sleep by a relentless wave of sickness that surged through my body. My eyes fluttered open, and with every ounce of strength I could muster, I maneuvered myself towards the bathroom. The world spun around me, a chaotic dance of dizziness and nausea, as I barely managed to reach the toilet before my stomach rebelled again. I knelt on the unforgiving cold marble floor, my energy completely drained, feeling utterly defeated by the illness that had taken hold of me.
Shivers coursed through my weakened form, and just as I began to despair, a soothing presence enveloped me. It was Gio, leaning over me, his concerned eyes reflecting the dim bathroom light. With a gentle touch, he pressed the flush button on the toilet, efficiently erasing the evidence of my misery. His warm hand then caressed my hair, sweeping it away from my clammy forehead. A raspy, almost feeble laugh escaped my parched lips.
“Not that hot anymore, am I?” I managed to joke hoarsely, trying to inject a semblance of humor into the miserable situation.
His voice was tender, carrying a hint of remorse. “That shouldn’t have happened. I should have kept you safe.”
For a moment, I clung to his words like a lifeline. His touch and his voice offered a sense of security that I desperately needed. “You did,” I whispered, my grip on the toilet seat tightening as I slowly pushed myself to my feet. His strong hands steadied me, wrapping around my waist, offering both support and reassurance.
With a suggestion that seemed almost hopeful, he proposed, “Maybe a bath will help.”
My lips curved into a faint smile, despite my body’s protests. “I think I’ll drown if I lie in the bathtub now.”
His fingers turned the faucet, and the sound of running water filled the air, accompanied by the gradually brightening gray light of dawn over the city. “We can take a bath together,” he suggested, his voice a gentle murmur.
A teasing grin tugged at my lips. “You just want to grab a feel.”
His response was unexpectedly serious, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not Capo yet. And I have morals. Not many but a couple.”
The tenderness of his words struck a chord within me. I leaned my tired head against the warm expanse of his bare chest, finding solace in his touch as he rubbed soothing circles on my back. His touch sent a subtle shiver down my spine, a strange but not unwelcome sensation that seemed to connect directly to my core. I pulled back slightly, my eyes meeting his, the unspoken tension between us thickening the air.
With careful steps, I made my way to the washbasin, the cold water shocking my senses as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Gio turned off the tap, the bathtub now filled with warm water, an invitation to escape the discomfort that clung to my body. He helped me shed the last remnants of my dignity by assisting me out of my panties, and then he discarded his own boxer shorts. In his arms, he lifted me with a gentleness that surprised me, placing me into the inviting embrace of the tub.