𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝟏𝟖+

s e v e n

n e m e s i s

"Everything is blue, his pills, his hands his jeans and now I'm covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams and it's blue. Everything is grey, his hair, his smoke his dreams."

. . .

In an awkward silence, I take a seat on the soft material of the couch and let my back rest against it.

Not much later, Alessio walks back into the room and takes a seat beside me. He's holding two wine glasses in one hand and the other a bottle of red wine.

"I know you're not legal yet," he says and places both of the glasses on the coffee table, "but let's just pretend we're in England, where it is legal."

I chuckle and nod. "Alright then," I say, and watch him pour the glasses halfway. "There you go," he says as he hands me a glass. I thank him quietly and take one tiny sip. The red liquid floods over my tongue, the sweet yet bitter taste affecting my tongue.

"So," I say and lean back, "I don't know how old you are."

I stare at his profile as he chuckles. "How old do you think I am?" he asks and glances at me. I press my lips together.

"I don't dare to tell," I hum, and take another sip of the wine. He sighs and leans back.

"Forty-two."

My eyes widen in a moment. That's... hot.

"I kind of expected that," I say dryly, "and yet it's still kind of a surprise."

I see the corner of his mouth twitch up, making me smile a bit.

Taking another sip of the wine, I set it back down on the table and let out a sigh.

"You can always talk to me if you want to relief all that has happened between you and Ruby," I say and prop my head on the palm of my head.

His beautiful eyes look into mine. "It's just," he begins and rakes a hand through his dark hair,

"Ruby isn't satisfied with me if that's what you can say. I try fucking hard to be understanding and to show her support in everything that she's going through, but it's never good enough. And sometimes I just snap, without thinking that I hurt her feelings."

I frown. "What do you mean?" I ask. He sighs – a heavy one at that.

"She isn't happy with the way I earn my money," he confesses. I raise my eyebrows.

"Are you talking about your writing?" I ask in disbelief. He nods.

"She thinks it's a waste of time and that I should do something more useful," he says. My lips part in confusion, but also surprise.

"I wish I could write," I say, "I'd kill to have the creativity to do that. It takes a lot of time, and for her to say that it's all a waste of time?"

He nods with his lips pressed together. Anger bubbles within me. "I honestly can't believe that," I say and lean back. "It's your passion, right?" I ask. "Yes," he answers. I shake my head.

"Then why wouldn't she support you in that? She should be happy that you can make money out of something you love to do," I state. He presses his lips together and nods.

"You're right. But there has been going on a lot lately, and I think it was the stress talking," he says, trying to shrug it off.

"I won't say anything about it, as for it's not my situation and not my business," I say, and take another sip of my wine before placing it back on the table.