the Mafia's Mercy

⊰ 2 ⊱ Shadow of the Past

The icy cold water is refreshing as I chug it from the glass cup, its coolness kissing my tongue. The remnants of the joint I've just smoked linger in the air, its scent infused in my blood-red sweater.

I stink. I need a shower.

My hooded eyes are redder than usual—a direct result from smoking an entire gram on my own.

I cross my arms in front of me, taking the hem of my hoodie and t-shirt together before pulling it up and over my head. In one swift motion, I draw it from my body and toss it into the brown hamper positioned beside the bathroom doorway.

With this, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, slipping it out of my arms as I kick the white sneakers off of my feet. As high as I'm riding, by the time I recognize my next movements, I'm standing naked in the shower with the steaming hot water cascading through my waist-length hair.

The sweet scent of the strawberry shampoo that washes my hair makes me smile in contentment as I throw my head back and run my fingers through it. Nothing brings me greater joy than taking a hot shower while enjoying my flight on cloud 9.

Well, that is if you exclude the ten buffalo hot wings and box of fries that I plan to devour once I'm done.

After scrubbing my body with my vanilla coconut body wash and conditioning my hair, I find myself wrapped in a towel and sitting at the foot of my bed. Casually, I moisturize my skin with my favorite cocoa butter lotion, ignoring the water droplets dripping from the ends of my wet hair.

Those wings aboutta SMACK.

I grin like an idiot as I fantasize about the delivery I'm so anxiously waiting for. In the meantime, I take the next round of minutes to brush my hair, slip into a clean pair of soft black leggings, a comfortable black bralette, an oversized pastel yellow t-shirt, and my favorite cow print fuzzy socks. Between applying face moisturizer and deodorant, I'm staring at the delivery app as I watch the tracker navigate the driver to turn down the block that leads them to my apartment complex.

"Eeeeeep!" I squeak excitingly as I turn to rush out of the bathroom, leaving my phone on the counter.

"I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm ready!" I mimic my favorite line from Spongebob with each slippery step that I take toward the front door. It's only seconds before I come to stand a foot short from it, and just as I cease my movements, a knock echoes through it.

YAAAASSSS!

With a smile plastered on my lips, I unwaveringly take the handle, the pad of my thumb pressing down the latch. At the familiar click, I pull the door open, and just as my eyes lift to meet those of whom I expect to be a delivery driver's, my heart stops in my chest.

You...

His golden-brown eyes captivate me, his shooting a string of chills down the base of my spine. For a moment, it's as though I'm stuck in the limbo of time, the fragments of my mind colliding in its divide, and all I can do is fall back into the memory of the last time that I saw him.

I had just turned 18-years-old, and I was only a few months short from graduating high school. My brother said he'd be gone all night again. He said he'd be busy working, and despite him telling me to stay home, I blatantly chose to go against his wishes by making a quick run—or walk—to the gas station up the street.

I really wanted a chocolate bar.

If I'm meant to be unlucky for all my life, don't I know it?

After standing in the aisle for five minutes, scanning the shelves thoughtfully, I had finally narrowed it down to two different chocolate bars. I knew that I was never going to make up my mind if I tried to discipline myself into picking just one, so I decided that night would be the night that I'd happily chow down on a pound of chocolate and a coconut milk tea—the perfect recipe for a sugar rush to get me through the next season of Sons of Anarchy.