Oleander

Chapter Eight:

ANTHONY DIDN'T CRY, per say.

He mumbled in Russian and let his sadness seep into my skin. It hit me like a tidal wave, and made my head spin. It was there, it was real, and I felt it.

Then I wondered how long he'd carried this pain around with him.

I didn't know his age. I don't know how long he'd lived here. I didn't know much of anything about him. I didn't even know his last name.

Nor did I care to press at the moment.

I reached my arms around his bulky self and rubbed his back. At a time, I figured that this was probably very awkward. At least, it started to feel awkward.

Head hung, much taller than me, a lot beefier than me... it felt as if I should be the one he was holding.

"You are much too small to hold a giant like me." Anthony chuckled, and pecked my forehead. "But thank you for your comfort." He said appreciatively and took a step back. His words were followed by the stench of bourbon and vodka. The sting was enough to water my eyes. "You have made a grateful man." He hung his head again. "I don't easily find beauty in the objects of life... but you have that gift, and you've reminded me to open my eyes."

"You're -" I clear my throat. "... welcome." I rasp, because I can't find much of anything else to say.

"You are my angel for today, and for every tomorrow." Anthony closes his eyes as he says this, and when he opens them, I try to catch his gaze, but he averts his eyes.

"Why won't you look at me?" I ask quietly.

"I would never let my angel know the level of my guilt. Then she would know my wrongs and think me underserving."

With a small chuckle, I cup his cheeks, turning his head gently. Hesitantly, like a child who knows he's done something wrong, he lifts his eyes.

I see remorse, I see wonder, I see grief... and then there's that little hint of underlying rage that I've seen so many other times. It bubbles deep in his irises and darkens his strongly caffeinated coffee colored eyes.

"You have a big heart, is what I know. I'm content with not knowing the rest of what I don't know."

"You're... a dream." Anthony shakes me off of him, and hunches his shoulders to protect himself.

"I can assure you, I'm here, breathing, not a figment of your darkest fantasies...." I flourish to his huge ass bed and pull back the sheets and comforter. "If you'd like to join me, I will be going to sleep."

"You can't sleep in here." Anthony states simply, features solid.

"Well, as Trè made perfectly clear, I need to." I shrugged, crawling onto the mattress, which was on the firmer side.

"I really sprawl out..." He slowly fades into the modern day Anthony, and not the prim Russian one.

"Okay." I lay my head on the spicy smelling pillow and groan. Cinnamon and vanilla.

"I snore." He crosses his arms.

"I'm a heavy sleeper." I yawn.

"Woman, I sleep naked!" He growls.

"Well, get to it!" I chuckled, rolling over onto my side facing him.

Lip curled, he flexed his biceps in agitation. "I'm starting to not like you." In one fluid movement, he yanked off his v-neck. Anthony's whole body rippled when he tossed the shirt to the side, muscles constricting and melting into each other in a coexistence that made me hungry.