The Sinners We Love |18+

[11] lead

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Like a garlic bread down my throat, I was shoved down.

Luca had pushed me off the table with a flick of his strong arm. I winced, my back touching the hardness of the floor and specks of dust decorated dingy air. With long strides, Luca closed the library door shut but a part of me feared if the ancient locks were even working and the displeased scowl surfacing his features, confirmed they were not. To my side shards of glass splattered, the windows looked damaged, few more pieces falling off from the sill.

His fingers palmed his pocket, his blazer before sliding inside. Nothing came out, and I wondered if Luca was searching for his phone. Because in the exact moment as a muscle memory my fingers searched for mine too. But just like Luca, I couldn't find my phone. He muttered something under his even breaths, and the same annoyance that had befriended his features the night we met and with the woman at La Lena, came once again.

The rush finally settled, and I found my words. "What the hell is happening?" I let my palms fall on either side to support so that I could stand up from the harsh fall when sounds of the windows shattering in other rooms roared across the area, accompanied by rustling of dead leaves beneath heavy steps.

Did the police raid because we had trespassed? 

Luca did not spare my struggling self one glance, rather when I gathered myself to stand up he immediately pushed me back on the floor again. His eyes distracted, between the door and the now broken window. "Stay here." He said, no, commanded.

I rested on the dusty floor, afraid he would shove me again if I tried to stand up. "If it's the police we could—"

"Get inside." Dominating my words, his body towered on my cowering one, and for the first time I realized how long his legs ran.

"Where?" I asked, breathless and fearful because with every word, the footsteps neared.

"Under the fucking table, Charlotte." Luca seethed, his teeth grated, gulping down his annoyance.

"But—"

"Shut the fuck up." Luca loosened his belt, unbuckling the metal buckle. "You are going to sit under the table like a good girl and you will not come outside this room at all." He crouched, in a hurry yet so calmly, he undid the lace of his shoes, his eyes straining on me, asking a question. "Do I make myself clear?"

When he was done, his lace undone but he did not remove his shoes, he tucked my gown inside, and pushed me inside. As if I was butter, I glided with no hesitance, and I grabbed his wrist. In fear. In dispute. But Luca never waited for me to speak, so he said. "Not one word."

Just like that he got up, flicked the lights off, stood behind the door and opened it ajar, took a step out and let the door close behind him. In the cold dark, all I could do was hear. Like his one step out of the door, the door groaning and closing, the shattering of glasses numbing, and the footsteps ceased. People had became aware. I could not hear Luca's footsteps, and the daunting question rose in my mind: Why did he go outside?

The next moments were filled with endless silence. The crickets still chirped and my breathing was still ragged. But nothing else. Not another footstep. Not another crunch of leaves. Even the shards of glass laid quiet and dead. Two more minutes and I could swear I would hear my heart beat behind the cages. I peeled on my nails, destroying the freshly painted yellow. It started slow and steady and then it was impulsive. The silence roared and I kept on peeling and peeling and peeling until my skin peeled off from the corner and I winced. As if the pain wasn't enough to shot adrenaline, two strides at a time approached the library door. Shriveling around the corner, my hugged my knees, my head hitting the wood. This could not be the police, they wouldn't wreck the property.