Vivienne's parents both decide that the best course of action is to ignore their daughter until she gets rid of her problem. Her problem, of course, being me.

"You are the definition of the fucking problem," Vivienne tells me in one of her many rants on the subject, just in case I had been wondering. And I hadn't. "But that does not give them the fucking right. I mean, my dad acting like he's the embodiment of pure morality? And my mother..." On and on she goes, conveniently never returning to the topic of her problem and what exactly she plans on doing with that—with me.

It's not as if I'd let her get rid of me. I've made that clear. But there's something else about this just not sitting right.

I eventually realize that I want Vivienne to want to stay. It's the volatile, addictive beauty of her person—the torment of her emotions—that draws me to her. She feels, and it fills me up somehow. But the very same thing is what separates us. It's not like it's possible to Google 'how to convince a highly emotional woman to be with a sociopath.' 

What she wants is something I simply don't have. Wasn't born with it, wasn't given a chance to learn it. And I don't need it, because I have other ways of demonstrating my dedication. If she just let that be enough... because it was, at one point, wasn't it? It was all fine until she got it in her head that she needed love. That delicate, flimsy little declaration of feeling. My ice complements her fire well and she knows it. The things I'd do for her? People who claim to love her wouldn't do half as much. She knows it. But she needs to be reminded. The little brat, as disobedient as a wayward child; and children, like dogs, don't know how to be until they're shown and that's what we do and that's why we hurt, because pain teaches you who to be. Without pain, child, we would be lost. So that's how I get it in my head that Vivienne needs to be hurt, so she can be shown.

No.

Surfacing from these mental black holes is getting harder and harder. 

So I keep my mouth shut, because maybe if I don't let it escape, I won't have to leave her.

My silence isn't seen as abnormal because Vivienne's stuck on her family issues, and me helping with her parents is also out of the question. And not just because Vivienne forbids me from exercising my problem-solving skills on this circumstance—which she does, aggressively. I had been prepared to write her father a check for whatever he required, a new vacation home by the beach? In Europe—southern France perhaps? But no, you can't just throw money at things, Vivienne tells me.

My help is also impossible to give because I simply do not have the life experience that would aid me in knowing what to do here. Considering I did kill both my parents.

But the issue seems simple. It's something I noticed soon after I first met Vivienne. Her parents repeatedly isolate her in moments that could instead be treated as an opportunity to come alongside her. It's no surprise why she's so viciously independent. And I can't help but harbor a strong dislike to her mother and father for this reason.

That's another thing that sets off an even more strange feeling within me. Subtle, like a splinter that's small but still there. Her parents showing up for her would very likely mean Vivienne leaving me. But still, envisioning her losing that relationship with them completely is uncomfortable.

"I can't decide if they have this overly aggressive trust in me, or if they've just given up! It feels a lot like they've given up," she continues to process, and I continue to bite my tongue. "Like, they never even gave me a chance to prove that I'm trustworthy but somehow their solution is just to fuck off and let me do whatever I want, even if it means never seeing them again?"

I trust you, I want to say.

That's why I agreed to finally entertain Adamo's dinner invitation. Because of Vivienne's words.

People actually care about you, which you fail to see, because you don't give credence to any other reality besides the one in your head.

Alright, dolcezza. So I'll try and we'll see what happens.

But my prideful, stubborn woman is not interested in talking about any of this. Or much of anything. In fact, she has created ample distance between us. Hardly looks at me. When she does, she's guarded. And she seems to be silently daring me to call her out on it.

I don't.

So Vivienne becomes petty.

I realize this when I involuntarily spend a day listening to an unusually limber, sex positive woman have sex with a kraken.

Krakens are apparently quite virile creatures. This particular one, named Thane, also has violet eyes and tentacles. Many, many tentacles. Which he knows how to use quite effectively with his human lover, Delilah.

The audiobook version of Captured by the Kraken starts blaring through the apartment early in the morning as I do mindless work in Vivienne's living room—work I would typically offload but decided I needed to stay busy before Vivienne drove the last meager drop of sanity from my being.

But it turns out offloading the tasks would have been a better idea.

It's hard to focus on bills and receipts while listening to Delilah and Thane discover her g-spot together.

By lunch time, dexterous Delilah and her kraken lover have discovered unspeakable ways to work his tentacles into their sex life. Sometimes, amazingly, all at once.

And I have discovered a host of questions. Namely regarding who dedicates themselves to writing such confusing fiction. Thane presents as a human male with functioning sex organs, yet he is a giant squid. Frankly, there's no indication of what is real. If his human male parts are an illusion, there's no explanation for how they work as the real thing. Does he also have a squid beak? This sounds particularly unappealing.

Vivienne breezes past me into the kitchen. She's wrapped in a blanket so thick that her circumference rivals the refrigerator. She told me she's having a "rot day" before we head to Adamo's house, a term Google didn't help clarify. So far, however, that has meant she's been in her room with the door shut and I have been out here. She also rejected the breakfast I cooked for her.

It's one in the afternoon and she's just having breakfast now. I shove down the compulsion to remind her to get something more nutritious as I hear her rummaging through the pantry.

I also hear Delilah.

"Oh Thane, you mustn't! Not while you're being hunted by my evil husband!" Delilah gasps. "Oh! Surely you can't also fit your tongue—"

He fits his tongue.

I had been in the middle of adding up my costs for the month. I lose track and start over. For the third time.

There's a snuffling noise from the kitchen and I twist to see Vivienne with her back to me, shoulders shaking. When she turns around, her eyes are glossy and her mouth is pressed tight. Daring me to say something, to acknowledge what she's forcing us to listen to. I ignore her challenge, looking at the food she picked out.

"Would you like me to make you something? That's hardly a meal."

"Oh God oh fuck oh God," Delilah chants thunderously. "That big kraken cock... Thane, I'm about to—"

Vivienne waits until Delilah has finished her orgasm to answer me.

"I don't need you to do anything, thank you very much." She shakes her snacks at me. "Do you not get what a rot day even is? I require snacks. A meal would be detrimental to me right now."

"Delilah collapses back into the sheets, her inner walls clenching at the sight of Thane stroking his monstrous cock," the narration continues. "Then suddenly, she hears a noise. Thane's sexy BFF, Agakor! Why is he here? And why does the sight of him stroking his cock as he approaches them make her inner walls clench—"

I slam my laptop shut. God, more tentacles?

Vivienne widens her eyes at me in challenge, lips pressed tight to hold back laughter. I can feel the vein in my forehead and the whisperings of a migraine.

After several tense moments, I clear my throat and violently flick open my laptop.

"Sorry," she says innocently, "were you going to say something?"

"No," I grind out. "Just an unexpected plot twist."

Vivienne sticks her nose in the air, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen as she struts off to her room, clutching her snacks and with her hair a mess.

The next day is the dinner.

We start it the same way, Vivienne turning on a new audiobook as she moves around her apartment, cleaning and dusting everything. Since we'll be taking my jet, we don't need to leave until later.

I manage to somewhat tune out this new audiobook, but I can't help from hearing the racier parts, and this is beginning to feel like a unique form of torture. But there are no tentacles, so I count that as a positive.

Until it gets to a certain point.

Specifically, when the hero—who I would argue is quite the opposite—assaults the heroine at gunpoint. Threatening death if she doesn't give him what he wants.

Vivienne's ass up in the bathroom cleaning the floor, but she emerges with an affronted glare as soon as the audio cuts off.

I put her phone back on the counter, watching as she stalks up to me.

"What's your problem? I was listening to that."

I watch as she grabs her phone, intending to turn it back on.

She gasps. "You deleted the app from my phone?" Now she's angry. "What the hell, Massimo?"

I grab her phone, tossing it across the room. It bounces off the couch cushions. "Enough is enough. You shouldn't want to listen to that anyway. Time to find another tantrum to throw, Vivienne."

Two tiny fires ignite behind her dark, almond eyes. Her face tightens and she looks unreal, like the goddess of fury. When she gets angry, she purses her lips and gets a small dimple in her chin. I notice this at the same time I realize that I am severely attracted to her like this. She's just brimming with everything I can't quite touch, but with her it feels like I can. I want to grab ahold of her, absorb everything she's giving me, kiss her until she melts into me, wrap that silken hair twice around my fist, come between those glorious legs—

But thankfully, she's too pissed to look below my belt, so she doesn't realize my shame.

"A tantrum?" She says the words quietly, all anger suddenly bleeding away, leaving me confused. "I'm sorry, am I bothering you? It must be such a chore, Massimo, to keep your perfect ass parked in my apartment when I neither asked for nor desire your presence." I realize she's being sarcastic right when she starts yelling. "It must be such a chore to just do whatever the fuck you want, knowing I'll let you—because there's no telling you what to do, not when it comes to very certain things. You can just come and go as you please, and sure I'll get on a fucking jet and go have dinner with your therapist! I'll do that for you, Massimo, even while my life is falling apart too. Sure, I'll even look past the fact that you're probably fucking Cora! I mean, all I know is that she helped you burn down your father's casino when you were a kid, she's the only person you've ever slept with, and the last time you saw her it looked like she was doing something you didn't even want but since you went out and looked for her, lied to me about it, and you haven't even done the bare minimum of blocking her number... sure! Go fuck her then!"

My lips feel numb. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Correct," she snaps. "Because you don't talk to me. I stick around through shit nobody else would; you don't talk to me. I let you stay; you don't talk to me. I tell you I love you; you don't talk to me." She throws up her hands. "But just because you're not talking, doesn't mean I'm not thinking. And I'm beginning to fucking think that I'm done with you, Massimo Romano."

There are two things happening.

One, a deep cold is spreading out from a point in my chest, slowly numbing my limbs. It creeps up my neck and into my head, sounding a lot like the words I'm done with you, Massimo Romano, but on repeat until it all blends together into an unintelligible roar.

And two, Vivienne's anger is so potent, her fierceness piercing holes in my skin, that I'm having a visceral bodily reaction. One concentrated below my belt, unfortunately. Because she looks like she could snuff me out with anger like that, and her words cut and there's not an ounce of regard for me on that perfect face.

Because of that, a third thing starts happening. Which is that stifling shame that shows up whenever I begin to realize how aberrant and atypical my body is.

If I let myself linger on it, I find it odd how many people have had their way with this body while the only person who possesses actual ownership of it is Cora herself. How exactly she managed that is beyond me—but she was running Paradise. She alone would choose what she wanted to sell me for. And it was never sex. But there's no shortage of things that can still be done to a human body. "You can't have him," she'd say. "You can't fuck him." But having that limit just made them a lot more creative.

By the time Cora had me, it was too late. She made me into someone curated only for her; she stuck me under the flame so she could melt and mold me into exactly what she wanted. Because how do you know how you're supposed to be when your early to late teenage years are spent being bled, cut, burned, tied, and tortured for pleasure? Never your own pleasure though, because you're not your own. You're theirs. But then you think you like it anyway—but of course you do because it's all you ever experienced. But even now, after all these years, you still think you like it. And you begin to realize why people don't recover from these things—even when it's not so bad and it's only once and it's over with quickly; even though it's not supposed to be bad for men, especially men like me. Because when they take your body, they don't just take it for that moment. They take it for every single moment afterwards.

Why do I have to like it?

Why did I let them see?

How can I be normal now? Not really normal, I suppose, just normal enough to keep Vivienne.

I surface from my thoughts to find Vivienne staring at me still, waiting for an answer to a question I didn't hear. 

"I... I don't..." White noise, everything inverting, pinpricks behind my eyes. 

I blink away the pain and it's like I'm in a different room because everything looks unfamiliar except for the woman in front of me. 

And the smile carved below her mouth; not a smile, a cut across her neck, ear to ear just like Dr. Erikson that first time I killed. And the blood pouring down her neck and chest looks just like Dr. Erikson's too. The knife in my hand, I must have grabbed it from the drawer.

Then I blink and the cut and blood and knife are gone. Everything's back to normal. 

Except for my heart working its way directly out of my chest. 

Vivienne shakes her head, moving away and out of the room. 

And after she's gone I decide that tonight I'll be checking myself into Alpine Meadows, right as soon as I make sure Vivienne's set up for the rest of her life with everything she'll need. It seems I'll have to write her parents that check after all.

I don't think she'll much enjoy it if I find that knife and take myself out of her life right here, right now. Or at all—though my hands itch with the desire to do it. Anything to prevent what I just saw from really happening. It will make her happier if she thinks I could benefit from her plan, from being locked away in one of those terrible places. 

So that's what I'll do.

We just need to make it through dinner at Adamo's—because that's another person I refuse to let down before making all of this finally end.

♛

Adamo hardly takes his eyes off me from the first second we show up at his door. He's assessing. And he knows something is wrong—which is why this dinner was always going to be a bad idea. There's no hiding the extent of my mental decline from him, but I did it for Vivienne.

Who has not looked at me, or uttered one word in my direction, since earlier today.

She lights up talking to Adamo and Sasha, though. For all they can tell, she's the furthest from a bad mood. And they immediately like her—especially Sasha, who wraps an arm around Vivienne's shoulders and leads her to the kitchen, their heads bent together as they laugh like old friends.

"I see that girl of yours has never met a stranger," Adamo muses, watching them go.

He looks good—better than he was the last time I saw him. His black-rimmed glasses—same ones he's had since I can remember—sit a little crooked, as well as his sweater. Adamo has always had a slightly shuffled appearance, but it has never translated to his manner. He's always been a steady, sharp person. Intelligent and capable of seeing me.

"Sasha is feeling better then?"

His wife looks better, too. A little thin, slightly pale, but not too sickly.

He frowns. "What?"

"You said she'd been experiencing a flare. Her chronic illness?"

His expression clears. "Ah, yes. That was brief." He smiles and motions for me to precede him into the dining room. "Gave us quite a scare. But we caught it right on time, so the doctors gave her an infusion and she was fine."

Throughout dinner, Adamo keeps staring at me. Keeps assessing. He knows, and he's going to want to get me alone the second this is over to ply me with questions about why I've been avoiding and lying to him for weeks. But he won't rush it, because he respects his wife and doesn't want to ruin her dinner.

Sasha, in that way she has, focuses all her bright energy on Vivienne at first, asking her for every small detail of her life. She keeps her so busy that it's impossible to even notice Vivienne's iciness towards me. Then, for the latter half of dinner, Adamo's wife volleys questions at me left and right. Asking about Santo's wedding, inquiring after Tommaso's trial, so invested in the happenings of my family's life that it baffles me like always. But I indulge her, even when her questions get... well, get very Sasha.

"Are you eating properly, dear? You look worn."

I resist looking pointedly down at my empty plate. "Yes."

"Are you sleeping? You look pale."

That would be a no. "Enough."

She narrows her eyes. "When's the last time you got a haircut? You don't normally let it get this long."

I stifle a sigh, but she keeps going.

"You're usually so on top of these things, Massimo dear. Do you see why I worry?"

No. "Yes."

Sasha cuts Vivienne a dry look. "Do you ever want to just throttle him?"

Adamo cuts in, smiling faintly. "Darling, let the poor man live."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, dear. Keep him alive." She shakes her head and begins gathering the plates. Her and Vivienne make quick work of clearing the table, while Adamo pours himself more whiskey. He's unusually quiet, and now I'm the one watching him.

We retreat to the living room, Adamo gets a fire roaring in the grate, and conversation flows for a while longer before Sasha's eyes start glazing. She gets tired quickly and today especially, after spending half the day cooking. She says her goodnights and wraps Vivienne in a long, warm hug before coming to me. She doesn't hug me, instead smiling in that way she always does. Warm, hopeful, and sad.

"I'm so glad you came by, Massimo darling. I hope to see you again before too long this time." In the flickering light, she looks more tired than normal. Older.

I realize with an odd feeling in my chest that her and Adamo are aging. I've never watched people age. My first memory of her is from over a decade ago, bustling around and getting food on the table for me and my three starving brothers after we imposed ourselves on her home. She hadn't known anything of us until I called Adamo and he brought us home. But within minutes Sasha was making up beds, leaving water and more food on the bedside, hands fluttering with her desire to make everything okay.

It isn't too different from my vision of her today. Always making sure everyone is okay. Bestowing food and smiles on all of us. Except she's slower now, she winces when she sits and stands, and the veins in her hands are more visible.

I add her and Adamo to my list of people to take care of before I go away. I wrote Adamo a large check long ago despite his protests; he'll have to deal with another one.

I can't for the life of me know what possesses me, but I bend down and press a light kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, Sasha. It was a lovely night."

She sways in place for a second, tears filling her eyes. Then she turns abruptly, wiping her nose as she makes a quick exit, stopping only to let Adamo kiss her goodnight before she's gone.

Adamo shakes his head at me, a strange look on his face. "You made my wife cry, son."

Vivienne suspiciously swipes at the corner of her eye, although she straightens when she sees I'm looking. "What? I had an eyelash."

"We should head out," I tell Adamo. "Let you have the rest of your night."

I say it knowing he'll protest, that he's been waiting to speak with me. But instead he says, "before you two go, could I have a word with you, Vivienne? Alone."

She blinks at him, then at me, visibly surprised. "Oh. Sure."

"My office is just down that hallway, on the left," he directs her, then turns to me once she's gone. He stares at me again, in that same way he was through dinner, but it's starting to look different now.

"You don't look like you've been sleeping much, son."

"Your sleep pills don't help much with sleep, doctor."

He frowns, absentmindedly righting his glasses. "So you've been taking them still. That's good. Very good." He refocuses, and his smile is dim. "I see you're suffering. We'll talk and settle on a better prescription, yes? It's good to give medications a few months before trying something different. You've been on this one for a while."

I nod, and he still hesitates.

"I'm proud of you, Massimo. I know it may seem strange, but I always thought of you as a son. I always... always wished I could have protected you from everything, gone back in time and been there for you when you first needed someone. Instead of coming in when everything was already a mess. I wish I could have done more." He takes off his glasses, cleaning them on his sweater. "Anyway. You make my wife very happy. Thank you."

Then he's gone.

How strange.

I sit in front of the fire, gazing into it. Becoming lost in the blue that flickers on the edge of the orange tendrils. It's hypnotic, something so destructive forced to remain contained to such a small space.

Then, sucked back into the room, I hear my own breaths. Silence. The ticking of the clock.

Vivienne and Adamo have been gone for how long?

I check my watch and stand. I feel groggy—Adamo says this is a side effect from sleep pills. Sometimes in my waking moments, my body tries to sleep. But since it can't, I end up feeling like a zombie. It's a little confusing to deal with in the wake of the particularly bad psychotic episode of the past few weeks.

Who knows how many issues I even have, when they all blend together like this. The pills and my insomnia and whatever I was born with and whatever's been going sour. It's almost like...

There's a clatter from somewhere in the house. But it comes from the opposite end, not from Adamo's office.

I wait several seconds and hear it again. A little quieter this time.

Senses on alert, I move silently towards the noise. Through the dark hallway and past dimly lit rooms. Stopping outside Sasha's sunroom. It's all windows so during the day, it's the perfect place for her to relax. But now, in the dark, the room seems depthless. The inky night goes on forever right outside.

A dark figure slides in front of me. Cold hands clamp over my wrists; a mouth comes up to my ear. "Shhhhh."

I tense to rip my hands away, to wrap them around this person's throat. But I don't have a second to move.

Warm lips press over mine. I'm stunned into paralysis, even as every cell in my body rebels against her touch. Because I know those lips, and I know those hands, and that smoky smell...

"Quiet, my prince," Cora soothes, and I feel something pass from her lips to my mouth. Before I can understand what it is, I feel it dissolve on my tongue.

After that I don't know much apart from Cora leading me outside, wondering why the sunroom door to the backyard is unlocked when Adamo keeps it locked all the time. Through narrowing vision, I spot a car idling outside. She pushes me into the seat and everything falls away. 

♛

Ummm so hey. Things are not going so great for Simo. But here's the good news, I am possessed by the writing spirits and I'm hopeful I'll have a chapter for you in the next couple days. Yay! Everything is great! Don't kill me! 

- G