Simone
Autumn becomes early winter and Rocco won’t return my calls.
The first couple of weeks I was so angry I’d wait days between calling, so pissed off at the way he just barged out of my apartment that I told myself I didn’t care one way or the other if he picked up. If he wanted to be a selfish douchebag, fine. I didn’t care. But then time passed and I started to get sick with worry, sometimes hunching over the toilet bowl and spewing my guts up for five minutes or more. And on top of that I had the stress of doing two people’s jobs with my MGM contract since their other freelancer bailed on them.
The sickness and the stress and, to top it all off, the men following me . . . I first noticed them on my way to the office. I was already skittish enough after the terror in the forest, so when I saw two bikers trailing me ten cars back, turning at all the same corners and stopping down the street from my office building, I became downright terrified.
Demons chasing me everywhere I go. Sometimes I don’t see them for weeks. Other times I’ll see them three days in a row. I can never relax because I never know if they’re there or not.
The constant fear adds to the sickness. I work fourteen hours a day, sometimes more, wolfing down bad food and vomiting when I get home and wondering why Rocco has abandoned me like this. It isn’t fair. Maybe I shouldn’t have lied to my mom about him, but his reaction was too sudden and violent to be just about that. Maybe there was more underneath it. Maybe it was really about how he felt dirty and criminal. But then, he is criminal.
Tonight, driving back to my apartment, I decide to do something wild, something Cecilia-like. I enter the clubhouse’s address into my GPS. I found it online last week and saved it just in case I summoned the courage to go there. I never thought I actually would, but I’ve had enough of hiding in my office or in my apartment, pretending like the world doesn’t exist, pretending like the only man I’ve ever really wanted isn’t ignoring me. I check my rearview. No bikes, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out there, out of view, Demons always at my heels.
I stop outside the clubhouse, a squat building with the words Seven Sinners above the entrance in bright blood-red letters. My tongue feels too big in my mouth as I walk across the parking lot, my hands sweaty, my face too warm. I feel sickness churn in my belly as nerves work through me. I have to be brave now. I think about what Cecilia would do. I can criticize my twin sister all I want, but I can’t deny that she knows how to go after something once she’s set her sights on it.
I open the clubhouse door and head toward a glass door with dim light shining against it, a jukebox playing some old country tune, a man strumming laconically on the guitar as he whines about his lady.
As soon as I enter the bar, everything stops. There are around ten men in here, all wearing jackets, some of them drinking whisky, others smoking cigarettes. For a second or two the men are nothing but vague shapes behind the smoke, and then they emerge, one by one, each looking angrier and grimmer than the last. Beast steps forward, hand on his hip.
“Have you got a nut loose?” he asks. “You don’t barge into a clubhouse like that, Cecilia. That’s just not how it’s done. You’re gonna need to leave. If you wanna talk with one of us, that’s fine. But not like this.”
“I want to see him,” I say, ignoring the swilling in my stomach. It’s like there’s a bucket of water in there, all of it sloshing around. I think of the time Cecilia stood up in class and shouted at Mr. Hammersmith that she wouldn’t listen to his sexist remarks any longer. He was a history teacher in the habit of saying things like: “Of course, one couldn’t expect too much from her. After all there’s only “his” in history.” She was brave and wild and didn’t care if she got into trouble.
“What is your name, anyway?” I snap, walking right up to Beast. He’s bigger than Rocco. I can imagine him playing a giant in Game of Thrones.
“You know my name, Cecilia,” Beast mutters.
“You can’t come in here like this!” Jakub springs up from his chair. I remember the way he hit on me at the hen party and shiver. He glances to Beast. “This ain’t Cecilia. It’s her sister.” He turns back to me. “You think you can just barge in here any damn time you please, just barge right in here like you own the place? What do you think this is, a hotel? Do you see any other women in here tonight? No, you don’t. When we want girls maybe we’ll call you, but until then—”
“You better stop talking!” I snap. “If you don’t I’m going to scratch your eyes out.”
The entire bar erupts into laughter. But Jakub isn’t laughing. His lower lips trembles. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
“I’m somebody who’s not leaving until I speak with Rocco! That’s who I am!” I’m too far gone for reason now. I pace over to him, standing so close I can smell his sweat and the smoke from his cigar. “You can talk down to me all you want if it makes you feel big and strong, but I’m not leaving without talking with Rocco. So what do you want to do?” I stand on my tiptoes, feeling scared and strong at the same time. After over two months of working fourteen-hour shifts and vomiting almost every day, it’s good to feel strong.
“You really are a stupid little—” Jakub clamps his mouth shut when Rocco steps from an office in the back.
“Enough,” he says. He speaks quietly but his voice cuts across the room. “Come on then, Simone.”
He returns to his office.
I follow him, feeling the eyes of the Sinners on me. I don’t think about how this would’ve gone had Rocco not been here.
He closes the door behind me and goes to his desk. The office is plain except for a photograph of Rocco and Shotgun above the desk. Rocco drops into a large chair and gestures at the smaller one.
“Is this some intimidation-style thing?” I ask, dropping into the chair. I can imagine Beast sitting in this chair feeling very small.
“They’re just chairs,” he says, looking at the desk.
“Why won’t you look at me?” I ask. “Are you ashamed?”
“Ashamed?” With a visible effort, he meets my eye. “Why would I be ashamed?”
“For ignoring my calls for two months. For making me sick. I’ve been like a madwoman, Rocco. I haven’t been sleeping. I’ve been working too much. I’ve forgotten half a hundred things. I put on some washing and left it in the washer for five days before I ran out of clothes. I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal, but—work is driving me crazy and then I’ve got bikers following me. Demons, Rocco. I’m being followed by Demons and you won’t even return my calls! How do you think that makes me feel? I’m sorry for the phone call, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I’m scared. I’m really, really scared. I check my rearview mirror and I see them sometimes. I see them and I think about that day in the forest and at least then you were there to help me. But now it’s like you don’t even care—”
“They’re Sinners, Simone. Goddamn.” He stands up, turning his back to me. I can partially see him reflected in the photo frame. “I’ve had Sinners following you ever since I left your apartment. They’re for your protection. I didn’t realize you’d seen them. They need to be more careful. But you don’t have to worry.”
“They’re Sinners,” I murmur, feeling worry and anxiety drain away from me. Living two months certain that any second a Demon might bust through my door has made me slightly crazy. “But then why didn’t you just tell me that? Why put me through this?”
“I didn’t know you were going mad,” Rocco says. “How the fuck was I supposed to?”
“By answering my calls!” I stand up and place my hands on his desk. “That’s how you’d know. All you had to do was answer my phone calls, Rocco, or my texts, or . . . or anything! What is it?” He doesn’t turn to me, just keeps facing the photo frame. “Wait a second . . .”
“Yes,” he says.
“If you’ve got Sinners following me . . .”
He sighs, and then turns. “There are Demons after you. You and Cecilia.” He tells me about the note on the car, and then adds, “We’ve been at war with these pricks for almost half a year now. A couple of weeks back we caught one who told us the Demons are watching and waiting for an opportunity. If it wasn’t for our lads . . .” He waves his hands. He looks a little unhinged himself. “Can’t you see, Simone? I’m the reason for all this. You were right to lie about me. We should never have been together. Even if it felt good, it was wrong. It’s a fuckin’ mess.”
“A mess?” I walk around the desk and place my hand on his cheek. His beard has grown since the last time I saw him. It’s tangled and deep black now. I stroke it, looking into is eyes. “Is that really how you want to describe it, Rocco? Sure, I bet you’ve had the same thoughts as me. We hardly know each other, why am I thinking about him so much . . .” I raise my eyebrows. He nods. “But just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it isn’t right. We both felt it. I think we’re being silly. I think we need to just give into—”
He steps away. “Give into what? Give into letting the Crooked Demons kill you when they see us together? Do you wanna know the truth, Simone? I’m almost certain that they could’ve taken me out half a dozen times by now. That note . . . and there’s other shit, too. I came back to my apartment one day to find my door unlocked and my TV smashed in. Just ’cause they can. This is a war, and they’re winning. Three more of our guys are dead, none of theirs. They see us together and it’s your funeral I’ll riding to this time. So yeah, maybe in a perfect world we’d just give into what we want, but this ain’t a perfect world.” He pauses, and then mutters. “I was a damn fool for ever thinking I could have anything like this, anyway. It’s a joke. Me, Simone, the kid who hides at the top of the stairs praying to God the next bastard won’t come with the belt or the fist; me, the kid who’s never had a normal family and never will. I tricked Angela into thinking I was a normal person and look where that got her. No, fuck no. I won’t do the same to you. I care about you too much for that.”
“But that’s just it!” I take another step forward, grabbing his face with both hands now. For the first time in weeks, I’m not sick or scared. “If you care about me too much for that, surely you see that you’re not tricking me. The only way you’d be tricking me is if you didn’t care.”
I kiss him before he can answer, the taste of his lips triggering something inside of me right away. He kisses me back for a moment, but then takes me by the shoulders and shoves me away.
“No,” he says. “I won’t put you at risk.”
“I’m already at risk!” I protest, wanting to kiss him again, wanting to wrap my legs around him and be lifted onto the desk by his strong arms.
“That doesn’t mean I have to put you at more risk, does it? You’re protected. Maybe once this is over . . . but you need to go, Simone. Lie low. Be safe. But don’t come here again.”
“Tell me you don’t miss me!” I hiss, anger making my voice scarily like Mom’s. “If you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t miss me, I’ll leave and never come back! Go on!”
“What you said is true.” He looks down at my feet. “We hardly know each other.”
“Then tell me you don’t miss me. It should be easy if you don’t care.”
He looks into my face. He seems more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. He seems half broken. Just by looking at him I know he’ll never say he hasn’t missed me. He looks like all he wants is to take me in his arms. His hands shake with the effort of restraining himself.
“I can’t say that,” he says. “But you need to go all the same. Think about your sister. She thought she could handle this life and look what happened to her. But at least she’s alive. At least she’s rebuilding her life. If something happened to you . . . I’m dangerous. I’m no good. Just stay away from me.”
“What if I don’t?” I snap. He’s right, I reflect. Cecilia will always be a warning signal I can’t ignore.
“I’ll order the men to remove you from the clubhouse every time you try’n come in. That’s what.”
I walk around the desk, gripping the edge of the smaller chair. “It seems like all we do is push each other away. We get close and then we push each other away. It’s not fair. Sometimes when I’m driving home, sick and tired, I see couples walking to the movies together. There’s a theater just around the corner from my office building. They look happy. They look bored, too. Why can’t we be bored and happy together for a little while?”
“Because I’m who I am and you’re who you are.”
“Maybe I’m tired of who I am. Being with you was the only exciting thing that ever happened to me.”
“Excitement isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. You know that. You must know that.”
He’s talking about the forest. “You’re right,” I mutter. “But it’s not the same.”
“It was my fault . . .” He sighs. “We’re going in circles. Please go, Simone. Don’t make me ask again.”
I want to linger here and talk some more, talk all night. I don’t want to go to my apartment and hunch over the toilet bowl and . . . Oh my god . . .
“I’m an idiot,” I whisper. “I’m the biggest idiot in the history of idiots.”
“What is it?” Rocco asks.
“You’re right. I need to go.”
I dart from the office before he can say anything, pacing across the bar and then running across the parking lot, cursing myself every step of the way: idiot, idiot, idiot.
I start my car and screech out of the lot, almost struggling to believe that I’ve really been this scatterbrained.