by M. N. Forgy
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t talk to anyone, so don’t waste your time trying to make friends,” he continues, swiping Luna’s tray from the table and heading back to the couch with the other insane kids. I don’t know if it’s what he said, or maybe it’s just his face, but my nostrils are flaring with rage. Maybe it’s because Jim took Luna away, but I want to hurt someone. I feel the need to release justice on this fat fuck who took Luna’s dinner.
The jacket suddenly feeling heavy, smothering me, has me sweating. I want to jab that plastic fork into his fat neck for making fun of Luna, for taking her food, for thinking he’s better than her.
Angry and wanting to lash out, I stand and stomp over to the kid standing in front of the TV. My chest rising and lowering with my harsh breathing, I stare at the fat kid who sits in the middle of the couch, a chip on his shoulder.
“Move!” he demands, fork in his palm, he gestures me to step away with a wave of his hand. The other kids just watch with nervous stares. This guy must be the bully of the bunch, the rest just followers.
“Why did you call Luna that?” I demand.
“Luna Wild?” a small girl that looks like she’s been starving herself asks, she’s sitting on the floor, her clothes looking way too big on her boney body. Her hair is balding from lack of nutrition. She smiles up at me with decaying teeth.
“Yes, Luna Wild.” I glare back at meatloaf boy.
“She killed her parents, she’s a fucking lunatic; a freakshow. If she’s talking to you, then you’re just like her. Crazy,” he garbles and laughs, stuffing his face with the last of the sloppy meat.
It’s okay to hurt him, he’s wrong, he’s bad and needs to be reminded he’s not better than anyone else. Grinding my teeth, arms restrained, I jerk my foot up and slam it into his face just as he slips the fork into his mouth. Everyone screams, one kid laughing, another singing at the top of her lungs as a way of coping from the chaos. Bully kid chokes, spitting out pieces of white bloody fork bits, his tray falling to the floor.
I laugh, the sound of my own voice sounding foreign, like a villain in a scary movie. Just as I take another step toward the kid, something sharp slips into my butt-cheek, and I jerk around finding Nurse Sissy stabbing me with a needle.
“You bitch!” I slur just as I fall into her arms, the heavy feeling of guilt sets in my chest. Maybe I went too far? I should have minded my own business. I open my mouth to explain myself but I slip into a deep sleep.
Middle of the night, I wake to the sound of Luna’s voice. Sitting up, I find myself out of the straitjacket. I rub my arms, goose bumps climbing up from the cool void of smothering restraints. Sliding off the bed, my butt aches from the needle and I wince. Pulling the waistband down my hip, a huge round bruise presents itself. God, those things really suck.
Wobbly on my own two feet, I follow the sound of Luna’s voice to a vent in the wall. I slowly slip to the ground and sit next to it.
“Luna,” I whisper, and the singing stops. “Luna, it’s me, Romeo.”
“Romeo,” she whispers back.
“Are you okay?” I ask. My fingers sliding amongst the rusty vent.
“Yes, are you? Did you get to keep your jacket?” she asks, her voice sounding a little louder as if she’s scooted to her vent on the other side.
Looking down at my arms, I don’t want to tell her no. She did all that just for me to keep the straitjacket.
“Yes, I have it,” I lie.
Quietness takes over, both of us sitting there.
“You’re bipolar,” she states and I frown.
“What is that?”
“When I was in the doctor’s office, I looked at your chart when his back was turned. He thinks your bipolar, like me,” she informs. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like something out of a science book.
“It’s where we have dangerous moods, or something. They say we’re insane,” she continues, the news making me feel sad. I pick at the paint on the wall, not sure what to say.
“Why are you in here, Luna? What did you do for them to, you know, want to see what was wrong with you?”
Silence falls between us for seconds, minutes, maybe even an hour. She doesn’t reply. Laying my head against the wall, I begin to get sleepy again, my butt hurting from the cold hard floor. I should go back to bed, who knows what the doctor will have me do tomorrow. Hopefully my dad will come get me out of here.
“Hey Romeo?”
“Yeah?” I startle myself awake.
“Will you be my other sunflower?” she asks, and the corner of my lip corks up. Her and I both bipolar, turning toward each other in place of darkness.
“Yeah, I’ll be your sunflower.”
The next morning, I watched Luna draw from across the table. She would look up at me and smile every once in a while, and I’d smirk back. Luna Wild was the only thing that made me happy, I didn’t want to leave the hospital, so I kept acting out, hoping they’d keep me, but my dad showed up to break me out right on the twenty-four-hour mark. He signed some papers, made a follow-up appointment, and I was handed some medication to help balance my unnatural mood swings.
Sitting in the back seat of the car, my dad just shakes his head, mumbling under his breath. It feels weird being out of the hospital and in a car. I thought I’d enjoy the sunshine, the fresh air, but I don’t. The familiar smell of cigar smoke is oddly comforting though. My father is not happy, embarrassed probably that his son is sick. That’s what they tell me anyway; I’m sick.
“Romeo, don’t tell anyone about that place or about what went on. Nobody needs to know that you’re… you know… different.” He glances in the rearview mirror, his beady eyes piercing through me.
Glancing down at his shoulders, his fitted suit reminding me of the riches and power he has. If word got out that I had a mental disorder, his reputation among the men he works with would fall greatly. He’s ashamed of me, and it hurts to know I can’t do anything about it. Biting down on my emotions, I grip the orange bottle of pills in my hand. I feel angry, sad, and confused. The doctor didn’t fix me, and these pills aren’t going to work. I already miss Luna, she made me feel normal; happy. I can still see her crazy blonde hair, green eyes, and that damn song she’d hum all the time. I never did figure out what it was.
“Just take the pills, and try to act… I don’t know, more like your brother.” He sighs, turning down our street to our house. Kieran isn’t normal, he has anger issues as well, but compared to me, he’s Mr. Perfect. My dad always pushed me to follow in his footsteps, and after this… he’s going to want a carbon copy of my brother. We pass houses that all look identical. Two-story ivory colonial. Hedges of bushes up against the houses, a white wooden door with a golden knob. Only our house had a red door.
“When you go inside, smile, hug your mother and just act happy. Okay?” He continues to talk, pissing me off more. He should just drop me off at the hospital and tell everyone I ran away, it’d be best for everyone. He pulls into the driveway and my mother comes rushing out the front door. She looks glamourous in a blue dress and heels, my brother wearing nothing but a pair of sweats stands next to her with his arms crossed. Taking a deep breath, I plaster a smile on my face, feeling lost more than ever.
I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing I’ll never be happy, or having to act like I am for everyone else’s sake.
Romeo
15 years later
Sitting in my high back leather chair on the far side of the living room I stare at the cherry wood door, my right hand slowly fumbling the orange medicine bottle as I wait for my company to arrive.
Looking at the pills, I grit my teeth thinking about the time I was admitted into the psychiatric hospital, the flower girl with the crazy blonde hair. I’ll never forget it; I’ll never forget her. She made an impression on me for some reason or another, and I’m not sure why. There were hardly any words spoken between us. I’ve even went as far as looking her up a couple times, but always came up empty-handed. Luna Wild
doesn’t exist.
Standing, I slip the pills into the pocket of my Armani pants, my feet padding across the room to reach the wet bar in search of a drink. Grabbing the McCallan, I pour three fingers worth and take a sip. Glancing straight ahead, I see myself in the mirror hanging on the wall. Hair disheveled and in my face, concealing my haunted eyes, my unbuttoned shirt showing my chest.
Taking another sip, I look away and head back to my chair, but not before taking a glimpse out the window, the lights of the city shining brightly per the norm this time of night. I look up hoping to see the stars, but even fourteen floors up is too bright for the sky to break through the manmade force of illumination.
I sit back in my chair, glass tumbler in my hand, resting it on the arm of my chair. I need to take my meds, I know this, things have been rather unstable lately; more than usual anyway. My brother betrayed the family by taking sides with a rival enemy, going as far as to ask her to marry him even. It’s only a matter of time before our father asks me to step in and take his place. I scoff, thinking about being an underboss in my dad’s game of playing mafia. I wouldn’t be a good fit, he needs to ask someone else. I take a sip of my whiskey, the smooth woodsy taste filling my mouth. He’d love my rejection of the role, just one more thing for him to be embarrassed of.
I have a darkness inside of me that can justify taking the place of a dangerous criminal, but my unpredictability makes me more dangerous than any man at my father’s table of organized mobsters. One wrong word, a song, or even something as simple as a smell can trigger the monster inside of me that nobody, not even myself, can contain.
That’s not someone you give power to, that’s someone you keep it away from; and remain vigilant of.
But, the life of being an outlaw goes as far back as I can remember, it’s ingrained in our DNA by now. Even if I rejected my father’s proposal, I’d wind up doing something seedy and illegal.
A dainty knock grabs my attention, my palm tightening around my glass of whiskey.
She’s here.
“Come in.” I raise my voice, and the doorknob turns just as the door swings open. A tall blonde sashays into the room, gently shutting the door behind her. Her face sharp, lips red as a fire and lashes so long they touch her perfectly shaped eyebrows.
“Denise,” I greet with a gravelly tone. Slipping the sash that was tied across her abdomen to her long black pea coat, she raises her chin confidently as it falls to the floor pooling around her sexy black heels. Placing her hands on her hips, she displays her body like a nice pair of earrings at Tiffany’s. Skinny waist, small tits hidden behind emerald color lingerie. Her belly button isn’t pierced, which is odd for this day and age, it seems everyone has it, her hips are wider than the rest of her body but I like that about her. Blackwell Estate knows how to pick their women well, and Denise will be worth every penny. The Blackwell business started in Nevada and has since then popped up a few secret estates around the country, one being here in New York.
“Romeo, I see you can’t get enough of me, yeah?” A smile tugs at her face, showing bright white teeth. I smirk, looking to the last of the amber liquid in my glass. I don’t have problems getting women, but I’d rather pay for ones who comply with what I enjoy rather than traumatizing some woman at a bar just for the sake of a one-night stand.
Standing, I set my drink down on the wet bar in passing and step around Denise, looking her over. Her soft milky skin calling to me like a siren as I circle her like prey.
“You know I’ve given you my personal number, you don’t have to go through the company,” she reminds me. Reaching for the drawer to the left of us, I pull out one of my favorite toys, at least when it comes to Denise.
“Sweetheart, if you want someone to pillow talk with, you can hit McAdams bar down the block. Now if you want to be fucked until your knees shake and you need to come for air…”
I present the ball gag, a strap in each hand. “Then open your mouth and quit talking.”
Her eyes gleam with arousal, and my cock grows in my pants. I love that she’s a kinky little bitch. Strapping the apple red ball into her mouth, I adjust the straps around her perfect face and silky hair.
Leaning in behind her, my lips brushing behind her ear, I whisper, “That’s a good girl.”
Grasping her by the hips, I turn her and push her forward a few steps to where she’s able to grab on to the kitchen island if she needs to.
I bite her shoulder, kissing it afterward, the smell of her perfume causing my cock to throb, knowing what’s to come.
She moans behind the ball gag, and I lift a brow at her excitement.
Running one smooth finger under the elastic of her thong, I slip them down her round ass and let them free fall to her shoes. Using my hand, I bend her over, and undo my pants with the other hand, pulling my cock out, I pump it a few times before letting go and swiping it between her folds, testing her pussy for how ready she is for me. She’s practically dripping.
Pleased with her arousal, I grab the condom I set out on the counter and slip it on, and then fist my dick, slip the tip of myself into her. She gasps as I fill her, and my head draws back with satisfaction. She’s so warm and hugging my cock deliciously. Digging my fingers into her hips, I begin to thrust in and out of her, my only goal to climax. Aside from my hands on her hips, I keep contact minimal, not wanting to convey a different message than what is happening here. Fucking. A transaction between two consenting adults.
She squeals, moans, her eyes watering as I slip in and out of her, her cunt not able to take all of my cock. I keep slamming into the back of her until pressure shoots up my thighs, and I come. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath as I fill the tip of the condom. She heaves for air so I unclasp the gag just as I pull out of her. Tearing the condom off myself, I push my pulsating dick back inside my pants. Turning, I find wetness on her cheek from her eyes tearing up, her legs shake as she walks across the room to her coat.
“I already wired the money to your account,” I inform her. Pulling up her panties, she nods, still trying to catch her breath, her milky skin now a blush of red. “You can use the restroom if you need.” Lifting my hand, I gesture to the dark hall to her left that holds my bathroom.
“I’m fine,” she insists, pulling her coat over her body, concealing it from me as if nothing just happened.
Grabbing my tumbler from the wet bar, my pants still undone, I refill it and head back to my chair, the tension in my shoulders now gone.
“See you around, Romeo,” she says softly, her breathing at a normal pace now.
Lifting a finger, I point at her in goodbye, and she shuts the door behind her. I take a long swig of my whiskey, the thought of having a female in my house making me wish I was normal. If I was, I would call Denise, we could do dinner, and I could spoil her with my blood money.
But I wouldn’t wish my mood swings on my worst enemy, let alone someone I care for. It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to put up with my severe anger, the things I say and do when I’ve become manic.
No, it’s better this way. They come, I come, they go, and I move on with my evening.
Sighing, focusing on the whiskey, I know deep down I want to be selfish and be with someone, especially after seeing my brother with a woman and how in love he is, the care he has for her, and how he spoils her.
Thinking about Leona makes my dick grow.
She always smells good, like she just came from a secret garden of forbidden flowers, looks gorgeous, and she’s all his. Reaching in my other pocket, I pull out a pair of panties. Leona’s panties, I stole them from their house. I don’t know why I did it, I could ask Denise for hers and she’d gladly give them over. I guess it’s about having something of my brother’s that makes my dick hard. In a secret way, I wish we could share his wife to be, I could fuck her and enjoy the things of a relationship like spoiling her with shopping sprees, having her lay next to me in bed just so I can smell her shampoo, and get those fuzzy fucking feelings when I see her
toothbrush next to mine. Kieran could deal with the tantrums and other shit that comes along with having a relationship that I have zero compliance for.
It’ll never happen though. Feeling the tension settling in my shoulders again, I crack my neck. The feeling calming me and bringing me back to realization. I’m meant to be alone.
My phone buzzes on the glass coffee table in the other room, the screen lighting up as it skids across the top. Getting up, I go into the sitting room and grab it, it’s my father.
Taking a deep breath, I pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Romeo, it’s time we talk.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I look forward, the door to my bedroom in my line of sight. I knew this was coming, I knew the devil would summon me.
2
Romeo
“About what?” I sigh into the phone. Agitation making my hands ball into fists. This man’s voice alone makes me want to smash this fucking phone. Sometimes I think I’m solely on medication so I don’t kill him.
“You know what, stop with the games.” He raises his voice, and my nostrils flare. Doesn’t matter my age or position, he always talks down to me. Verbal and mental abuse takes a toll, but if you tell him that, he calls you a pussy. He doesn’t have a link of kindness in his DNA.
“I’m not the person for this…” I grit quietly into the phone. I can’t be like him, I refuse to.
“No shit, but again, let’s talk. Meet me at the Shady Tail in one hour.” The phone goes quiet as he’s hung up on his end.
