by Ashley Logan
“The fuck is wrong with me?” he said out loud, desperate for an answer. Maybe he should cut his losses and just move on like she said. But she didn’t mean it. Did she?
Turning the shower off, he toweled himself dry and stopped. Was he getting dressed to stay or go?
Walking through to the kitchen, he checked the cupboards and the fridge again. When was the last time he’d gotten groceries? Last week? Last month?
Looking around his downtown apartment he shivered. He’d never put much effort into decorating and it was times like this he wished he had. If it felt like a home, maybe he’d spend more time there and less time trying to get invited to Gina’s.
Back in his bedroom, he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and hunted for his shoes. His stomach was grumbling and Serge was in the mood to eat. He didn’t care what time it was, he’d eat wings at a bar if that’s all there was. A lot of wings. Enough to fill the hole inside.
Shoving his phone and wallet in his back pocket, he snatched his keys off the counter and left.
Out on the street, his mind quietened as the City noise blocked it out. For a while, he forgot he was hungry and just walked. He walked until his nose reminded him.
The illuminated red sign of Tina’s Takeout drew him in and he ordered a steak hoagy with a side of wings.
“Serge?”
Turning around, he saw two pretty girls had just come through the door. The brunette drew his attention immediately. She wore jeans and a tank, with an open cardigan, but no bra. Her breasts were small, but perfectly formed and her nipples were pointing straight at him. Squinting a little, he recognized Violet by the healing scratch on her forehead.
“Vi?” He looked around, confused. “What are you doing out after midnight on a Sunday?”
Giving him an odd look, she glanced at her blond friend. “Technically, that would make it Monday, and I had a hankering for a chicken finger sub. You lost or something?”
Taking his order from the cashier, he looked for a place to sit, but found the few stools occupied by some rowdy young bucks that had suddenly noticed Vi and her friend. “Just hungry,” he said, noticing that she and her friend didn’t even seem to register the lewd comments intended for them.
While her friend smiled at him and moved forward to place their order, Vi watched him without speaking.
“Well, nice seeing you. You look different without puffy eyes and a red nose,” he said, cringing at himself as she raised an eyebrow. “Better,” he corrected. “You look better. Fuck. See ya round, Vi.” Making for the door, he escaped to the street.
Pausing to unwrap the end of his hoagy, Serge shoved it in his mouth and headed back towards Main St.
“Serge!”
Turning, he wiped his mouth and raised his brows, unable to talk with his mouth so full.
“You wanna hang out? You can come back and eat at our place if you like?” She checked her phone and looked back to him. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be?” she added, giving him an out.
Chewing, he regarded her carefully, keeping his eyes on her face lest they be tempted to stray back to her tits. He did need to talk through some of his bullshit, and she had offered to listen. There wasn’t anyone else he could talk to and she did seem to understand what he felt beyond what he’d ever said aloud. He wondered what kind of medicine she’d wanted to practice before she quit school. Serge had the feeling she’d make a great shrink.
Swallowing, he coughed a little and looked back at Tina’s Takeout.
“Your friend safe in there all by herself?”
Vi followed his gaze. “She can handle a few idiots. So?” she pressed. “You’re obviously not sleeping. What’s keeping you on the streets at this time of night?” She looked around and leaned in closer. “You’re not undercover are you?”
Serge found himself glancing at her chest again and closed his eyes to stop himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He shook his head.
“I live on Main; just walked until I smelled good food. Hungry. Like I said.” He took another bite as if to convince her.
“You live on Main and you took a car to the hospital?”
Surprised by her line of questioning, he gave her a sideways glance as her friend arrived with their food.
“Serge, this is Scarlett. Scar, meet Serge.”
Her friend gave him a once over before leaning in closer to Vi. “This is Power Serge?”
Choking his mouthful down, Serge coughed again.
“Do you need supervision while you eat, Serge? You choke more than a denture-less stroke victim eating a well-done steak.”
Serge choked back a laugh this time. “That a formal assessment?”
A blush rose in her cheeks and she looked across the street as she tried to keep her face straight. “I just thought you might need some company,” she said, looking directly at him as if she could see the disease inside that needed to be purged. “You coming over or what?”
Taking another bite of his steak hoagy, he chewed slowly. Giving her a small nod, he fell into step on her other side as they walked back down Chippewa street.
CHAPTER FOUR
VIOLET
Sergio Moretti climbs the stairs, clinging to his wings as if they’re a life-raft.
“You okay?” I ask from the top.
Looking as though each step is a mile high hurdle, he meets my eyes. “So you do work at Nina’s club?”
“Yeah, but we don’t bite, Serge,” I say, waving him on.
He steps into the living room and I have to grab his wings to keep him from leaving immediately.
“Don’t be rude. Everyone, this is Serge. Serge, everyone.” Grabbing his hand I yank him toward the beer fridge. “Come on, I’ll get you a beer to calm your nerves and wash down your wings. Can’t have you choking to death up here if you’re worried about what your friends at the station will say when they come to claim your body.” I laugh at my own joke and pull three beers from the fridge, handing one to Scar as she walks past smiling.
Turning to give Serge his, I stop laughing immediately. Ignoring me as if I’ve said something completely un-hilarious, his face pales as he surveys the crowded room.
“You okay?” I ask him again.
“I don’t belong here,” he manages to croak out as his eyes plead with me. I don’t fail to notice a few disapproving looks from the crowd, but the look on Serge’s face isn’t one of judgment, it’s pure discomfort.
“Why not?” I ask, suddenly worried I’ve lead a socially phobic man into his worst nightmare.
Serge looks down at himself and glances at the others. “I’m too old and worn to hang out with the beautiful people,” he whispered.
Benji, who’s sitting closest sprays beer from his mouth drawing the others’ attention as he turns around to look at Serge. Shifting his gaze to me, he can’t hide his shock.
“Did he just call us ‘the beautiful people’?” My face gives him his answer and he turns back to Serge, taking him in. To me, he says, “I like him.” To Serge, Benji serves his most dazzling smile. “You’re not so hard on the eye yourself, stud. Stay and hang out as long as you want.”
“Easy, Benji. We don’t want to scare him away,” Ireeni warns, flashing her eyes at Serge as she would a customer downstairs.
Rolling my eyes, I pull Serge out the door. “We’ll be in the study,” I call over my shoulder.
I show him into the room we call the study. Decked out with desks, bookshelves and couches it’s our quiet lounging option.
“Sorry. That was probably a bit full on. Most people don’t live with this many roommates.”
Serge remains quiet as he looks around.
Sitting on the couch I pat the seat next to me, waiting for him sit. He does so slowly; unsure.
Taking a swig of my beer, I watch his lost expression come to rest on me and can’t help myself.
“Do you think you’re ugly?”
His eyes lower to his wings and he puts them on the coffee table and pushes
them away. Staring at them, he turns slowly back to me, the grip on his bottle turning his knuckles white.
“I don’t know why I’m here, Vi. I should go.”
His voice is rough and I reach a hand out to settle him. “Stay. Talk.”
Just blinking at me a long time, he eventually eyes my hand on his shoulder. Bringing his beer to his lips, he doesn’t lower it until it’s empty. “We might need more beer for talking.”
“So I’ll get more beer.” I stand up to leave, but lower myself back into his line of sight, reading his eyes. “You’re going to run away while I’m getting it?”
He looks at his lap and sighs. “I thought I was the detective.”
Watching this broken man on our couch I can’t help but worry. “I think you’re in the right place tonight, Sergio Moretti. You need a friend, like I needed one last night. I want to help. If I can,” I add, trying to convince him of my sincerity. “Please stay.”
Nodding ever so slightly he leans further into the couch and I ease away to get more beer.
He looks up as I plonk a tub of ice filled with beers on the coffee table. The wings are gone and I wonder about where they went, but I leave it for now and hand him a brew. Toeing off my flats, I shrug out of my cardigan and sit cross legged on the couch facing him. Clinking his bottle with mine, I drink, feeling his eyes on me.
Setting my empty bottle down, I reach for another. “So. Did you go see your partner at the hospital today?”
Serge clinks my beer with his in confirmation and drains his bottle.
“How is she?”
Serge reaches for another beer, twists off the cap and shrugs. “She’ll be okay.”
“And you?”
After a long drink, Serge lowers his bottle and studies the label. “I’m not really sure I know what okay feels like anymore.”
“How long has it been since you were okay?” I ask, glad his honesty wasn’t a one night occurrence.
Shrugging again, he finishes his beer and gets another. “Before I fell in love with my partner? My married partner. Before my fiancée left me for another man? Before I knew I was an unlovable piece of crap? I don’t know, Vi. It’s hard to pinpoint it exactly.”
Ignoring his lashing out at me to warn me off the hurtful stuff, I jump right in.
“Why’d she leave you?”
Pulling a hand down his face, Serge sighs at me. “Probably because she needed to spice things up and I didn’t want to tie her up and whip her until she bled,” he says without flinching. “That, or she didn’t like the way I left the seat up.”
“Oh. Shit. Right. Okay. Wasn’t really expecting such a balls out, blades sharpened response. Wow.” Gulping down my drink, I eyeball him. “How’d you get over that?”
Downing his next bottle, Serge shrugged. “It took a while for me to get the image of them out of my memory, but I guess after that, I was kind of glad she’d found someone who would do that shit to her. I felt like she needed the punishment by that stage,” he admits, watching me carefully as if measuring my reaction. “And I drank. And ate. I filled the emptiness with anything I could shove down my throat. It was Gina that made me realize I was killing myself with it; helped me find myself again.”
“Gina.” I try the name out. The woman of Serge’s frustrated desires. “When did you know you were in love with Gina?”
Running a hand through his hair, Serge exhales through pursed lips. “We’d all gotten engaged around the same time, but obviously, her wedding actually happened. I guess I would say that by the time I’d gotten over Sadie enough to trust someone else, Gina was the only one I wanted to trust. Does that make sense?”
Thinking it over, I watch his face. “So you haven’t had a relationship in...?”
“Four years.”
Holding back the urge to whistle, I take another sip of my beer. “Have you... ya know, done anyone in four years?”
His cheeks glow crimson. “You said relationship. A casual fuck isn’t the same thing,” he says, taking a long pull on his beer.
“No, it’s not,” I agree, sensing his avoidance. “How long since you had a casual fuck then?”
Watching me out of the corner of his eye, he finishes his drink. “Is that important to this weird-ass therapy session?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You might be hung up on Gina for lack of other entertainment.”
Serge narrows his eyes at me, reaches for another beer and then looks at me sideways again. “Are you hitting on me?”
“What?” My turn to blush. “I don’t think so,” I say, my tone uncertain. Analyzing my motives, I look him in the eye. “Did it sound that way?” Scolding myself, I grab another beer. “Sorry. I’m pretty sure I just want to get to the bottom of why you’re so miserable, but one of my problems is sending out signals without realizing it. It’s what gets me into trouble. Just let me know if it happens again, yeah?”
He’s looking at me with a parental look on his face. Somehow we’ve traded roles and he’s looking to help me now. Shaking my head I clink his beer with mine. “Tonight’s about you, Power Serge. Don’t try and back out now.”
Frowning, he sips his beer. “Fine. Shrink my head, Vi. I’m in a hopeless non-relationship, I can’t sleep, I’m constantly hungry, I’m grumpy all the time and I don’t know what I should be doing. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it, because apart from G, I’ve isolated myself into a tiny corner. Do I hang in there hoping she’ll see sense, or do I cut and run? Start fresh?”
“Jeez, Serge! What is so special about Geeena? Beer taps for nipples?” I can’t help but mock her name. I’m finding it hard to like this woman, but I won’t dwell on why that might be. “Why are her hooks so deep in you when she’s married? Are you obsessed, or is she leading you on?”
His head falls to rest on the back of the couch. “At this point, I honestly can’t tell,” he says quietly. “When we’re together, it’s amazing. We laugh, we share and we help each other out. When I hold her, it feels right, but when it comes down to it, she won’t leave Rick, and I’m not happy sitting by watching him have what I -”
“Wait up,” I say, interrupting. “What do you mean when you hold her?”
Rolling his head to the side to look at me, he shakes his head. “Not naked or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean if I give her a hug, or comfort her or something.”
“She need comforting often?”
“Often enough. Her husband can be a tool.”
“I see.” I don’t see the whole picture, but it’s getting clearer. “So she saved you and you want to save her back, only she doesn’t really want saving?”
Serge sits up, toes off his shoes and faces me as he crosses his legs up on the couch. “I think she does want saving. I can’t try to move on if there’s a chance to be with the woman I love and treat her like she deserves. That’s why I can’t just drop it,” he says with full belief.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I don’t know; little things. Signs. We’ve been working with each other for nearly a decade, it’s not like we can’t read each other,” he says, picking up on my skepticism. “Lingering when it’s time to go home, little looks when Rick says something inconsiderate, or does things without taking her into account. Just... stuff. Glances and moments that have nothing to do with him, and everything to do with us. Or when she’s having a miscarriage and calls me instead of him. Tell me I’ve got it wrong, Vi, but I think she needs me. I need to stay in her life.”
I consider his explanations and find myself confused as to how his relationship works. “Why can’t you stay in her life and have a life of your own?”
“Because I don’t want a life of my own unless she’s in it.”
“Well now you just sound like a spoiled kid,” I reflect to him, taking another sip of my beer. “You’re talking about signs that she wants you with her. Does she give you any signs that she doesn’t? Aside from the undeniable fact that
she doesn’t leave her husband?”
Saying nothing, Serge finishes his beer and starts putting his shoes back on.
“Serge, stop. I’m trying to help you get your head straight, and I gotta admit, it sounds pretty confusing in there. There are two sides to every argument and I’m trying to see both sides. I’m not judging, or saying what’s true and what’s not. I’m just trying to get all the information. Serge!”
Ignoring me, he ties his laces.
Lunging onto his back as he makes to stand, I hold on, trying to weigh him down. I can feel his muscles working beneath me as he pushes onward, making easy progress to the door.
“Why are you so upset, Serge? Are there signs it’s not meant to be?”
He stops in his tracks.
“Serge?” I ask softly, craning my neck to see his face. He purposely turns it away. Slowly releasing my grip, I slide to the ground and walk in front of him. Sniffing, he avoids my eyes by looking to the ceiling. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I give him the hug he desperately needs. His body stiffens before his arms come around me too and he relaxes.
“I’m sorry you’re upset Serge.”
He sniffs again in a final kind of way and clears his throat. “Is that why you’re hugging me? Or are you coming onto me again?” he says, his body quaking a little as he laughs.
Pulling away, I punch him in the arm and head back to the couch. “Sit your ass down and finish the conversation, Serge. You’ll sleep better when it’s out.”
“Spoken from experience?” he asks, taking two more beers from the ice tub and handing me one of them.
“Something like that,” I reply, ignoring his attempt at diverting the attention to me. “So tell me the signs.”
“She told me this afternoon that she’s putting in for a transfer, effectively ending our working partnership.”
He looks up from his lap at my intake of breath and I release it slowly. “That’s a pretty big sign, Serge.”
His head drops back down. “I know, but I don’t think it’s really what she wants. It kind of sounded like Rick had pressured her into it, that he wanted her to get some space from me. But then she followed up with things like it wasn’t fair to me that I felt the way I did and that I should move on.”
