by Vice, Demi
“I like your ceiling, and walls, and floor.” My room was nothing fancy. White ceiling, steel gray walls, and dark espresso hardwood floors. “And your sheets,” she moaned and shut her eyes. “They smell like you.”
Correction, they smelled a lot like me. Haven’t washed them in a month or so.
Bianca softly mumbled something into the covers before her eyes met mine. She clearly had a question on her mind, and I offered her an arched brow; my form of permission to go ahead and ask.
“Did-did you read my journal?” she asked, catching me off guard. It’s been over half a year since I’d stolen her thoughts. “Not the one from today,” she clarified.
Blankly, I stared.
“There was this poem I wrote—”
“I skimmed it,” I said, clearing my throat. I crossed my arms and propped my shoulder against the wall, still keeping eyes on her.
“Oh.” She blushed, pulling the blanket higher above her lips. “Do you still have it?”
“No.” I was quick with my lie.
She saddened and looked around my room, taking in the mess, along with the lack of personality on my walls. I had always put up art on the walls, but I wonder why I never got around to it at the Di Vaio Mansion.
“I still remember it—the poem I wrote.”
As did I.
But it wasn’t the one Bianca had in mind. She nervously cleared her throat and began:
Cloaked like nightfall,
Veiled with steel,
Dangerously beautiful—
But all concealed.
To those who fear,
They call him Knight—
But when time is severe,
Meet in the light.
Rich in three numbers;
The brain, the heart, the soul,
He toys with in his chambers,
Until the next reap to fill the void.
For a brief second, I was inside Bianca’s mind; a place I knew I was able to go, but never had the guts to enter.
Reality soon came crashing.
There was a fifteen-year-old girl in my bed who had just told me she was my toy, until the next one. And the worst part was that it was true. We were temporary, and at the same time, nonexistent. And for me, there was going to be a next one.
“Let’s go.” My voice was harsh as I jetted toward the door.
“What, why?” she said so innocently, tugging on the covers.
“Let’s. Go.”
I wasn’t in the mood for games. This went too far, and all because I let it.
“But I like it here. I want to live here forever,” Bianca giggled.
She wasn’t taking my tone seriously, and it pushed all the wrong buttons. Bianca gasped when I grabbed her foot from under the covers and dragged her across the bed. I squeezed her cheeks, and her round lips parted into a fishy face. To make matters worse, I used my bare hand to feel her soft skin.
“Don’t fight me, garotinha. If I say let’s go. We. Go,” I gritted an inch from her face.
“I don’t want to leave!” She became aggressive, kicking my chest and core. Then she kicked my face. That one hurt. A. Fucking. Lot.
“Isso te machucou, pirralho.” My steamy voice thickened.
I didn’t remember pulling the blanket off of Bianca or getting on top of her or pinning her wrist above her head. But that happened.
“That hurt, you little brat.” My tone, raw and vicious as I repeated what I said in English.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered in a breathy voice as her chest rose and fell just as rapidly as mine. Her eyes zigzagged across my face.
I didn’t remember tossing my metal mask across my room and leaving a dent in the wall. But that happened, too.
My lip throbbed and hot liquid grazed it. I removed my grip from Bianca’s wrist and kneeled above her small body. The blood on my fingertips was rich and thick, and the gash in my lip was raw and deep.
“I’m sorry.” Bianca’s voice came out completely heartbroken.
She wiggled out from in between my legs and threw her body into mine, hugging me tight and trying to mend my pain. But it only made it worse.
“I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you,” she cried into my chest. Her small fist, clenching on the back of my jacket, gripping me tighter. “I’m so sorry, Neo.”
I sucked my finger, cleaned up my blood, and pushed Bianca away. I slapped my attire in place before I stripped my other leather glove. There was no more hiding. Bianca saw.
Mindlessly and silently, I migrated into the kitchen. Light and frantic footsteps followed close behind, along with a small sniff. I opened the fridge door, deadpanned the empty space that was supposed to hold my therapy, then shut the door. Bianca was by my side, silent tears rolling down her face as she stared at me with a broken soul.
“I’m sorry, Antonio.” She threw her body into mine, again, and my insides went to war. Only I have no ammo, no weapons, and no hope.
Betrayed my own arms, I hugged her back. “Bianca, stop.” My voice strained.
Her little chin dug into my sternum, her sad eyes drove into my heart, and her thick tears glazed her rosy cheeks.
“Stop what?” she sniffed.
Everything.
“Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” I cupped her cheeks and simultaneously wiped away her tears.
“But I hurt you.”
“No, you didn’t, gorgeous.”
Bianca huffed a laugh. “That’s the first time you called me gorgeous today.”
I kissed her forehead, holding my lips on her for a few seconds and trying to remember her soft skin and smell and taste.
Bianca didn’t know, but this was the last time we were ever going to see each other. It had to be. It’s all become too dangerous.
“Let’s go.” I nudged my head to the door.
She nodded, wiped away her tears and put on a relieved smile that was surely going to rip off her face sooner than later. Silently, we made our way upstairs to the first floor.
“You wear a lot of rings,” Bianca stated.
I choked my hand in a fist.
“Why?”
Good for throwing punches.
I shrugged.
“Why a snake ring?”
“Used to have a ball python in high school. I didn’t take care of it as well as I should’ve, but I always loved snakes.”
“I love bats,” Bianca giggled nervously.
I cocked a brow, surprised. “Not puppies or kitties or bunnies?”
“I do, but I like bats more. There’s a bat called the flying fox. They’re my favorite. They’re mostly vegetarians and eat fruits, leaves, flowers, and nectar, and they have an average wingspan of three and a half feet. The largest bat they found had a wingspan of over five feet. That’s taller than me!”
I smiled but forced myself to stop. I’d forgotten I didn’t have my mask to hide behind.
“Sorry, I guess it wasn’t that interesting.” Embarrassedly, she turned red and stared at my index ring. “What about the gold ring with the black stone?”
“It’s the Di Vaio ring. Only men who work for your father have it.”
“And on your other hand, the matte black band on your pinky? Is it just because you like it?”
“Basically.”
“And the jawless skull with castle towers for a crown?” She pointed at my ring finger on my left hand.
I said nothing.
“It’s the same skull you have engraved after your name on your gun. And it matches your cufflinks, except they don’t have the red gems for eyes like your ring.”
I hesitated, but gave in, convincing myself if this was our last time, I might as well share about my family.
“It’s my family’s seal,” I said, looking dead ahead. “My great-grandfather was working late one night at the funeral home, and he was bored. The seal was nothing more than a drawing he had done in his sketchbook, surrounded by notes. But, since then, we associated the dr
awing with our family name. Our Ceifador name.”
“Your great-grandfather worked in a funeral home?”
“All the Castillo men work with the deceased. For hundreds of years, anything to do with the dead, we have been a part of. Gravediggers, morticians, embalmers.”
“Is that where the name Ceifador came from?”
I nodded.
“Manuel Carlos Castillo was the first Ceifador. The first Grim Reaper. The nickname was given to him by a bunch of town kids who had nothing better to do than to watch him dig a grave. He was never bothered by it. In fact, he embraced it. Wearing all black and humming a tune he always hummed when he dug graves. After Manuel had a son, and he worked as a gravedigger too, he earned the name Ceifador II. He loved the name just as much as his father and the tradition continued.” I paused.
The red diamond eyes of my elaborately designed ring stared back at me. I commissioned one of the best jewelers in New York City to bring my family seal alive. It was a quarter of a million dollars, and after the ring was created, I made matching cufflinks for myself and Lorenzo.
“I could abandon the name. It’d be easy, but I would never. My family has always been small and broken, but we have deep roots. Traditions that have been passed down for countless generations. We have our traditional burials and rituals, our myths, our seal. We have it all. For some, what my family has been doing for hundreds of years makes them uncomfortable. But for me, it is my way of life. The Castillo way of life. It’s why we kept the Ceifador name through ten Grim Reapers.”
Bianca slipped her hand into mine and squeezed. It tugged at my heart, but like always I ignored it.
“What else? I want to know more. Is there a meaning behind the seal? Like the jawless skull?”
I huffed a weak laugh. “Jawless skulls for jawless men. Castillos aren’t vocal men and when we are…” I sucked in air through my teeth. “It’s better if we don’t talk. It hasn’t changed for generations, and it’ll never change.”
“The red eyes?”
“I love red. It’s the color of life and death.”
She nodded. “And the castle towers for a crown?”
“Castillo actually means castle in Spanish, not Portuguese. Hundreds of years ago the Castillos migrated from Mexico to Brazil, claiming our new home. Our new castle. As for the crown? I’m not sure. I think my great-grandfather thought it looked aesthetically pleasing.”
Bianca hugged my arm. “This is the best day of my life.” We both know that wasn’t an overstatement. “Thank you, Antonio,” she sighed blissfully.
“Here.”
I pulled off the ring, uncurled her delicate hand, and enveloped it shut with her second present inside. Bianca opened her shaky hand, almost making sure that my ring was actually in her palm. Her eyes shot to mine, mouth completely open.
“I-I can’t,” she stammered, pushing her fist in my face.
“You can and you will. It’s no longer mine, but yours.” I lowered her hand. “I can always buy a new one. Like I did with the switchblade.”
Bianca didn't fight me. She wanted the present as much as I wanted to give it to her.
“I haven't given you anything,” she said, burying her gift in her secretive dress pocket.
“Want another gift?” I asked, knowing very well my intentions were purely selfish.
I didn’t wait for her to answer. I grabbed the extra magazine I carried and pushed out a silver and copper bullet.
“It’s a hollow-point bullet,” I explained. “Unlike a regular bullet, after it’s been shot, they expand when exiting the target, causing more collateral damage. But after impact, after the damage, they’re beautiful. Like a blossomed flower.”
I pulled out my car keys and showed her proof on the keychain I had. The tip of the bullet divided into six sections and curled out like a flower. I put my keys away as she stared at the bullet in her palm.
“Have you killed someone, Neo?”
“Your father calls me Grim Reaper, but he doesn’t know about my family. About my deep roots. No outsider does.”
Except you.
She gulped nervously. “The Grim Reaper take souls. He kills men.”
I couldn’t get myself to answer straightforward. I still greedily wanted her devotion. Those eyes made just to worship me. And only me.
“Which means, one day someone is going to try to do the same to you. Kill you.”
We went up the stairs, but before we could move toward her room, Bianca stopped. “Do you want to see my library?” She threw me a pair of baby blues I could never deny.
“I have to go, Bianca.”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
I sighed heavily.
I’d never learned to say no to Bianca Di Vaio.
Chapter Seven
Bianca’s library was luxurious and ornate, covered with books of all colors, shapes, and sizes. There was a ladder to reach the top of the books, but from the dust that covered the steps, it hadn’t been used for quite some time. In the center of the room, there was a chess table and a large leather chair facing the blue door.
Bianca sat me down in the chair and left to find a book.
“You play chess?” I asked.
“I’m kind of obsessed. It started off with its beauty. The board, the pieces, and the royal names of those pieces. Then, I began to fall in love with the game itself. I’ve read all the books I could on the best players, strategies, and tactics. Even have a whole bookshelf dedicated to chess.”
Wanna play? I craved to ask, but there was no point.
“Wanna play?” Bianca asked for me.
“No.”
She came back and sat on the chess table. A thin book laid on her lap but she covered the title with her hands.
“Wanna guess my favorite author?”
The end of my lip curled slightly. “You’re too unpredictable.”
She blushed and looked down, removing her hands.
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.
She cleared her throat and began, “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…” Her words came in warm and cold. I forced my eyes to shut and devour Bianca’s voice that soothed my aching soul. “Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door…”
I cracked one eye open. She no longer read the book but recited from memory. And just this once, I let myself break. Leaning forward, I grabbed her hand and set her on my lap. I let her get comfortable as I choked the arms of the leather chair.
“Continue,” I gritted through my teeth as I shut my eyes; ignoring reality.
I drank her words for what felt like an eternity; a measure of time I wish I had with her.
“Here I opened wide the door; darkness there and nothing more. Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting...” She paused. Her baby blues now on my deep darkness. “... dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before…”
She never looked away, and I never shut my eyes. I broke again, and let myself become lost. Her voice was calm and tranquil even though darkness seeped from her innocent lips, reciting one of my favorite poems.
I slowly inched my hand over Bianca's knee. She broke our gaze, and my touch stole a level of her voice. She spoke softly and shyly, her blushed cheeks showing her true emotions. I thumbed the fabric of her dress that rested above her knee.
“And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor—”
“Shall be lifted – nevermore,” I finished.
Silence coated the empty room full of two souls who met in the middle of the night for comfort.
Bianca’s lips struck my cheek. Her small gesture burned me alive, getting worse by the second as she pressed her lips deeper into my skin, branding me forever. I flexed my jaw, my only response. I should’ve pushed her away or told her to stop, but greed choked me in his grasp.
I loved this moment.
I hated this moment.
I fell for this moment and so ma
ny more.
I tried not to think about Bianca, but I always fucking did. And it was exhausting.
The way she spoke with a touch of wisdom, regardless of her age, was breathless. The way her eyes sparkled on me like I was immortal, eternal, and a holy being, was intoxicating. And the way she looked so free and alive while she was next to me made me want to break her out of her cage and run away with her.
I’d never had guilt eat me from the inside out. But falling for the dying girl who was far too young for me made my whole body, my heart, my soul, hollow inside.
Bianca’s lips broke free, and she cupped my face, thumbing the opposite cheek she had just kissed. Her touch hurt and it had nothing to do with her accidental kick she gave me. I covered her hand with mine, pressing it harder against my cheek.
“It’d be best if you don’t touch me,” I repeated from earlier today, only to take my advice too late. Dropping her hand on her lap, Bianca watched me lick my lip and suck on the raw and tender gash.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Neo.”
Should’ve hurt me more.
Bianca straddled herself on top of me. Her small chest pressed into my throbbing one, and all I thought about was how I hoped she couldn’t feel my pulse. She buried herself in my neck, and her lips grazed my skin, causing goosebumps.
I should’ve pushed her off.
I should've told her that she wasn’t allowed to get on top of a man like this.
I should’ve done a lot of things, but instead, I rolled my head to the side, giving her more access. I slouched lower in my chair to feel the warmth between my growing length. Grabbing her waist, I pushed her down, feeling more of what I couldn’t have. Her innocence, her desires, her forbidden lust. Bianca ground her hips subtly, but I forced her to stop, choking her waist. My thumbs and forefingers touching from how small she was.
It was a whole different story.
Seeing versus feeling.
Skin and bones were all she was, worse than the first night I saw her painting black.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, but I loved when you got on top of me, Antonio.” Her breathy voice heated my flesh. “Holding me down, making me feel small and safe and… scared.”
