Chapter 2
There’s absolute silence in the apartment, interrupted intermittently by the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall.
“…Please say something.” Billy’s voice is barely audible.
Fingers twitching around the mug loosely held in your grip, that’s the only indication that you were listening, face blank and composed in a thousand yard stare as you stared straight ahead in front of you. Before the ceramic slipped and ended up broken, you sat the cup of (now) lukewarm tea onto a coaster on the dining room table.
Brushing your hands over your jean clad thighs, you glance in his general direction. Not quite managing to look him in the eye, not yet.
“I don’t know what to say.”
Billy had just dropped the motherlode of bombs on you this morning and early afternoon. You’d demanded the truth and he hadn’t censored any of it. You’d had to beg for him to stop multiple times. You’d cried, yelled, gone through the entire cycle of emotions and now you’re just… numb.
“[Your Name]…” He sounded so hurt. So gutted.
Abruptly, fury surged through your being and that gave you the strength to look at him head on. “You…you had a hand in Frank’s family being murdered…and all this time…all this time, not once do you show an iota of genuine regret or sympathy. You even got into contact with him, pretend to be his friend–?!”
“I told you why–”
“And I think that reasoning is bullshit!” You spat. “You wanted to ‘protect’ me so badly, you should’ve just told me the risks–”
It’s his turn to try and cut you off, to bulldoze over your words. “Rawlins had me watched all the time! I couldn’t chance your safety!”
“Children… Children are dead.” The words are like a gunshot. Like a knife to the gut and you see his face twitch. You’ve hit a sort spot. “Children that called you Uncle and, and me, Auntie.” Hands pressed to your stomach, feeling it roll queasily. Idly, you wonder if you’re going to be sick all over your dining room carpet.
“Oh my God, Billy, this is so fucked up…” Your voice wobbles traitorously, and you cover your face with your hands. You feel Billy leave his couch and the scent of his expensive cologne teases your senses as he is now in your space.
“This is so fucked up.” You reiterate.
The words muffled by your fingers but no less intelligible.
“Please…” He once again sounded gutted, in agony. “Please, stop saying it like that.” Billy’s hands are touching yours, not trying to pull them away, not yet. “I…I know what I am. I know I can’t be forgiven, but I…For you, I…”
Holy fuck, you think you know where this is going.
The two of you had teased at it for years, teetered on the edge of, of something, and aways, you’d been the one to retreat first. Terrified of change and yet wanting it anyway, but too chicken to actually admit the truth. To try and put your heart on the line and in danger. Before you could open your mouth and inquire if this is really the time for even more potential life changing confessions, the door of your apartment is kicked in.
“Russo!”
Billy is already in motion, shifting so that you’re protectively shielded behind his back and his gun out. “Frankie.” He drawled lazily as the other soldier, his former comrade and best friend, stepped into the apartment, gun aimed unerringly in his direction. “I’ve got to say man, you’ve impeccable timing.” There’s nothing that shows how uneasy he’d been mere seconds ago, so vulnerable, and the abrupt change should give you whiplash.
“Let [Your Name] go, now. Let her walk out of this apartment or I swear to God, I’ll open your head up all over this floor.”
Once again, the urge to vomit is prevalent and you’re not sure if it’s because of the graphic imagery or the promise of violence in the words. Frank isn’t biologically any relation to you, and you’d known him less longer than Billy, obviously. Had met him through Billy. Yet, you respect him. The two of you had gotten along well enough for him to trust you around his family; his wife had considered you a friend, the children called you aunt.
As you’d told Billy before, this situation was fucked.
“What are you gonna do if I say ‘No’, huh, Frankie?” Billy inquired, tone deliberately blaise, flippant. You see the mounting fury in Frank’s eyes, the desire to maim and kill.
“The both of you need to stop.” Like an absolute dumbass, you stepped out from behind Billy’s shadow, standing in front of him, ignoring his hissed demand of what the fuck are you doing. Just like you expected, Frank’s attention shifted to you though his finger remained on the trigger, gun aimed at Billy. “Please stop. I…I know what he did, Frank. What his deceit, his greed, and actions cost you, and I empathize.”
Frank snorted rudely. “You ‘empathize’? What kinda patronizing bullshit is this?” His guttural drawl, the twang of his accent thick. “You know what this asshat did, you say that you know and you stand in front of him, trying to protect him… Did you have a hand in it too, [You Name]? Were you in on the plot to kill my family? Laughing in my face, sitting at my table, knowing they were marked for death?”
“She wasn’t.” Billy interjected sharply, trying to get Frank’s attention on him again. “She wasn’t… C’mon, Frankie. This has nothin’ to do with her.”
“It has everything to do with me.” You refute with calm you don’t feel. “The lying, the backstabbing. He didn’t do any of that to deliberately hurt you, at least not in the way that you’re thinking. You shouldn’t even be alive…”
“You think just because I breathe, I’m living?!” Frank snapped.
“He got caught up, Frank.” It’s a terrible thing, said aloud. “To protect me. From Rawlins. The man was depraved, he knows it. You know it. Billy was caught between a rock and a hard place. Loyalty to you or loyalty to me; he couldn’t have it both ways.” Daringly, you took a step forward, towards Frank. “He couldn’t have it both ways.”
“My family is gone. They’re dead.” The words are spat. Desperate, hollow, angry.
You want to shut your ears and close your eyes.
But you don’t. Instead, you swallow thickly. “I know.”
“They’re dead because of what I know. What, what I did. What we did. What he allowed and you’re, you’re… defending him?” Frank sounds lost, disbelieving.
You shrug delicately. “Nobody in this room is a good person.”
“You love him.” It’s a statement, not a question. You exhale, lips parting. You don’t know what you’re about to say to such a bald accusation, to such a fact, but Frank cuts you off before you can say anything. “No, don’t. I…” He gives you an inscrutable look for a few long uncomfortable seconds.
Then he lowers the gun. Shakes his head quietly, and walked out.