Fixed Parts Page 2

  He whined; a forlorn sound from somewhere deep inside him. Despite the lancing pain in my body, his terror sliced me deeper. “It's alright, buddy. I'll be alright. Go home,” I whispered, the last of my energy leaching from my body. Heaviness blanketed me and exhaustion wrapped itself around me. The world turned dark.

  Urgent, worried voices pierced the darkness.

  A distant hum.

  A flash of light.

  My arms felt weightless.

  A sad, tortured whimper.

  Shouting.

  A streak of black hair and blue eyes.

  Darkness.

  A muffled whimper.

  I tried to pry my eyes open, but they felt as if they were glued shut. My head felt heavy, disconnected.

  Vicious pain sliced through the plump swelling of my face; I wanted to scream but the noise died in my throat.

  Voices swam in the fog.

  “There, that will help with the swelling.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s cream. It helps with hematomas.”

  “English, doc.”

  “It’ll take the swelling down tonight…”

  More incoherent words, as pain pounded around my body—like a red hot poker prodding me. All I could do was breathe, even if it hurt.

  The voices returned as the pain waned.

  “…internal bleeding. You really need to get him to a hospital.”

  “That won’t be necessary, doc.” A deep, familiar voice.

  “Well in that case, I’m afraid there’s not…”

  Something soft, familiar. A cold wetness on my palm, followed by hot breath.

  Darkness.

  A fragment of light slithered beyond my eyelid.

  Light.

  I sighed, blinking at the exquisite sensation of sight. I lay on my bed and inhaled slow, deep breaths, letting sensation sink in around me. My body throbbed in hot, deep agony. When it waned a little, I tried to sit up. Sharp pain lanced through my head, and stars collided behind my eyes. My body protested each movement, and I sucked in air in shallow gulps that burned my lungs. They must've broken a couple of ribs. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Spots leapt up from his bed, wagging his tail wildly.

  “Hey, boy.” I smiled at him and he galloped onto the bed, ploughing into me. I winced and curled, clasping my abdomen. He froze and whined. “I'm okay buddy, don't worry. Just be gentle.”

  He jumped off the bed and sat by my feet. Waiting. Staring. His big, watery eyes scrutinising me. He knew I was lying, that I wasn’t anywhere near ok.

  I stood up. My head spun as I limped to the bathroom, every step felt like daggers in my abdomen—my limbs feeling heavy, uncooperative.

  I stood in front of the mirror and assessed the damage. Both of my eyes were bloodshot; two red balls staring out from half open lids, swollen and bruised. Dry blood caked my upper lip, which was splintered with a deep, maroon fissure that sliced through the plump skin. Purple marks decorated my body like sprinkles on a cupcake, except there was nothing sweet or delicious about this—it was all painful and agonising. The bruising would only deepen over the week.

  I found comfort in the shower. The water cascaded over my skin, washing away cold blood and hot pain. Watering down the thick, murky feeling of Mia’s frivolity. I inhaled a long, deep breath and took stock of myself. I winced at the pain each time I bent or flexed, stretching against the will of my joints. My skin felt lumpy where it should have been smooth. But Mia in the arms of another left a hollow ache inside me that almost matched the brutal pain spread across my body. I blinked away water and stepped out of the shower.

  Spots didn’t leave my side. He stayed by me as I showered and dressed, as I sat on my bed and sucked in deep, long breaths, and again when I stepped out of my room.

  Salvatore was pacing outside my bedroom door. His usual chiselled face furrowed with deep crevices. He spun around, straightening up as he saw me.

  “Hey boss, how are you feeling?”

  “I've told you not to fucking call me that.”

  “I guess he must be feeling better.” He looked to Spots.

  “How did I get here?”

  “Spots. He was running outside like a feral thing; his legs were covered in mud and blood…”

  I nodded. “How long have I been out?”

  “A day and a half. The doctor gave you something to help you sleep through the pain,” he looked tired. Worn. “Do I need to go take care of it?” the lines in his forehead deepened, his eyes clouded.

  “No, this was personal. It wasn’t business.”

  His eyebrows rose a notch, “Are your sure, boss?”

  “Yes.” I watched the tension seep from his face, but the worry remained.

  “Would you like me to stick around?”

  “Go home, I'll be alright.”

  He seemed to hesitate for a second. His lip twitched, then he nodded, “I'm just a phone call away.”

  “Thank you.” We exchanged something that was more than just a look. A thousand words were spoken between us, words of gratitude and respect. He tipped his head and headed for the door.

  Once he was gone, I grabbed the phone and called Romeo. I told him to take the week off and to tell the other boys to do the same. He didn’t argue, just asked if he’d be paid. Once I reassured him and asked him to rebook any customers, he hung up; and I knew I would have a week to myself.

  I needed time to think, to recover, to heal. Not just from my beating, but from her. All I could think of was Mia and the night we spent together. The feel of her body under my fingers, the heat of her lips on mine, how her hair tickled my shoulders, and her breath lingered hot and heavy on my skin. I was consumed by thoughts of Mia; she was just another beautiful thing I couldn't have.

  I spent the weekend wallowing, mourning her loss, and letting her go. I etched every line and curve into memory; I noted each of her sounds, the way her body moved and danced against mine, storing away her smell and her very breath. She left pieces of herself everywhere and, like foreign souvenirs, I clung to them. For in time, I knew I would have to set them aside and allow them to collect dust as they rotted away in the recesses of my mind.

  The weekend drifted away like a breeze, blowing through the workshop, and carrying away my self-pity and anger.

  I wasn't expecting the banging on the iron door that rang through the workshop on Monday morning. The ‘closed’ sign was hung up, it should have been a deterrent. No one should be here. I ignored the banging, hoping it would stop.

  It didn’t.

  I left my steaming coffee on the table and limped over to the door. I swung it open, irritation prickling my skin. The feeling fell away like autumn leaves when I saw Mia on the other side. Her fierce eyes, soaked in resentment, scanned my face and slid over my body. She took a step back, her mouth falling open.

  “What happened to you?” her eyes flew across me, taking in my swollen face, my bruised torso and arms. The intensity of her gaze made my skin prickle, made me feel exposed in all the wrong ways. I should have worn a shirt.

  “Nothing that concerns you. Why are you here?”

  She scowled, “I came to get my last paycheque.”

  “Right, I've got it upstairs.” I stared into her eyes, golden flakes trembling as she winced at my appearance.

  “I didn’t know you’d be closed. I…”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I ran a hand over my face. “I fell down the stairs, just needed a couple of days to recover.”

  “Stairs?” she cocked her head as her eyes roamed the peppering of purple marks on my body.

  “Stairs,” I locked my jaw and ground my teeth, her look of concern burning my skin. “Come in, I'll get your money.”

  She followed me inside and let the door close behind her. Spots galloped towards her and jumped in greeting, his tail wagging wildly. “Hey buddy, I missed you. Did you miss me too?” Spots circled around her and jumped up again in answer. The smile that spread across her face was
devastating. Pure, uncorrupted joy and adoration. I wished that I didn’t see it, wished she didn't love him as much as I did.

  She scratched his head and he wagged his tail, leaping on his hind legs.

  “Spots.” He turned his head to me, his body stilling. “I need to talk to Mia, go to your room,” he studied me for another second and dropped back on all fours. He circled her once more and trotted away.

  “Wait here, I’ll go get your money.” I turned to walk away, and she followed me further into the workshop.

  “I have some other personal items up there I’d like to take with me.”

  I studied her face, then shrugged and limped away.

  She caught up and cast a glare at my limp, “Are you okay, Gabriel?”

  “I'll be fine. Like I said, it's not your concern.” My voice clipped, my heart ricocheting in my chest, aching with all the things I couldn’t say.

  “Don't be like that.” Her voice held a tinge of bitterness.

  “Don't be like what?” I snapped.

  “Gabriel!”

  I limped away, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, glaring at the task ahead.

  “Let me help you.”

  “I don't need your help. You've helped enough.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Just come get your money so you can leave.”

  “Gabriel…”

  I started up the stairs, each step shooting pain across my body. A peppering of sweat broke across my brow. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.

  I pushed the office door open and stumbled inside. All of a sudden we were back in the room where she saw me, saw through me—raw and vulnerable—where she soothed me, relieving the anguish, and crushing my hopes.

  I fought my stiff limbs and reached over to the drawer. I pulled out a pristine white envelope, it hovered between us.

  She took it and placed it back on the table. “Let me have a look at you,” her voice was soft and agonising. My core lit up with memories.

  “Just go, Mia. Do us both a favour and leave.”

  “Why?”

  “You know this thing between us can't work.”

  “Yes, it can.” She leaned over the table and brushed an errant hair from my forehead, the heat of her fingertips singeing my skin with desire.

  “You are not listening to what I'm saying to you.” My voice raw, my throat dry.

  “Maybe I don't want to listen.” Her finger trailed my jaw and I winced. I was in all kinds of pain, and they all blurred into a single hot ball of raw, desperate need.

  “Why the fuck are you so stubborn?”

  “Because, we've got something Gabriel.” Her eyes latched onto mine.

  “No, we don’t.” I unglued my eyes from hers, swallowing the lie.

  “Stop lying to yourself.”

  “Why are you persisting? All I’ve done is push you away.”

  “Because, I want to stay. Me and you, there is something. A current that runs between us, electricity—I know you feel it too.”

  “Mia, I can’t…I’m just not strong enough.” Something akin to fear settled across my skin.

  “Not strong enough to love me?” her voice quivered, and all I wanted was to pull her into the dark void of my heart and fill myself with her, give her hope and comfort.

  “Not strong enough…to lose you.” Our eyes met and I knew I was lost. I pushed her hand away. “Anyway, it seems that you’ve moved on.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw you with that man, on the swing.” I spat out the words as they left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  “Red?” Her eyes widened, “You were at the junk yard?”

  My silence stretched across us, and I could almost hear all the pieces falling into place inside her mind.

  “Red is a friend of my father’s.”

  “He seemed very friendly.” I sneered at her.

  “It’s not like that. I’ve known him all my life.”

  “Yeah, looked like you know him real well.”

  “It’s not like that.” She swatted the air with her arms and gave me a glassy stare.

  I gruffed at her response and pushed the envelope back towards her, the sharp movement eliciting a wince from me.

  Mia inhaled, the annoyance falling from her face as her eyes darted along mine, “It looks painful.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “Let me make it better. I can make everything better for you, Gabriel.” The way she said my name sent a warm shiver down my spine that spilled inside me, making everything tighter, warmer, harder.

  Tentatively, she reached out and touched my chest. “Does this hurt?” she brushed her fingers along a black bruise.

  “Yes.” I hissed at the touch.

  She leaned in and kissed my injured skin. I flinched at the pain, at the pleasure.

  “What about his one?” she kissed another.

  “Yes.” I bit my lip at the soft sting.

  She kissed more of my bruises, sending heat radiating to my core. Her touch unravelling me, overpowering me, and tearing at my defences.

  Her hands traced my damaged jaw, “What about here?” she touched another patch of tainted skin.

  “Yes.” I sucked in breath as Mia pushed on her tiptoes and trailed soft kisses along my jaw, her delicate touch unleashing desire, hot and deep.

  “Mia…” I was breaking.

  “And this?” she didn’t wait for an answer planting a long, soft kiss on my eyelid. I shuddered at the angry pain and delicate pleasure.

  “And this?” her voice was but a whisper as she leaned into me, her face a hairsbreadth away as she kissed my broken lip, sucking it into her mouth. I moaned at the tender, splendid agony. It was my undoing.

  I wrapped my hands around her and pulled her to me, inhaling her sweet perfume as I kissed her, my tongue sweeping past her lips. Hunger and desire swirled between us as our mouths warred and tongues battled. Her taste stirred primal needs, stoking a fire I’d been trying to put out since she left.

  I broke the kiss and held her as if she was about to break—knowing that she was the one keeping me from falling apart. “Mia, Luce mia. We can’t, please. I can’t lose you.”

  “You will never lose me,” her lips brushed mine.

  “Mia. Please.” I stiffened around her, pulling my mouth away from hers.

  Mia splayed her palms on my chest and tried to push away, her brows pinched, and her forehead furrowed.

  “Let me go, Gabriel.”

  “I. Don’t. Want. To.” I choked on the words, even as my arms fell away from her.

  Mia didn’t move.

  I didn’t breathe.

  “Tell me why. I need to understand,” The golden specks danced in her shining eyes. I lowered my forehead so that it leaned against hers. “Tell me the truth, Gabriel.” She whispered.

  We stood on the precipice together—a long dark fall. I gave her the choice. I needed her to choose life, to take her money and enjoy a long, happy life. But I wanted her to choose me, to take my hand and plummet into the darkness, knowing that there would be no light at the end of the tunnel. We would always be falling, always be engulfed in darkness; but we would always, always be together.

  Truth.

  “Sit down.” I could hear the tension in my voice. It was raw and crude, and I could barely swallow.

  The truth will set us free…

  PART IX

  The ten days after Tony’s death propelled me into manhood, I was birthed into a world that I knew lay beyond, yet I was not at all prepared for what I found on the other side. Like a newborn, I was often screaming, covered in blood, and not sleeping at all—weary and afraid of the vast, large world of beyond.

  I was a newborn stag that needed to stand, walk, and run before the wolves got a scent of the fresh placenta still covering my body. But, as quick as I was, they had already gotten a sniff of my scent, and they snapped at my heels.

&
nbsp; If I knew the value of the treasure I’d acquired, I would’ve torn through it on the same night I watched Tony die; and then I would have burned it. I unearthed a bomb and it was ticking in my hands. There were no wires to cut, or devices to disarm it. It was going to go off, and it was only a matter of time.

  For a brief few days after the funeral, it seemed as if life had returned to normal and everyone fell into their usual routines. In the morning, the staff would show up, cars would be washed, and money would exchange hands; except I had no idea who was pocketing all this money or where it was going, and that scared me. I kept my head down, my mouth shut, and the books in order.

  Tick, tock.

  Three days after we put Tony in the ground Salvatore pushed the door to my office open, and Joe Romano stepped in behind him. I jumped out of my seat, the chair scraping the wooden floor.

  “Young Gabriel,” said the newcomer and stretched out a hand.

  “Mr. Romano.” I nodded at him, accepting his hand. We shook and he squeezed, just a little more than he had to—just a subtle reminder.

  He flashed me a smile, a perfect row of teeth like a picket fence. “Joe.” He pulled his hand away, and I gestured to the seat opposite my desk.

  “Please sit.”

  He did—unceremoniously. Salvatore slid back into the shadows of the door.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I believe you might have something that belongs to me.” He didn’t beat around the bush. His sharp wolfish eyes focused on my face.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

  Joe sucked in a long breath and snorted. Lacing his fingers together, he placed his hands over his right knee.

  “Salvatore here tells me you’ve been running this place for a couple of years.”

  “Tony gave it to me after my graduation.” I spat out the words. The memory of that night still stung. My fingers suddenly itched to soothe my back.

  “And, I hear you’ve been a good dog,”

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest, hoping they would keep my heart from slamming through my rib cage. What did he know? What did I have? I didn’t reply. I just waited for Joe to fill in his own silence.