Page 11 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Instead, I can feel the beginnings of a panic attack approaching. Usually, when they happen, I can’t stop them. So, I find a quiet place to hide myself, and I ride them out, feeling each sharp clench of the heart, struggling for each gaping breath.
And afterwards?
I’m a nightmare to deal with.
I take out the pain, frustration and anger on anyone near me. I lash out, and I’m cruel to the people around me. It’s like the pain pushes aside the little bit of humanity I have left inside of me, and I allow the anger in me to fuel my actions.
I wouldn’t wish me post-panic attack on anyone, and I certainly shouldn’t be having a panic attack right before entering John’s home, where I need to always be on top of my game. Lucky for me, a sharp rapping of a fist on the car door startles me before the panic attack can come to fruition.
Pasting a false smile on my face in case it’s John, I turn to the window. When I see who it is, I immediately scowl. After opening the door, I ask, “What do you want?”
John’s neighbor ignores my question in favor of his own. “What are you doing here?”
I exit the car, and as soon as the door is shut, the Uber driver smartly hightails it out of here, and I wish I could go with him. But at the same time, I don’t, because I don’t want to rob my thirsty eyes of an opportunity to drink in this man I have to make an appearance with John tonight.
Once again, I’m startled by my foreign attraction to this stranger. His tall, muscular build is clothed in a black hoodie, black jeans and a black t-shirt. From the all-black ensemble to the black hair and brown eyes, everything about this man should be blending into the darkness of the night, but it’s not.
At least not to me.
In fact, he’s all that I can see—all that I can focus on.
If there was a fire raging behind him and hungry wolves on the loose around us, I still wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from him. I hate this man; I’m sure of it. I hate what he represents—all the things in life that I’ll never be able to have.
And that alone should be enough for me to loathe looking at him. To turn away from the sight of him and ignore the yearning—the lust—that overcomes me whenever I look his way and catch a glimpse of his intense eyes and chiseled features. Surely, if I can battle through my disgust to be intimate with a mark, I can navigate my way through a foggy cloud of lust and come out on the other side unscathed.
Yet, I can’t seem to pull myself away from his magnetism. I’m lost in this odd pull between us, and from the heated look he’s giving me, I don’t think I’m the only one feeling this. Perhaps I’m romanticizing and exaggerating this attraction because, thanks to a never ending series of marks after marks, it’s been a long time since I’ve indulged such a thing.
But the small part of me that protests the existence of my vanity wishes that I’m feeling this way for any other reason than he’s the only guy that’s physically held my attention since my gold digging campaign began.
Am I that shallow? Before now, I thought that, of all my less than perfect qualities, shallowness was one I didn’t possess. Being physically attracted to a man has always been a luxury I can’t afford, and I never cared for nor indulged it.
Yet, I’m breaking those rules with him, lusting after someone I can’t have. It’ll do me no good. I’m wasting my time. My resolve to pursue John is waning in his neighbor’s presence, in the series of what ifs it represents.
What if I didn’t need the money? What if Mina was never taken away? What if I was a normal girl with normal problems? Would this be something I would indulge? How would it feel? The way my heart clenches painfully at these questions terrifies me.
Which makes me hate him even more.
For being the person to cause such a petrifying, contraband line of self-reflection.
And also because I need this time alone, and he’s invading it and my thoughts. Because the minute of preparation I usually give myself before entering John’s is a necessity for my sanity. I use it to steel myself, to remind myself that there’s a reason for my madness.
Mina.
And the last thing I need is an interruption, let alone an interruption from a man I’m attracted to.
Correction: a man that’s butting into my business.
Reminding myself to hate him, I cross my arms and don’t bother hiding the disdain in my eyes and voice when I say, “How’s that any of your business?”
He takes in my defensive posturing and takes a step closer. “Some would call what you’re doing loitering. Maybe I’m doing my civic duty.”
My eyes narrow, and I allow the law student in me to argue, “First off, I’m not loitering. I have a purpose for being here. Secondly, even if I am loitering, there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m not breaking any laws.” I gesture at the public sidewalk beneath us. “This is public property.” I force a frown onto my face when I realize that I’m enjoy arguing with him, that I’m enjoying being around him.
He smirks at me, his stare both menacing and challenging. “Actually, loitering is codified in New York penal law under sections 240.35, 240.36, and 240.37.”
His words cause me to frown.
Who is this man?
