Page 50 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
“I know all I need to know.”
I shook my head again, memories of running away sinking into me. “I didn’t know you’d be so mad!”
“How could I not be?! The girl I loved left me!”
“It’s not like we said I love yous.”
“We’ve been over this. I did.”
I froze, and memories of the night he had taken my virginity pushed to the front of my mind. I’d buried them, hoping to black out the pain of what came next—leaving him.
“And even if I hadn’t said it, it shouldn’t matter. You should have known. You had to have known.” He dipped his head and closed his eyes. Tense lines traveled across his forehead. When he opened his eyes again, they landed on my tattoo—a scribbled line wrapped around my ring finger.
I forced myself not to fidget as he stared at it. “What? Why are you staring?”
His eyes met mine, dipped to my finger, then returned to my eyes. A strange look crossed his face, the one he would give me in our library when he’d thought I wasn’t looking. Damian took a step closer to me.
Then, another.
And another.
His eyes dropped to my tattoo and returned to mine.
And then, like he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he kissed me.
It is not a shame to be deceived; but it is to stay in the deception.
Olivia
Eighteen Years Old
Normal.
Two syllables. Adjective. Conforming to a standard.
Synonyms: usual, typical, or expected.
Antonym: my life.
Turning eighteen felt like it should have been a rite of passage. I didn’t feel any more or less like an adult than I had at seventeen. I didn’t celebrate my newfound adulthood with parties or friends. Heck, I’d forgotten it was my birthday until I woke up the next morning and Angelo De Luca told me eighteen was a little too old for his taste.
Maybe that was why I showed up to prom.
I wanted to feel normal, but in a town of mafiosos and their children, normalcy evaded me. Prom represented my last chance at normal high school memories. The crowded gym and paper decor screamed, “Normal!” The taffeta dresses and matching ties? Normal. Sitting at an empty table, watching other kids enjoy their senior prom? All too normal.
So, why wasn’t I happy?
Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted.
I certainly no longer wanted to be here.
I stood and headed for the hallway, grabbing a water bottle from the refreshment table on the way out. The library entrance nestled at the end of the hall welcomed me. I left the door open, so the hallway light could stream into the library, and took a seat on the floor.
I downed the water and spun the empty bottle, bored out of my mind but too stubborn to leave the only high school event I’d ever been to.
“You’re the life of the party.”
“No self-respecting woman should wish or work for the success of a party who ignores her sex. Susan B. Anthony.”
