rome

THE WORST HAS ALREADY HAPPENED .   that's the irony ciara's statement and he cannot help but roll his eyes in amusement .   " and you are forever assuming the best .   of things ... of endings ,   people most of all . "   funny how he doesn't think that his pessimism is a bad thing .   in fact he would argue that it's more rational to think about the worst possible outcome .   THAT WAY LIFE DOESN'T CATCH YOU BY SURPRISE .   there is a wound on james that has never fully healed .   sure the opening has scarred over ,   leaving a large ,   raised but smooth impression where his childhood used to be .   his hope and light has been lost on him ,   and it has been like that for years .   what was left was the hard truth that there was no happy ending .   positivity was a farce and the notion was only compounded by the immense grief and loss .

‘  someone  has  to  be  the  positive  one  here,  otherwise  we'll  end  up  crying  and  make  this  situation  too  miserable  to  handle  and  then    —    you  probably  wouldn't  want  to  meet  up  again  because  you'd  spiral  and    …    you  know  how  it  goes  when  you  drown  yourself  in  constant  negativity.  ‘        wise  words  from  someone  looking  at  the  world  with diy  rose-coloured  sunglasses    ;    it  may  be  her  own  way  of  coping  with  the  horrors  of  the  daily  life.    she  has  to  believe  everyone  has  something  good  in  them  and  that  everything  bad  will  end  and  the  sun will  return  in the  morning    —    what  else  would  she  have  to  believe  in,  if  not  that?    ciara  dips  a  salty  fry  into  the  ketchup  that  nearly  spills  from  the  takeaway  plate,  taking  three  bites  and  letting  her  words  sink  in.    though,  she  never  lets  her  eyes  wander  too  far  from  james    ;    what  is  he  thinking  about,  she  wonders.    piercing  her  gaze  into  his  head  as  if  she  could  detect  his  thoughts  from  that  alone.

‘  see,  if  i  thought  every  man  that  hires  me  is  a  horrible  person  and  wants  to  strangle  me    —    i  probably  wouldn't  be  able  to  pay  my  rent,  so    …    you  know,  being  delusional  isn't  always  the  worst  thing.    neither  is  being  rational,  but  even  that  has  limits.  ‘        elbowing  him  in  the  arm,  she  then  offers  her  unfinished  plate    —    forces  it  into  his  hands,  more  like.        ‘  you  must  have  at  least  one  thing  you  deem  as  great,  right?    or  something  you’re  excited  for  to  happen  and  know  it  will  happen  without  feeling  like  you’re  jinxing  it.  ‘

the cut above his eyebrow has long since stopped bleeding, but it has left a dark trail down the side of his temple, and judging by the stiffness in his posture whatever happened tonight had left damage deeper than a few visible injuries. still, his attention remains fixed on his neighbour. on the way she sways slightly where she stands. on the keys scattered near her feet. on the lingering smell of alcohol and perfume that follows her like a second shadow.

details come to him automatically. they always do. her accent. the soreness in her legs. the faint redness around her feet that suggested hours spent in heels before changing into those ridiculous grey crocs . . . by the time she finishes speaking, he knows far more about her evening than any stranger reasonably should. ' yeah . didn't lose my keys. ' he half chuckles, expression softening a little. ' just lost my dignity when i lost a fight. happens to the best of us, right? ' he asks, stretching slightly, moving from the wall to stand at his full height. ' should have known better than to run my mouth in josies' bar. '

well,  there  goes  her  five  minute  skincare  routine  in  a  shower  before  heading  straight  to  bed  with  a  still  wet  towel  wrapped  around  her  head.    ciara  hoped  he  would  politely  decline  her  offer,  maybe  come  up  with  an  excuse  that  he’s  just  taking  a  breather  in  the  shadows    —    nothing  sinister  behind  his  suspicious  actions,  and  then  he’d  just  slip  through  his  door  and  she’d  lock  hers  with  all  three  safety  locks.    she  fights back  a  protesting  whine,  nodding  her  head  to  the  now  open  and  lit  hallway  of  her  humble  abode.        ‘  i  will  have  to  trust  you  on  that,  then.    come  in,  just  be  quiet    —    mrs.  smithers  wakes  up  early,  and  she  is  a  nosy  lady  sometimes.  ‘        the  last  thing  they  need  is  a  bunch  of  old  ladies  gossiping  and  making  up  stories  for  their  weekly  saturday  bingo & rosé.

‘  take  your  shoes  off,  per  favore.    i  might  have  slippers  your  size,  just  check  the  shoe rack.  ‘        instructing  him  while  she  does  the  same    ;    kicks  off  her  crocs  to  change  into  cheap  pink  fluffy  slippers,  hangs  her  fake  michael  kors  bag  by  her  coat  and  takes  a  quick  glance  into  the  mirror  to  see  if  she  washed  off  all  the  makeup  properly  back  at  the  club.    could  be  worse,  she  thinks,  as  she  closes  the  door  behind  her  neighbour  with  her  hip.        the  awkward  tension  in  the  small  space  fills  her  instantly    ;    even  regretting  inviting  a  bloodied  stranger  into  her  home  so  carelessly.    blaming  it  on  the  long  night  and  booze  is  a  great  excuse.        ‘  so  …  josie’s  bar?    i  haven't  heard  of  that  one.  ‘

she  guides  him  to  the  living  room  then,  handing  him  a  box  of  paper  tissues  and  asking  him  to  be  careful  and  not  to  bleed  on  her  white  plush  carpet,  informing  him  that  she  just  had  it  cleaned  and  can’t  afford  to  pay  for  the  service  again.        ‘  looks  like  i  don't  have  rubbing  alcohol specifically,  but  i  do  have  a  half-empty  bottle  of  vodka,  that    …    will  do  the  same  trick,  won’t  it?    alcohol  is  alcohol.  ‘        sounds  about  right    —    in  truth,  she  is just  eager  to  get  it  done  fast,  crossing  the  room  from  one  side  to  another  with  hurried  steps,  handing  him  the  necessities  over  his  shoulder  before  she  finally  stops  and  stands  opposite  to  this hot, tall  man.

‘  you’re  kidding.  ‘        the  grumble  of  disgust  comes  out  without  force,  the  thought  of  working  with  men  so  hideously  dressed  nearly  makes  her  gag.    her  nose  scrunches  and  lips  curl  momentarily,  at  the  time  still  dragging  grace’s  tired  legs  over  the  street,  ignoring  all  the  outside  vendors  selling  deliciously  smelling  food.    later,  she  promises  herself,  she  will  get  a  nice  big  hot  dog.        ‘  grown  men  shouldn't  be  wearing  flip  flops  in  their  big  boy  jobs,  dio  mio.    scratch  that,  actually    —    grown  men  shouldn't  be  wearing  flip  flops  anywhere  that’s  not  the  beach.  ‘

at  last,  their  haste  brings  them  to  the  wide  open  café    —    their  favourite,  or  at  least  the  one  that’s  in  the  middle  of  their  apartment  complexes,  allowing  the  girls  to  meet  up  halfway  at  any  time  necessary.    it’s  no  surprise  when  the  young  waiter  greets  them  by  name,  knowingly  pointing  at  the  menu  behind  him  to  confirm  their  usual  orders.    ciara  always  goes  for  the  chocolate  cake  and  flat  white,  explaining  that  she  needs  the  sugar  to  keep  her  awake  throughout  the  night.    neatly  placing  her  light  jacket  over  back  of  chair,  she  sits  down  with  a  slump  of  her  shoulders.        ‘  i  can't  believe  you’re  working  for  the  fbi  and  there  are  no  hotties.    there  must  be  at  least  one,  right?    but  ha,  yeah !    i  bet  all  my  ten  fingers  that  i  met  at  least  one  or  two  before.  ‘