“Let me ask you a few things in a pretty frank way,” I begin, twisting in my seat. I see he’s now looking at me, intrigued as to what’s about to be asked of him. "So, let me get the first bit right, you'll throw away all moral obligation and become twisted and corrupt for me?" I know we’ve been over this before, but it’s something that needs to be addressed once more.
"Yes." His response is blunt and monosyllabic.
"And you'll throw away being a free man for me?" I ask, intrigued if this is something he really wants.
"Yes." Again, the same response is given in an exact way.
“Okay,” I breathe and shuffle a little in my seat, feeling myself becoming uncomfortable with what I’m about to query. “What won't you throw away?"
"You." Again, the monosyllabic response is offered, and I become breathless.
Recovering quickly, I ask one final thing. “Do you really want to make a life with me?” As he goes to reply, I put my hand up to stop him dead in his tracks before he can commit to the affirmative answer I know he’s about to say. I can see from the spark in his eyes that his answer is anything but negative. “Because you’ll make a life with someone who comes with so much excess baggage and demons that even she can’t cope most nights. You’ll be stuck with someone who fears having a family just because of the genetics she has. You’ll be stuck with a self-righteous, loud mouth, swearing Italian who acts all too passionately and impulsively when it’s for people she cares about. Are you sure you want to be stuck with me for life?”
“Yes,” he offers the assenting answer in the same manner as the others.
“Then you’re the fucking idiot and I’m the doomed one for loving you.” I kill the moment, slaying with my jest comment. I see his face fucking illuminate with a bright smile and I huff out loud. “It’s no lie, Zane, I might have called it quits this time, but I can’t stop what I feel. I am only human. You’ll just forever be the idiot who chased what will never be his.”
“Who said you’ll never be mine?” he asks, tossing his own question at me.
“I did,” I respond calmly.
“And will you be able to deny what we actually have forever?” Zane asks, and I seriously hate myself for starting a session of Q&A between us. My silence to his question apparently ruffles him a little. “Under all of our stupid moves and idiot comments, we do just love one another, Amelia. We fight, sure we do, but I would only ever want to fight with you like we do. I only ever want a wake-up call when it’s you delivering it.”
“But that’s the thing!” I unleash a frenzy suddenly. My own temper getting the better of me as it always does. “We shouldn’t have to deliver wake-up calls when one of us in the wrong! We should just be able to know. We should be able to just get on with one another without all the pain we cause. What is the point in doing this if we end up hurting one another?”
“Because it further affirms that we love one another,” he tries, unrelentingly. “If you knew otherwise, you wouldn’t still love me. You wouldn’t feel a damn thing after our last argument. Amelia, if you didn’t feel an ounce of anything for me, you wouldn’t still be fighting with me.”
“But I don’t want to be the couple who fights all the time!” I tell him, trying to resist the growl that’s growing in my chest. “I don’t even know why we fight half the time!”
“I fight with you because you infuriate me!” Zane yells, his short temper flaring once more. “And I infuriate you, too, but that’s what I fucking love most about us! You keep me on my toes; you keep me from being a complete asshole all the time. I want someone I can argue with and then make up with two minutes after.”
“Two days isn’t two minutes this time around,” I remark, and I’m more than happy when the traffic begins to suddenly move. “Now, drive.”
Zane doesn’t make a comment in response; he just puts the car into drive and moves onward. He follows the steady stream of traffic until our turn comes up, and he turns left into it. We head toward the outer skirts of Manhattan, and as it becomes more rural, I decide it’s time to conceal a weapon on me. After the incident at Carmello’s, I do not want to feel vulnerable.
As soon as I pull the small revolver from my bag, Zane bristles.
“Whoa!” Zane exclaims in horror, taking his eyes away from the road ahead to look at me. “What the hell are you doing with that, Amelia?”
“Oh, shut up and keep your eyes on the road,” I tell him as I release the barrel to check it’s fully loaded. “It’s a gun, Zane. You’ve shot one many times in your life.”
“No shit, but I thought Sal took you off gun duty. How did you get one?”
I laugh, smacking the barrel back into the slot. “I got my license by showing my boobs to the instructor in Italy.” I shrug and sit forward, pushing the loaded gun into the back of my waistband. I sit back, making sure it doesn’t press uncomfortably into my back. “This is my mother’s; I made sure he didn’t take it from me after what happened. I just wanted to feel a little more protected.”