Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1242052.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Adam_(2009), Charlie_Countryman_(2013)
  Relationship:
      Nigel/Adam
  Character:
      Nigel_(Charlie_Countryman), Adam_Raki
  Additional Tags:
      girl!adam_-_Freeform, Genderbending, Possible_Character_Death, Underage
      Sex, Underage_Drug_Use, Loss_of_Virginity, Possessive_Behavior, Possible
      Daddy_Kink, Explicit_Language, Asperger_Syndrome, Autoerotic
      Asphyxiation, Light_BDSM, Non-Consensual_Drug_Use, Not_Beta_Read, I_want
      a_fluffy_sweater!, Clothes_Porn, Mads's_"I'm_feeling_some_strong_emotion"
      lip_thing, Ugh, an_I_right?, Guns_and_shit, kinda_violent, but_the_nice
      kind, sometimes, Sex, Oral_Sex, non_con_if_you_squint, Kinda, not_realy,
      the_fuck_is_happening, face_smashing, Strippers, Handcuffs, ragdoll_-
      Freeform
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-02-26 Updated: 2014-08-07 Chapters: 9/? Words: 25740
****** Secret Chord ******
by ScarletConductor
Summary
     When Adam Raki's father dies, her Uncle comes to take her to Romania
     with him, where he has arranged for her to stay.
     This will have some aspects of the movie Adam but it is based in the
     Charlie Countryman universe.Girl!Adam/Nigel
Notes
     So, there are some location issues that I tried to figure out but
     couldn't, such as, the Marco Polo Youth Hostel is a twelve minute
     walk from the HUNGARIAN Opera house, not the Romanian one and I don't
     think that Charlie walked 760 km in one night(Since it's physically
     impossible) and THEN went out partying, so this takes place in
     Bucharest.
     Also, all of the errors are my own.
     Other than that, please enjoy!
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Minor Fall *****
I’m waiting for Gabi to finish putting her possessions into the wooden locker.
I should have just left after I had talked to her before her performance; my
body is tired from the trip and the events of today. But I didn’t, I stayed,
like she asked me to and now I sit upon my instrument case reading through one
of the only books I was able to bring with me hoping that she will not take
much longer as my exposed legs pebble from the cool air. I am vaguely aware of
someone entering the room but I decide not to investigate further on it. I
trace my fingers over the crude illustrations on the pages and wish that I
could understand why I agreed to this, I could have stayed at the apartment in
New York. I would have been fine.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
I look up from my worn copy of The_Stars:_A_New_Way_to_See_Themand watch as a
tall man in a charcoal colored suit walks towards Gabi, he comes to a stop in
front of her and rests a closed fist against the wooden door of locker number
24. His hair is a mix of shining silver tones and golden honey, the light
reflects off the strands in a way that reminds me of stars in the night sky. I
want to go outside.
“What are you doing here, Nigel?” Gabi asks as she looks down and then back to
the man. Nigel.
“Partaking of the Arts. Care of the soul.” He replies. “Listen, I happened to
hear about old Victor’s spectacular and horrible passing. And I came back to
pay my respects.”
“How could you have heard? It only just happened.” Gabi asks as she cocks her
head to the side.
I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, they are slowly getting louder as the
person moves further down the hall before they come to a stop and move around
the hallway outside of the doorway.
“Now you know me, always an ear to the ground when it comes to the disposition
of my darling Gabi.”
I wonder, idly, if he is aware of my presence as I rub my sweater-covered
fingers against my right eye and pull my hat further over my ears before
turning the page of my book.
“Who’s this then?”
I look up to see the man’s eyes flicker form me and focus on whoever is in the
hall. I look to Gabi for some sign, but she is not looking at me either. I
choose to ignore this after I decide I am not the one who caused the
disturbance.
The person in the hallway is moving again, I see them enter the room from the
corner of my eye and notice the dirt that falls onto the floor in his wake.
“Who are you?” The man with the dirty shoes asks.
“I’m Nigel. Who the fuck are you?” His tone of voice seems fine, but his choice
of words would indicate the opposite.
“Charlie.” The dirty shoed man replies, his voice is low, he sounds uncertain.
This is the man from the plane, I realize, the one that sat next to my uncle.
I look up again in an attempt to gauge the emotions of the people in the room
but I fail. I should be better at this by now.
“Who the fuck is Charlie, Gabi?”
The man’s voice is definitely not within the normal parameters this time. I
allow myself to study his face closely. This man is beautiful, his face betrays
nothing of the emotions he is feeling but his eyes are not lost like mine
become in this kind of situation. No, his eyes look dark, almost hard. I look
away from his eyes quickly and focus on his mouth instead, he has oddly shaped
lips, full but thin at the same time. His lips and jaw tense and relax. I
cannot help but stare.
Gabi moves closer to the man, “Charlie is an American, “she pauses for a
moment, "tuba player. Here to observe the company.”
My eyebrows furrow slightly, I am unsure why she is saying that.  Nigel turns
back to look at her and I shift my boot clad feet closer to my body.
“He is, homosexual.” Gabi says and I bite into my lip to keep from saying
anything. If Charlie is homosexual, he’s not very good at it.
Nigel turns back around, “Is he now?”
I close my book and rest it beside me on the large case before I lean my elbows
onto my knees. My long hair falls and pools onto the ground, but I do not mind.
I wonder if I could leave without drawing too much attention to myself, but I
doubt I could.
“Must make you quite the star cock sucker around here, Charlie”
I can’t control the bubbling laughter that escapes my chest, I know I shouldn’t
be laughing but I find myself unable to stop. I glance up to see Nigel’s dark
eyes on me, a small smile tugging at his lips. The  laugh is choked off
immediately after I meet his eyes and I look back down to my hands quickly.
“Nigel, what do you want? Charlie, you should leave.” Gabi’s raised voice
making me jump and cover my ears
I hear something muffled through my hands and sweater but refuse to take my
hands away. I don’t want any more loud noises.
I see Charlie move further into the room, disregarding Gabi’s wishes, and sit
on the bench to my left. Nigel moves closer to Charlie and more muffled words
are exchanged. I weigh the chances of there being more raised voices and slowly
move my hands away from my ears before glancing at the people in the room.
“Nigel, was my husband.” Gabi says and I look to the man in question to see him
turn to Gabi quickly.
“I beg your pardon, Gabi. Did you say was? Honestly? Fucking was?” His voice
deepens as he says this.
“Gabi..” He says in something close to a whisper before turning towards Charlie
and shifting closer.
“No, Charlie, not fucking was. Fucking is.” He says loudly, causing me to
flinch and curl my fingers around my neck, before he turns back to Gabi,
“Fucking meaning I currently fucking am ‘till death do us fucking part.” Nigel
leans closely to Gabi as he finishes his sentence.
“You!” I hear Bela say from across the room.
“If it isn’t the shrieking cunt himself. Hello, Bela.” Nigel says.
“You will go immediately, or I will call the police.” Bela says lowly.
I decide in that moment that I will make my own way my apartment, Gabi has my
number and I don’t feel like lingering around for the rest of this. I pick up
my book and curl the fingers of my empty hand around the handle of my case.
“Go!” Bela shouts and I jump up and make my way from the room and through the
door to my right before rushing down the hall.
“Adam!” I hear Gabi shout my name but I decide to ignore it as I continue
through the hallway that will lead to the closest exit.
 I push through the door and make my way to the street before coming to a stop
and raising the hand with my book in it to attract the attention of a tax as I
hear the door to the Opera House open behind me.
 I inhale deeply and look up, the sky is clear tonight and I can see stars that
haven’t seen before.
A taxi pulls to a stop at the curb where I am standing as I feel someone come
up beside me. The driver of the vehicle gets out and takes the heavy case from
my hand before opening the rear door and lifting the lid of the trunk open
wider. I slide into the middle of the backseat, where I like to sit, before
leaning over and reaching for the door handle. Before I can reach it, Nigel
slides into the seat beside me and shuts the door firmly. I contemplate moving
over, to allow him more room, but decide against it. I’ve made myself
uncomfortable enough tonight, I decide.
The driver climbs into his seat and glances back as he says something in
Romanian, I open my mouth to tell him the appropriate address but Nigel beats
me to it. I don’t understand what he says, but the driver pulls away from the
curb and makes a sharp turn before speeding up.
I chew my bottom lip for a few minutes, before I decide it would be best to ask
where we are going.
“What did you say to him?” I ask, gesturing to the driver. I allow my eyes to
look out of the window beside Nigel so that I can see him in my peripheral
vision. His head is turned towards me, but I can’t tell where his eyes are
focused without looking directly at him.
“Tell me, how it is that you know my darling Gabi and I will answer your
question.” He bargains.
“You know, in criminal law, kidnapping is the taking away or transportation of
a person against that person's will, usually to hold the person in false
imprisonment, a confinement without legal authority. This, for instance, could
be concerted kidnapping.” I tell him as I tug the sleeves of my sweater down
further to cover my hands.
Nigel laughs loudly and I cover my ears against the unexpected sound
reverberating through the enclosed space before shutting my eyes and leaning my
chest against my legs.
I feel him shift beside me, his wool covered leg shifting against my thigh.
Strong fingers curl around my right wrist and pulls slowly causing me to
release my ear.
“Hey now, none of that.” I can feel his breath against my skin, a shudder rolls
through my body and I sit up and slide over towards the unoccupied seat. Before
I can make it very far, he yanks my wrist back, causing me to fall against
him.  Inhale sharply and the rush of heat my chilled body receives as I
scramble to right myself. I tug my skirt back down over my thighs and attempt
to free my hair from where it has coiled into the tear on the seat where I was
previously sitting.
Nigel releases my wrist and I use my freedom to gently ease the pale strands
out of the cracked faux leather. I feel my hat slide form my head and Reach out
to grasp it, my hand meets skin and I look up to see Nigel’s fingers clutching
the red knit hat. I look down and pull my hair over my left shoulder to keep it
from any more harm.
“Will you answer my question?” I ask, “Please?” I add after a moment of
silence, remembering that it is what follows an inquiry.
“I will answer your question after you answer mine, Little Adam. A strange name
for such a gorgeous girl, yes?” One of his fingers hooks into my hair and pull
a section of hair around my neck before he twirls it around his phalanges
“Gabi is my,” I try to find the words that would covey the proper meaning,
“estranged adoptive cousin.” I finish. ”My father was her father’s adoptive
brother. I’ve never met her before today.”
“I see. And what are you doing here?”
“I am in a taxi, waiting to arrive at an unknown destination.” I say, thinking
his question is rather odd. I feel him pull my hair tightly.
“What are you, fucking retarded? What are you fucking doing in Bucharest?” His
voice is louder than it was before, but not painfully so.
“Oh…Um. No, I’m n-not retarded…I’m not sure what I’m doing here, really. I
haven’t had the chance to think about it yet. Victor was supposed to tell me,
but, he died.”
I turn my head and stare at the lights that slide along outside of the window
and I hear Nigel inhale deeply and some shuffling of clothes. A small metallic
noise sounds and I smell the kind of smoke that clings to him fill the air in
the cab.
I clear my throat of the saliva building up ans swallow.“Six minutes.”
“What was that?” He asks.
“6 minutes,” I repeat. “It’s something I used to say to my Dad to try to get
him to quit smoking. A cigarette takes 6 minutes off your life, so every time
he’d light one I’d say “That’s 6 minutes less that I get to spend with you.” I
reply before glancing at him.
He inhales from the cigarette deeply before glancing down at me and placing his
left arm over the back of the seat, my hair still between his fingers.
“Did he quit smoking, then?” He asks as he exhales.
I shake my head, “He died.” I reply as I feel him pull firmly on my hair once
again.
“And is that why you’re here, in Bucharest?” He murmurs as he lays his head
back against the seat.
“Yes.” I reply simply.
I can’t help but remember the apartment in Manhattan, my house, I want to go
back there. I want to be away from all of this. Away from the cool air and
language that I don’t understand. I want to ask the woman that had just moved
in on the floor above mine if she could see the stars from the third floor. The
stars, I want those stars back, the ones here are new, how can I find comfort
in memorized patterns if I can’t see them.
I sigh and move my head around to see which constellations I can recognize
without my telescope. I spot Leo, Hercules, and Coma Berenices from the
driver’s side window.  I look over to Nigel in an attempt to gauge his
emotional state, but there are no outward indicators. His rhythmic motions of
raising the cigarette to his lips and drawing it back are slow and almost
peaceful. 
I can see Saturn from the window beside his head, I move onto my knees to avoid
touching him and lean my arms against the door.
“What’s your favorite star?” I ask as I press the pads of my fingers to the
window.
“My favorite star?” He inquires.
“Yes, your favorite star. Mine is Zeta Pegasi, or, Homam.” I glance at him
briefly before sitting back on my haunches and squeezing my fingers around the
sleeve of my sweater. The temperature seems to have raised we move deeper into
the city, a welcomed change from the cool weather I had been experiencing.
“Zeta Pegasi is a single star in the northern constellation of Pegasus. It has
the traditional name, Homam, meaning "Man of High Spirit" or "Lucky Star of
High Minded". With an apparent visual magnitude of +3.4, it’s bright enough to
be seen with the naked eye and is one of the brighter members of Pegasus.
Parallax measurements place it at a distance of around 204 light-years or, 63
parsecs, from Earth.”
I hear him laugh again and frown, I was not aware of any humor in what I said.
“Who has a favorite fucking star?”
My frown deepens and I slide back until my back is resting against the Driver’s
side door, “I do.” I reply before leaning my head back against the glass.
“I want to go to my home now.” I tell him as I bring my hands up to rest
against my neck.
“Yeah? Well, do you know what I want, Little Adam? I want to know who the fuck
Charlie Countryman is.”
“He’s an American. He was on the plain, he sat beside Uncle Victor.” I tell
him, “I- Gabi said that he was homosexual, but if he is, he’s not a very good
one and I never saw a case either.”
I imagine Charlie making the puffy face as he plays a tuba and I laugh, a grin
tugging at my face.
I feel fingers curl around my ankle and tighten until it’s almost painful,
“What’s funny then?” Nigel asks.
“Charlie,” I reply, the remnants of my smile fading from my face, “playing a
tuba.”
My eyes fall upon his lips and I can see his unusually sharp looking teeth as
he grins.
“Doing that Dizzy Gillespie with his cheeks, yeah? Where he goes all Puffy-fish
like.”
“John Birks "Dizzy" Gillespie was an American jazz trumpeter, bandleader,
composer and occasional singer,” I say, correcting him. “In the 1940s
Gillespie, together with Charlie Parker, became a major figure in the
development of bebop and modern jazz. He taught and influenced many other
musicians, including trumpeters Miles Davis, Jon Faddis, Fats Navarro, Clifford
Brown, Arturo Sandoval, Lee Morgan, Chuck Mangione, and balladeer Johnny
Hartman.”
Nigel’s finger alternate between stroking the skin of my leg softly and
circling my ankle, “Was he now, that’s very interesting.”
His menstruations are causing my body to react in odd ways, I know that these
feelings are arousal but I find that this is an odd time for my body to be
responding in this way.
“Are you excited?” I ask him, his fingers pause for a moment and I swallow the
saliva that has built up in my mouth.
“What?” He asks, as he tosses his cigarette out of the crack at the top of the
window. 
“Sexually,” I expand on my previous question, “Because I am.”
He is quiet now, and his fingers have returned to squeezing my ankle instead of
the alternating movements.
“I-I ask because I am, and I am wondering if you are too.” I scan his face
before looking away and clenching my fists repeatedly.
“What are you fucking asking me, kid? If I want to fuck you?” He asks, his
voice loud.
“Not…Not exactly,” I say, “I asked you if you are sexually excited. The thing
that you’re doing,” I swallow nervously, “with your fingers? That is-that’s
causing a warm feeling to settle in my abdominal area which is one of the signs
of sexual arousal.”
His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are traveling over me, but he
remains silent.
“Uh, sometimes i-i-it's hard for me to, um–,” I stumble over my words, ”I have
this thing that makes it hard to, um- to a- It's called Asperger's syndrome.” I
finally manage to get the words out and I look at his face again, but it
remains clear of emotions.
“One thing about it is not knowing what people are thinking.” I continue, and
wait for a response.
“Like, like right now.” I’m getting increasingly more uncomfortable as this
silence stretches on, but, before I can open my mouth to explain any further
the Taxi comes to a stop and the driver turns around and says something to
Nigel, who proceeds to pull his wallet from his pocket and hand the driver a
few bills.
He opens the door and steps out of the car as the driver gets out and walks to
the back of the cab to retrieve my case.
Nigel pulls me by my ankle until my knees are past the edge of the seat before
he offers me his hand. I star at his hand for a moment before taking it and
pulling myself up and out of the vehicle. The driver hands my case to Nigel and
shuts the trunk lid firmly before getting back into the cab and driving away.
I curl and uncurl my hands as I look around, trying to figure out where I am
and how to get to my apartment from here.
“Come.” Nigel says as he takes hold of my wrist and pulls me towards the steps
leading up to the large illuminated building.
“Where- where are we going?” I ask as I stumble over a crack in the sidewalk
before curling my other hand into the back of his shirt.
“Welcome home, Adam.”
***** The Scientist *****
Chapter Summary
     Smoke, stars, and little dogs on shirts.
Chapter Notes
     WARNING, some of the dialogue used in this chapter is based on real
     life events.
     And here it is, ladies and gents!
     Also, before we start, I would like to dedicate this chapter to
     psychae
     , thank you for your contributions and being there to bounce my ideas
     off of.
     Also, the song that Adam plays is, Tina_Guo_:_Prelude_from_Bach's
     Cello_Suite_No._1 . and there will be a small * to click in the
     writing if you would like to start the song, just right click and
     select open new tab/window, otherwise it will open it in your current
     tab/window.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The dark cherry wood under my sock clad feet gleams from the illumination of
the city lights coming through the wide, wall-like, window across the room that
spans from one side of the room to the other. Thick dark brown curtains are
pushed to one side of the glass wall, opposite to that there is a sliding glass
door that leads out onto a balcony.
 I glance down at my discarded boots that I had placed under that table beside
the door upon Nigel’s request of, “Make yourself comfortable, Kitten.” before
he walked down the hallway and out of my line of sight.
I pull the soft white sweater from my shoulders and fold it into a neat square
before setting it onto the table and picking up the heavy case beside my feet
before pulling my long sleeves back into place and making my way towards the
window. I set the case down softly before leaning my forehead against the pane
of glass and looking down at the busy city streets. I hadn’t realized that we
had been this high up, the shiny golden elevator didn’t have any working
indicators of which floor it stopped on and the buttons didn’t light up like
the ones in New York had.
I twist my head to the side and stare up at the sky. It’s clear out tonight,
the few clouds that are visible smother the shine of stars as they drift across
the sky, following the wind with devotion. I look over to where the balcony is,
it has thick stone railing and a few pieces of furniture, from my place can see
that it wraps around the side of the building.
I take a few smooth breaths before standing up straight and glancing around the
room, my eyes fall on a high sitting ottoman that is in front of its chair
mate. I move to the center of the room and look down the long hallway. All of
the doors are closed and there is a small amount of hazy steam rolling out from
under one of them. I inhale deeply and wring my fingers together for a moment
before I make my way to the ottoman and drag it back towards the window. I stop
when I have reached my case and take a seat before pulling one of the many hair
ties out of my pocket and placing it on my thigh while I plait my hair over my
right shoulder.
When I finish on my hair, I lean over and pull on the ends of my socks, pulling
them off my feet in one smooth motion. I consider putting them into my pocket
but decide against it as I rise from my seat and move to stuff the small bolts
of material into the toes of my boots. I flex my purple tipped toes against the
smooth, dark, wood before walking back to the ottoman and resuming my seat and
opening my cello case. I remove my small cloth purse I had tucked into the
space beside the neck at the beginning of the night and place it beside me on
the plush seat before I run my fingers over the long, gleaming gold plated
telescope that is secured safely into its custom space that runs alongside the
side of the cello.
 The sight of my telescope sooths my nerves instantly and I gaze lovingly at my
most prized possession. I run the pads of my fingers over the cold metal of the
sunshade and consider setting it up but decide against it.
 I pull the long bow out of its groove and set it beside my thigh. The sleek,
chestnut stained instrument inside the red lined case is large compared to my
small, barely five-foot, frame. The full sized cello stands 4 feet even when
stood straight up.
I lean down, release the velveteen straps securing the neck, and lift the
instrument from its case before resting it on the small rubber stand guard of
the endpin. I move my feet into a Demi Pointe possession and rest my knees
against the sides of the cello. I finger the strings softly, ensuring that they
are still in tune, before I pick up the bow resting beside my thigh and move it
a few inches away from the strings. I inhale deeply before glancing down at my
finger placement, checking for non-existent errors in my form, and close my
eyes. * My bow touches the strings and the haunting sound of Bach's Prelude
from Cello Suite No. 1 pours from the F-Holes and fills the room.
I rock my body with the melody, a gentle sway that will climb with the climax
of the song, I tilt my head to readjust the braid that falls against my arm
with the vigorous movements. The toes of my right foot curl and I slowly slide
them across the smooth wood until my leg is extended fully and diagonal from
the rest of my body. I play like this until the rise in tempo and I snap my leg
back into the starting position, the movements cause my gauzy skirt to settle
higher onto my thigh. My fingers rock smoothly on the strings as I raise my bow
and allow the final sounds of the song to fade.
I keep my eyes closed for a moment as I breathe slowly in the now silent room
before I open my eyes and stroke my finger down the strings in an OCD-esque
kind of way. I exhale and relax my feet before carefully laying the cello back
into its case. I refasten the straps under the strings on the neck before
placing the bow back into its assigned place alongside the body of the
instrument and close the case lid.
I smooth my hands over my rumpled skirt, slip the long strap of my purse over
my head and right shoulder, before I stand and rise up into en pointe to
stretch before covering my mouth with my left hand before a yawn can escape. I
relax me feet until they are flat and run my right hand down my braided hair,
my finger coiling in the loose strands at the end.
My stomach aches with hunger and I drop my hand from my hair to rest it on my
flat abdomen, I think back on the last thing I had to eat before getting on the
plane and wonder if I will be able to find Amy's frozen macaroni and cheese or
if I will have to experiment with other brands. I frown at the thought of
deviating from yet another routine.
“You play the Cello too then, yeah? Like Gabi?”
I look up to see Nigel, leaning against the wall inside of the hallway, a towel
around his shoulders. The suit he’d had on before has been replaced with some
kind of expensive looking dark pants and button up shirt with little dachshunds
on it. His hair is wet and falling in deep honey strands around his face as he
rubs the towel over it.
“Um no, not-not professionally like Gabi.” I glance down to the case beside my
feet as my stomach emits a small growl.
“What do you do then?” Nigel asks as he stalks across the room and into the
exposed Kitchen, he takes two tumblers out of the cabinet beside the sink and
opens the fridge.
“Well, I- I used to- Uh, I help make toys?” I try to explain, I don’t do
anything right now I have no job.
“So you’re a fucking elf then?”
I giggle and look down at my toes, “Um, no. No, I'm an electronic engineer. The
little dolls that talk? Or the plastic dinosaurs that walk? Or- or even the
books that you touch the little pen to and it says the words under the tip? I
made those.” I explain and look up to see Nigel pouring orange juice into one
of the tumblers, his eyes flicker between the glass and me every few seconds.
“And this thing that you have, it doesn’t get in the way of all your tinkertoy-
ing?” He asks.
I shake my head, “No, not at all… My brain just- my brain works differently
from N.T.'s.” Nigel places the juice bottle back into the fridge, picks up the
glass with the orange juice in it and slides it across the bar counter and nods
to me. I walk over and pick up the glass, the liquid looks slightly cloudy so I
smell it before bringing the glass up to my lips and taking a drink. There is a
bitter flavor that clings to my tongue, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. 
“N.T.’s?” I nod my head, my lips still attached to the rim of the cup as I
watch him pour a translucent brown liquid from a liquor decanter into the
second glass.
”Neurotypicals.” I murmur into the cup before I take another drink and set it
down on the countertop. “Sometimes I can't understand them...Especially when
they mean something different from what they're actually saying.” My head feels
slightly fuzzy so I rest my hands on the countertop, the cool marble is smooth
under my palms.
“And you don’t do that?” He asks as he walks by me and takes a seat on the
leather couch, “Come. Sit.” He says as he waves me back into the area of the
room with my case in it. I pick up my glass, finish the juice, and take a seat
on the chair that matches the ottoman before curling my legs up underneath me. 
“No,” I shake my head, “most Aspies are really honest.” It’s quiet for a moment
and I bite my lip before continuing, “Uh, psychologists think it's a lack of
imagination. But psychologists are mostly N.T.'s.” I elaborate before inhaling
deeply and leaning my head back onto the backrest of the chair.
“Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, Mozart, they all had lots of imagination.”
List off as I stare up at the stippled paint, seeing stars on the celling that
should not be there.
“And they had what you have?” Nigel inquires. I roll my head to the right so
that I can look at him, my eyes settle on his mouth as he takes a sip from his
glass, the liquid swirling and creeping up the edges of the glass.
“Probably.” I watch his lips curl over his teeth slightly as he makes a small
sound after he swallows the liquid in his mouth.
“When I was younger... I would have just thought you were sexually excited
because I was.” I say quickly with an unfamiliar the need to explain my words
from earlier, “That's called mind blindness.” I tell him, “I had to learn to
ask what other people are thinking.” I run my palm down the soft velvet-like
material of the chairs arm. Every soft fiber brushes the miniscule spaces
between the ridges of my fingerprints, tickling them; I feel my arrector pili
muscles contract and pull the downy hairs that scatter my arms erect as a
shudder passes through my body. My body is tingling, as if every nerve is being
stimulated at the same time, I can feel my heartbeat pulsing in my abdomen.
Nigel leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, he’s staring at me
expectantly when I allow myself a glance before settling my eyes on the buttons
at his collar, “And tell me, did you learn to ask for what you want, or do you
make others guess?”
 His voice is low and his throat vibrates with the words, I want to reach out
and feel it, to compare the tremors to the strings of my cello or the twinkling
of the stars as light passes through the atmosphere and is refracted, making
the light fluctuate. 
“I can’t actually make anyone do anything,” I explain, “Let alone guess my
feelings or wants. However, I have learned that it’s best to just ask for what
you want. If you don’t ask then you’ll probably never get it.” I drawl as I
slide my tongue over the ridges on the roof of my mouth.
Nigel hums as he tilts his glass of alcohol from side to side before reaching
his free hand into the pocket of his trousers, his silver bracelet sliding
higher onto his wrist, and pulling a soft pack of cigarettes out. I squirm at
the thought of smoke filling the room, knowing that it will irritate my
sensitive lungs and leave mucus in my nose and throat.
Nigel handles the pack with skill, with a flick of his wrist the filter of a
cigarette raises up out of the foiled top before he wraps his lips around it
and returns the pack to his pocket and pulling out a lighter. His tanned hand
brings the lighter closer to his face before he lights his cigarette. I cannot
move my eyes from the end of the cigarette, the way that the finely packed
tobacco turns a bright red when he inhales before dimming in a way that causes
my chest to ache with the loss of his attention.
Nigel slides his fingers over his lips and grips the cigarette between his
pointer and index fingers knuckles, the tip of his tongue flicks the inside of
his lip quickly before he draws more air into his lungs and exhales a smooth
stream of smoke that moves towards me lethargically.
I pull my sleeves down over my palms and bring them up to enclose my mouth and
nose and making a filter for the contaminated air. I close my eyes and can
almost feel the thickened mist moving over my skin as another tremor passes
through my body.
“Not a fan of smoking, are you?”
“No,” I open my eyes, my voice is slightly muffled by the layers in front of my
mouth, “I had explained that in the cab, I thought.”
He laughs and stands before walking over to the glass door and pulling it
opened. A gust of wind blows through the room, causing the curtains to stir and
ruffle my dress.
“Come on then.” Nigel says before stepping out onto the balcony and seating
himself on something just out of my line of sight.
I stand, my hands still cupped over my mouth, and walk out to join him. I tilt
my head up, the clouds from before seem to have drifted away on the wind,
leaving the night sky a deep, inky, expanse with millions of twinkling lights
swimming in it. I turn towards the door and allow my hands to drop as I move
backwards, my gaze fixed on the sky.
“Careful.” Nigel says as I back into the thick railing, “Wouldn’t want you
falling, now would we?”
I blink rapidly, my eyes never settling on a single star as small light trails
slide across the sky, following my bouncing pupils from each massive, luminous
sphere of plasma my greedy gaze can take in. I lean backwards until the small
of my back is resting against the top of the railing and turn my body so that I
am laying across the cool cement rail.
“Did you know that stars don’t actually twinkle? Turbulence in the sky just
makes them look like they are blinking.” I turn my head to the side but my eyes
stay fixed.
“And did you know that stars are made out of dust clouds scattered throughout
space? The turbulence within these dust clouds gives rise to knots, which later
on develop mass, allowing gas and dust to collapse and while the cloud
collapses, the object that is present at the center starts to heat up and that
hot core becomes a star?” I take a deep breath and mash my lips together to,
hopefully, stop myself from rambling.
“You really do love all of this stuff, don’t you? The stars and shit, I mean.”
I break my gaze and look over to him, meeting his eyes brazenly.
“Until clouds do us fucking part.”
Chapter End Notes
     Please let me know what you think, it would be much appreciated.
***** Eclectic Strings *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you to Ralai, angelie, Jarta, Juoya, Nekorse, TheRover, and
     Silvia for leaving me lovely comments! And thank you to everyone that
     has left Kudos and Subscribed/Bookmarked my story! You're all
     awesome!
     As usual, this is not Beta read, so all the mistakes are mine. Feel
     free to point them out to me!!
     I'm sorry this has taken me so long, I started it a while ago and got
     discouraged.
     Anyways, please enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"What's a gorgeous little girl like you doing with a name like Adam?” Nigel
asks as I move my fingers over the focus knob gingerly, rolling it between the
pads of my thumb and forefinger with precision as I carefully bring Venus into
focus.
“My mother gave me my name. She made my father promise that I would be named
Adam, after her father.” I say, keeping my attention on the task at hand.
“It’s an odd name for a girl, yes? Even in America?” He asks.
“Yes, I suppose.” I respond.
“Do you have to be fucking difficult?” Nigel asks.
I look up at him, unsure of what he means.
“I wasn’t aware I was being difficult.” I reply softly before looking back into
the eyepiece.
Nigel sighs, “Tell me how you came to have the name Adam. Why you have a
masculine name and a cunt.”
I lean back slightly, blink a few times, and then resume my ministrations.
“My parents were under the impression that they were having a male child. My
mother believed in the old wives tales about pregnancies. She carried low, the
ring on the chain pointed to a boy. She was set on Adam, and when she died
giving birth to me, my father wanted to honor her wishes, he told them my name
before he knew my gender.
“Do you carry that thing with you everywhere you go?” Nigel asks, changing the
topic of conversation.
“My telescope?” I ask, and he hums a confirmation, “Whenever possible, yes. “ I
reply from my spot on the floor of the balcony, my knees ache from the cold,
hard surface but I am determined to show Nigel just how beautiful the stars
are. Or, at least try.
“That must make it rather difficult to travel.” He says.
“I suppose it could, but I don’t see it that way.” Such thoughts had never
crossed my mind.  I am under the impression that it is socially acceptable to
do whatever it takes to keep something you love. Perhaps I am wrong.
I make a few minor adjustments, ensuring that I have the clearest image, before
I sit back on my haunches and move to the right, making sure to allow Nigel
enough room to join me on the cement floor.
“I would like to show you something. Would you, please, join me?” I ask, making
sure to word it as a question as my eyes focus on the chain that is nestled
into the fine hairs on his chest.  I move my eyes to his nose, hoping to
replicate eye contact as I await his reply.
Night exhales, a stream of smoke drifts upward becoming less and less visible,
as he makes his way towards me. He comes to a stop and takes another drag from
his cigarette before he flicks it over the railing of the balcony and crouches
down.
“You’ll have to get onto your knees,” I say and gesture towards where my own
knees are pressed into the cement, “so you don’t jostle the telescope trying to
look into the eyepiece.”
Nigel makes a grunt like noise as he shifts onto his knees and leans down to
look into the telescope, the chain slipping out of his shirt and dangling
around his neck.
“What am I looking at here?” He asks.
“Oh, that’s Venus!” I say eagerly and look up to the planet he is viewing,
“Venus is the second planet from the Sun, orbiting it every 224.7 Earth days
and has no natural satellite. Venus was named after the Roman goddess of love
and beauty. After the Moon, it is the brightest natural object in the night
sky, reaching an apparent magnitude of −4.6. That’s bright enough to cast
shadows!”
I pause for a moment and look down at him, taking advantage of his being
distracted to study him and to allow time for Nigel to respond.  He has curled
his large fingers around the diagonal softly, not to move the telescope’s
direction, just seeming to ground him to the cool metal.
“Hmmm.” He replies and I frown, dragging my eyes from him and back up to the
sky. I’m not disappointed, really, having known from experience that most
people have no response to my ramblings and it would be foolish to hope for
more than confused appreciation.
“Because Venus is an inferior planet from Earth,” I start cautiously, “it never
appears to venture far from the Sun: its elongation reaches a maximum of 47.8
degrees. Venus reaches its maximum brightness shortly before sunrise or shortly
after sunset,” I explain, “which is why people referred to it as the Morning
Star or Evening Star.” I exhale and lean my head against the railing.
“I chose Venus for you tonight because I felt that you could appreciate its
namesake if nothing else.” I say as I stare up at the planet.
“Perhaps the Romans found the brightness to be so enchanting that they felt it
deserved to be named after the goddess of beauty and love.” Nigel says.
I look to him, shocked by his thoughtful response, and meet his eyes for a
moment before looking away and smiling widely.
“Perhaps.” I say, still grinning. I am elated to have someone, even if it is
just for this moment, that can see what I see when I look to the sky. He may be
standing a few feet away from where I am, most people are, but it’s close
enough for the two of us to see the same stars.
My stomach emits a low growl as my previously forgotten hunger makes itself
known. I hear Nigel’s throaty laugh and I glance towards him in confusion.
“I am hungry.” I say plainly, failing to find humor.
“I hear that, darling.” He uses a different pet name this time. He reaches his
hand out, curls his fingers around my braid, and pulls me towards him.
I swallow thickly and stare at his chin, my hands curing and uncurling in
distress until I am forced to place my left palm onto the cement to keep from
falling into his lap.
His hot breath washes over my face and I shudder at the contrast in temperature
and look down at my hand that is resting beside his clothed leg.
“Just what would satisfy your hunger, my darling Adam?” Nigel asks, his voice
soft and low.
I bite my bottom lip and receive a tug on my hair that has me exhaling shakily.
The sensation is not painful, quite the opposite, actually, the strain on my
scalp sets the nerves running throughout my back and arms off in the most
pleasant of ways.
“Do,” I pause, thinking my answer through and arrange the words in my head
properly, “do you have Amy’s Macaroni and cheese? Is that something that I
could purchase in the stores here?” I ask and focus my eyes on his nose as I
curl my fingers into the skirt of my dress.
Nigel’s throaty laugh sounds, it leaves me confused once again and I let out a
frustrated groan.
“Why do you keep laughing at what I say? Nothing I’ve said has been even
remotely humorous. My inquiries are properly worded and non-demanding and I
have not made any jokes.” I say quickly, and then whimper as Nigel loops my
hair around his fist again, increasing the tension on my scalp.
“I like you better when you’re babbling about the fucking stars and not using
that beautiful mouth to piss me the fuck off.” Nigel leans closer to me and I
shut my eyes and work to keep my breathing pattern even. His fingers release my
hair and move brush against my cheek, the rough pads stimulating the soft flesh
of my face.
 “I have to go out for a bit, I’ve some things to take care of,” Nigel says,
his fingers sliding from my cheek to curl around my neck,” you be a good girl
and stay put, yeah? You wouldn’t want me to have to come looking for you,
darling.” Nigel’s fingers tighten as he nears the end of his sentence.
I nod my head in agreement. I can hear my pulse in my ears, a soft pulsing
sound, like waves crashing against rocks.
“Good girl.” Nigel’s fingers release my throat and both of his hands curl
around my upper arms, pulling me to stand with him.  I open my eyes quickly and
sway in place before reaching my arms out behind me to grip the railing.
An almost nauseous feeling seeps through me and I swallow the saliva that
rushes into my mouth.
Nigel releases my arms and walks backwards with a wide grin stretched across
his face, his lips pulled back revealing his pointed teeth. I shudder and take
a few steps back until I’m resting against the railing.
“I’ll be back soon, maybe I’ll be able to track down something for you to ear
while I’m gone. Can’t have a pretty girl like you going hungry, now can we?”  I
don’t answer, my legs feel shaky and I’m suddenly aware of the cars rushing on
the street below me, and how close to the edge I am. I curl my fingers around
the edge of the railing and slide down it slowly, my back pressed tightly to
the cool stone.
When I look up, Nigel is gone and the lights in the room are shifting around
like sparklers. I curl my toes against cement flooring of the balcony, my eyes
fixed on the lights that are slowly turning sideways.
The side of head hits something hard and I blink rapidly and roll my eyes,
around trying to focus, before I notice that the whole apartment has turned
onto its side.  I’m not sure when I had started to slide to the right but I can
feel the chill seeping through my thin layers and resting atop my skin.
I roll sluggishly onto my back and stare up at the sky. The constellations are
chaotic, the stars are jumbled and misplaced, as if someone had scooped them up
and shook them between their hands before releasing them back into the sky.
I pant, trying to clear my mind of this sticky film, each puff of breath flows
from my body in shades of yellow and orange, they flicker and swirl until the
breeze sweeps them away from my view.
I turn my head to the side and look at my telescope, the gold casing seems to
shudder like molten metal. I flip my arm out and grip the leg closest to my
hand before pulling the tripod over my body , two legs beside my ribcage and
one over my shoulder, and arrange the main body so the objective lens is
pointed up to the stars.
I fold one arm behind my head, my fingers snagging the dark strand and tangling
against my scalp as I stare through the telescope at the sky. The sky seems to
breathe and shudder under my magnified gaze. The occasional drifting cloud,
sliding moon, and shifting stars tells me that some stretch of time has passed.
The legs of the telescope feel like they are pinning me to the ground. I move
the telescope carefully to rest beside my body and roll onto my stomach, my
cheek pressed into the smooth concrete.
A pair of shoes appears within my line of sight and I follow the dark slacks up
to a loud shirt with little dogs. Nigel is grinning as he crouches beside me
and runs his fingers over my cheek, pulling hair coated in saliva from where it
had seeped out of my opened mouth and pooled on the concrete. 
“Such a good girl.” His lips move three quarters of I minute before the words
drift to my ears and I frown at him, annoyed at his lack of synchronization.
Nigel laughs and rolls me onto my back, his eyes drift down my body, pausing
for a moment as they reach something within the vicinity of my ribcage before
the right side of his mouth lifts up into a smirk and his hand brushes over my
left breast and hardened, fabric covered, flesh of my nipple.
I gasp and curl my right arm around my chest to guard my over sensitized skin.
Nigel chuckles, curls his hands under my arms, and lifts me from the ground as
if I weigh nothing. My hands flail before I wrap my limbs around his body to
steady myself, my knees clinging to his hips as my calves splay against his
thighs. Blood rushes to my brain and my head feels heavy as I rest my cheek
against Nigel’s shoulder as he carries me into the living room.
“I brought you something, pretty girl.” The vibrations roll from his body and
into mine, oscillating every inch of my skin that is pressed against him.
He seats himself on the couch and my legs fold to rest alongside Nigel’s. He
grips my sides and pulls me back as my fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt
to keep myself from falling.
Nigel’s laugh sounds again and he pulls my hands form his shirt before turning
my swiftly so that my back is flush against his chest.
He places a hot, plastic, take away box on my thighs and sweeps my hair over my
shoulder to rests his chin on the cleared area.
“From the best restaurant in town, I had it made special for you, darling.”
Nigel’s smooth voice rolls over my shoulder as he reaches out and opens the
container, his other arm sliding around my waist.
The smell of melted cheese and pasta reaches my nose and my mouth floods with
saliva as my neglected stomach makes its emptiness prominent.
I reach my hand out, fully intending on picking the spiral pasta up piece by
piece with my fingers, before Nigel catches my hand and plucks a piece of the
smothered pasta up with his own fingers and brings it to my mouth.
I lean forward slightly, wrap my lips around his fingers, and moan in pleasure
as the hot, melted, cheese coats my tongue. It’s not Amy’s Macaroni and Cheese,
but it is delicious.  
“If that isn’t one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever fucking heard.” Nigel
says as he repeats his motions, feeding me the slowly cooling pasta one piece
at a time until the container is empty and my hunger is sated.
I lean my head back and chew the last piece of pasta slowly. Nigel presses his
cheese-covered fingers against my lips and I flick my tongue out to catch the
sauce that clings to his fingers. Nigel’s arm tightens against my stomach and
he shifts his hips up against me as my tongue curls around his pointer finger.
He pulls his finger from my mouth and turns my head towards his before he
pushes his lips against mine.
I gasp against his lips and his fingers curl into my hair, holding my head more
securely, as his tongue slides into my mouth. My tongue flicks at the intrusion
reflexively. I can taste the remainders of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and
something warm and purely Nigel on his tongue and I whimper as one of my hands
curl around his forearm and the other against his neck.
I feel Nigel’s lips pull back from his teeth slightly and a growl-like noise
rolls from his chest.  His hands move and turn me around before I can register
the pre movements and I sit back on his knees, my chest heaving with labored
breath.
Nigel grips the skirt of my dress and yanks it over my head, the hair tie in my
hair snagging on a button and pulling free of my hair as my dress leaves my
body. I cry out and grip my head where the sting of pulled hair settles in my
scalp.
Nigel’s hands curl around my hips, his fingers brushing the top of my panties,
before sliding up the length of my body. His thumbs rest underneath my small
breasts and he leans forward, his lips press into my left cheekbone as he
murmurs an apology.
His right hand slides around to my back and he presses me against his chest as
he shifts to lie on his back against the cushions of the couch.
The string of sudden movements makes my head spin and I sit up, leaning back
against Nigel’s bent knees. My head lulls back and hangs beside his calves as
his hands roam across my body.
One of Nigel’s digits brushes against my panties, directly over my throbbing
clitoris, and my body lurches forward, my hands curling around his wrists.
Nigel shushes me and moves the pad of his thumb in a circle over my sensitive
bud, slowly at first but his ministrations pick up speed.
My thighs shake as my lungs convulse and my abdomen clenches. I move my hand
away from the one that Nigel has pressed against my clit and grip his thigh. 
Nigel’s fingers tighten around my hip as he growls out, “Fucking look at me,
baby.”
I roll my eyes to his and hold the contact for as long as possible before
settling them on his lips. Nigel’s hips push up against me, pressing his
hardened phallic against my labia and my head falls back as I tighten my
fingers around his wrists, my nails digging into the skin of his wrist and
thigh as my abdomen pulses and my muscles coil.
I rock my hips, trying to push myself harder against Nigel’s hips, and cry out
as Nigel slides one of his thick, warm fingers up inside of my opening.
 My back is arched over his knees as I whimper, both of my hands now gripping
Nigel’s clothed thighs, and try to focus my eyes as my inner walls flutter
around Nigel’s finger. I feel like I’m under water, sound is muffled and a haze
drifts around the edges of my vision.
Nigel growls out, “Fuck.” as he thrusts his hips up, presses his thumb against
my throbbing nub, and pushes his finger deep inside of me before curling it
forward and stroking something inside of me that causes my whole body to
freeze.
The throbbing pleasure in my abdomen floods through my body, blocking out all
sounds, as every muscle tightens and releases in a flood of pleasure that leave
me tingling, my mouth falls open and a choked sob tears from my throat as the
haze swallows my vision until it’s drenched in blackness and the rhythmic
pulses leave bright flashes in the dark. 
Chapter End Notes
     So....That happened... What do you think? Too soon?
***** Stateless *****
Chapter Summary
     The hint of alcohol and spice lingers on his breath and washes over
     me in warm bursts with each exhalation.
Chapter Notes
     I am so unbelievably sorry this took so long, I hope you're all still
     out there....Hello?....Anyone?...Well fuck, here it is.
     As usual, this is not Beta read, so I'm to blame for my mistakes.
     Remember, if you love me, you have to love all of me...Even my
     typos...
The scent of sandalwood, musk, and a spice I am unfamiliar with invades my
nostrils as consciousness seeps over me and I curl into the heated mass under
my body. A breeze rolls across my exposed back, pulling lightly at the sheet
that covers my lower body, as heavy weight curls over my ribcage.
I pull my eyelids open, raise my head from the slightly moistened  surface that
my face had fused onto, and glance around the unfamiliar darkened room.  City
lights push through the opened windows as orange tones creep across the walls
and floor.
I drop my eyes to the sleeping figure that I am lying against as I attempt to
remember how I wound up here.  The memories haze inside of my mind and I
vaguely recall the scent of melted cheese and the feeling of rough hands across
my bare flesh.  I look down at my body and find that I am clothed in an
unfamiliar dress shirt, the sleeves are cropped and the few buttons that are
done up are not in their proper holes.
I realize that array of scents I smell is coming from Nigel. The hint of
alcohol and spice lingers on his breath and washes over me in warm bursts with
each exhalation. 
I carefully remove myself from Nigel’s grasp and slide from the bed and onto
the floor. My knees meet the stained wood with a small noise and I turn at the
sound of rustling sheets and see that Nigel has rolled onto his side. A long
scar stretches across his lower abdomen in a jagged silver streak and his hair
falls over his eyes.
I wait for a moment, stand, and make my way to the door before stepping out
into the hallway. The lights are off but I can see the orange hues in the
living room from my place in the hallway.
 I walk down the hall slowly with my hand outstretched against the wall and
pause when I get to the living room.
My dress is on the floor beside the couch and a takeaway container is lying
opened on the coffee table. I walk out onto the balcony and carefully
disassemble my telescope before carrying it inside and placing it back into the
case.
I remove my purse, secure the fasteners on my case, and set it upright on the
floor before I stand and pick my dress up off the floor. I inspect the gauzy
fabric and find that one of the thin straps has been torn off on one side
before folding the garment and setting it onto the couch.
I retrieve my boots and sweater before I take a seat on the red chair and dig
through my purse for my cell phone. I see that I have several missed calls and
text messages from Gabi’s cellular phone and a few from uncle Victor’s house
phone before I check my battery level. The small image of a battery shows that
it has fifteen percent left.
I pull my sweater on and pull my socks from my boots before I slip them both on
and step into my boots. I slip my purse around my neck and shoulder before I
shove my dress into it, type the address into my phone’s GPS and sigh as it
tells me that I am in for a fifteen minute ride before I search the internet
for a cab service that caters to tourists.
I call the cab company, read off the name of the conjoining streets to the
operator from my GPS and pick up my case.  I compile a mental list as I walk
out the door and make my way towards the elevator. I push the button and extend
the shoulder strap on my case before slipping it over my shoulder and securing
it against my breastbone.
The elevator dings and I step into the boxy compartment, push the bottom
button, wait for the doors to close, and wait as the elevator ascends. 
The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open to the well-lit lobby that I
had walked through earlier this evening.  I make my way to the entrance and
push the heavy metal and glass door open before stepping out into the chilled
air. I step out onto the first step and search my pockets for my hat briefly
before I make my way down to the sidewalk.
The scent of cigarette smoke seeps into my nostrils as the sole of my boot
meets the concrete.
“Hello, beautiful girl.”
I look to my right and see a figure leaning against a signpost a few feet from
the stairs, his face washed in a warm glow by the burning ember at the end of
his lit cigarette.
“You wouldn’t be able to tell me if a man is in that building, now would you?”
I furrow my eyebrows before I start, “I do not know. Statistically speaking,
approximately sixty five percent of the residents in a building this size are
male. But you seem to be looking for one specific man, not just any man.” I
glance down the street to see it the cab has arrived before I turn back to the
man.
He laughs and flicks his cigarette to the ground before stepping in it as he
makes his way towards me. I grip the strap on my case tightly as he enters into
my ‘personal space’ as my father called it, before I glance up and assess him.
His dark hair is cropped close to his scalp and he has a partially healed wound
on his right temple. His suit reminds me of the one Nigel was wearing before
his shower.
“Now you, you I like,” He says as he slides his hand into his pocket and pulls
out a small square of paper.
“I’m looking for this man, curajos mici. Tell me, have you seen this man?”
I look down in confusion before I see that what I had assumed was a piece of
paper is a photograph, a photograph of Nigel with this dark man in some sort of
club.
I purse my lips, “If I had seen this man why would that be of your concern?  I
would assume that he could find his own way home if he became lost, him being a
grown man and all, isn’t that right?”
He laughs again and grabs my hand, I tense and jerk my hand back reflexively
but his grip is firm, he pulls a thick marker from his shirt pocket and
proceeds to write a numeric sequence onto the flesh of the back of my hand.
“My name is Darko, you’ll call me if you do see this man, yes?”  He tucks the
photo back into his pocket and the marker follows soon after before a loud honk
sounds and I turn from him and look down the street.
“Go on now, curajos mici, before the night swallows you up.” He releases my
hand and I glance back at his retreating form before I race down the sidewalk,
remove my case and slide it, and myself, into the back seat of the cab.
I ramble off the address to my uncle’-  or is it Gabi’s?-  house and lean my
head against the window before I let my eyes slide closed.      
 
When the taxi slows to a stop outside of the house, I glance at the meter on
the dash before I climb from the back seat and set my case onto the steps. I
pull my wallet out and offer the man a twenty before and tell him to keep the
change.
I dig the key ring that Uncle Victor gave to me from the depths of my purse and
look for the flowered key for the front door. I laugh to myself at the effort
put into the keys on the ring, flowers for the front door, a backpack design on
the key to the back door, a scoop of gelato on the gate key. Even though my
Uncle did not know exactly how I am, or that I would have had no problem
categorizing the keys without the markings, he had made the effort to make my
transition as smooth as he could.
I’m not sad, per se, that he’s gone. It would be illogical for me to be sad, I
barely knew the man after all. I do regret not knowing him though and I will
cherish the small amount of time that I had with him. I slide the proper key
into the lock and turn it to the right, the click sounds and I slowly open the
door. I slip my boots off and set the heavy leather beside the bottom of the
door to keep it propped open while I retrieve my case. I step inside and
attempt to, quietly, shut the door behind myself.
I pick up my footwear before I slowly make my way across the foyer. My sock
clad feet pad across the thick rug silently before I stat up the stairs. I
remember the layout of the house as I make my way to the third door on left.
The door to the room is open so I walk in.  I spot my suitcases and trunk
sitting near the mattress that had been stripped bare in preparation of my
arrival. A light in the on suite bathroom is on and emitting a small, soft,
glow on the dark colored wood floor.
I set my case on the bed and drop my footwear onto the rug on the floor beside
the bedframe before I close and lock the door to the room. I locate one of my
smaller suitcases, the one housing my toiletries, and remove the small bag
containing my bathing essentials and set it onto the mattress. I crawl over to
my next target; one of the larger suitcases that has my nightwear in it, before
I remove a night set and lay it beside the plastic bag on the mattress.
I open my trunk next, and pull the vacuum-sealed bag that contains my one of my
comforters, my fleece blanket, my pillows and pillowcases, a mattress pad and
sheets along with a few plushies.
I stand, lay the heavy bag onto the bed, and pick up my clothes and toiletry
bag. I and flip the light switch on, deposit the items onto the bathroom
counter, and turn on the shower to warm up before I make my way back to the bed
and rip the two seams of the vacuum-sealed bag apart and remove my bed set. I
pause for a moment and inhale the sent on my home before I start to make the
bed.
When I am content with the state that the bed is in, I move back to the trunk
and place the bag back inside before closing the lid. I move over to the
windows and pull the floor length curtains back to reveal a sliding glass door,
and a screen door behind it, that leads out onto a skinny balcony.
I slide the glass door open and allow the breeze to flow through the room. The
tepid air send a shiver down my spine and I turn back towards the center of the
room.
I dig through the small bag again and retrieve one of my towels before I make
my way towards that bathroom to take a shower.
I strip out of my sweater and oversized shirt before I slide my panties off of
my hips and step into the shower.
That water is hot as it rains down onto my back, wetting my long hair and
dribbling down the backs of my legs. I tilt my head back and smooth my hands
over my face before I curl them around my chest.
I inhale the steam-thickened air into my lungs and close my eyes against the
harsh lighting of the small room. The breeze from the screen door slips through
the partially closed door of the bathroom and twists over the shower door,
refreshing my overheated skin.
I wash my body and hair before leaving a conditioning treatment in my hair, to
ensure that my curls will remain curly as I sleep instead of frizzing out in an
uncomfortable way, and shave the slight growth of hair off of my legs and
underarms before I rinse my hair free of the thick cream.
I step out of the shower, wrap my towel around my body, and move to stand in
front of the sink to brush my teeth.  When I’m through I rinse my mouth and pat
my face dry with the corner of  my towel before I apply moisturizer and remove
my towel to apply lotion to the rest of my skin.
My hands reach my hips and I glance down as they brush against tender flesh. I
spot four elongated marks, spaced closely together, that seem to curl around my
side. My eyebrows furrow as I recall how my skin became marred, these memories
bring a dull ache to the space between my hips.
I pat my hair dry quickly, slip into my pajama set, pick up the dirty clothes
off the floor and make my way back into the bedroom. I drop my clothes onto the
floor, push Nigel’s shirt under the pillow on the right side of the bed and
climb under my layers of blankets. 
The lovely spiced scent from the shirt drift into my mind as I doze and I
decide to find a way to return the shirt to him that doesn’t involve showing up
at his door.
Eventually, when the scent fades.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chocolate *****
Chapter Summary
     Enjoy!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When I woke up this morning I had, for the briefest of moments, thought that I
was still in Nigel’s apartment. His sent had filled my lungs and made my mind
wonder. The sounds of the city below my window roused me from my warm, safe
place and I look at the clock on the bedside table it reads 5:45. I get up and
stretch my muscles to prepare my body for the day.
After I dressed for the day, brushed my hair and teeth, and made my bed. I left
the bedroom and made my way down the stairs.
I couldn’t hear any movement when I got downstairs so I walked through the
bottom floor of the house looking into the rooms for any people.  When I get to
the kitchen, I see a folded piece of paper on the counter with my name on it.
I pick up the paper, unfold it, and begin to read.
Adam, I’m throwing a memorial party tonight at seven to honor my father, please
be back by then if you go out. I will be back around six, Gabi
I refold the note and set in back onto the counter. Where did she think I would
go? Was she mad that I hadn’t returned her calls or text messages? I bite my
lip and glance around the kitchen.
The room is filled with sunlight and clutter. I consider cleaning but decide
against it, I wouldn’t want someone rearranging my house.
My house. I miss Manhattan. I miss my old job. I don’t know what I’m doing
here. I miss Harlan, and Beth. Beth, I need to call her, to check on her
father, to see how her mother is doing. I need to call Harlan and ask him about
my house. I wish he and Beth could have come with me, but I’m not that naive.
I rush back through the house and up the stairs before I grab my purse and dig
my phone and charger out.  I look around the room for an outlet and  plug my
charger into the outlet and my phone into the charger.
The screen illuminates and an empty battery pops onto the screen. I place my
phone down on the floor and start to unpack while it charges. I pull my
projector out of my trunk and set it up on the desk near the window.  I find
places for all on my belongings and arrange, then re arrange them until I am as
satisfied as I can be in this new environment.
By the time all of my belongings have been dispersed to my liking its 7:30 am.
I walk over and check my phone’s battery before I hold down the power button
and wait for it to power up.
My stomach emits a growl, I wonder if I am allowed to eat the food here, or if
there’s anything I will ear there. I recall uncle Victor telling me that this
was my home now, but he’s dead and the rules might have changed.
My phone makes the telltale noise that indicated it has powered on and I unlock
the screen before scrolling through my contacts and select the image of myself
and Harlan that we both use for the other’s contact icon.
I press the call icon and hold the phone up to my ear as I wait for the call to
go through. I get his voice mail and realize that he’s probably working so I
leave a message for him. I’ve never been good at social interactions and it’s
even more difficult to pretend to be talking to someone when leaving a
voicemail.
I call Beth next, the phone rings three times before she picks up.
“Hi, Adam! How are you? Are you settling in all right, I’m sure you are, your
uncle was so nice while he was here! Taking you to see the Cubbies and buying
you your luggage!” I rest my back against the wall and slide down into a seated
position.
“Hello, Beth. I’m fine. Thank you.” I have to remember to add thank you, ”How
are you? I’m hungry but physically fine other than that.  Actually, my uncle
died a few hours from Bucharest so he hasn’t been helping me adjust. But I
agree that he was a nice man.”
“Oh Adam.” The line is silent for a moment and I hear her sniffle. “I’m so
sorry.”
“It’s okay, everyone dies, Beth.” I try to comfort her. “How is your father
doing in prison?”
“Oh. Well, he’s doing as well as he can, I suppose. I mean, it is prison,
Adam.”
I scold myself for yet another social fumble. “Right, of course. And h-how is
 your book coming along? Will you tell me what it’s about now?”
“No Adam! You’ll have to wait!” Her voice is higher in pitch now; I let out a
relived sigh.
We talk for a while longer before she tells me that she’s meeting with her mom
in an hour and has to go.
We exchange goodbyes and I end the call on my end.  Beth had told me once that
she liked to stay on the phone after the other person had hung up and soak in
the silence, but I’ve never understood why. 
I often feel like there are sentimental things that I don’t understand. When
people talk to someone that’s in a coma because they think that they can hear
them when they physically can’t, crying over gifts, and hugging. I’ve never
been fond of hugging.
My father’s arms often felt like restraints wrapped around my body instead of
offering the comforting feelings they are supposed to bring.
When I was younger, I used to lie under the surface of the bath water and stare
up at the ceiling. My father found me like that once and hugged me for a long
time after he had pulled me from the tub. When he had asked me why I was doing
it, I had told him the truth like I was supposed to. The world is quieter
underwater, everything slows down and becomes so much more clearer.
When I was a small child, my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, had told my
class that we could be anything we wanted to be.
I had taken that quite literally and had tried to sew my legs together when I
had gotten home that day. My mother had come into the bathroom and started to
scream when she saw me on the bathroom floor holding the threaded needle, my
legs dribbling blood from where I had ripped the stiches out with my movements.
I finger the small scars on my thighs as I recall the event. I find it almost
amusing that one of my only memories of my mother is of when she had screamed
at me, almost.
I sigh and stand before I unplug my phone and slide it into the pocket of my
sweater after checking the time.
With hours left to go until six I decide to familiarize myself with the kitchen
before I search for something to wear.  
I open all of the cupboard doors and drawers in the kitchen and take inventory
of the placement of all of the items. I pull a box of cereal out from the third
cupboard from the window and inspect the ingredients.
Much to my delight, this particular brand of cereal contains all of the same
ingredients as All-Bran, the only difference between the two is this one adds
honey and comes in small clusters instead of the pressed flakes that I am used
to.
I grab a small zip sealed bag and pout about a cup of the cereal into the
plastic receptacle before returning the bod back to its assigned place and
padding down the hall and into a small den like room.
A few bookcases are scattered around the room, along with a matching desk and
entertainment center. I turn the television on and sink to the floor before
flipping through the channels and settling on a football game.
The reception quality and language barrier makes it very difficult to decipher
what is happening and I lose interest in the game. I surf the channels once
more before coming full circle and stopping.
I munch a handful of the dry cereal and adjust my stockings. My eyes drift
around the room and settle on a shelf of VHS tapes. I emit a laugh like sound
at the thought of how different my world is now. Where I was once surrounded by
microchips and projected stars I now have VHS tapes.
I get up and brows the hand written labels on the tapes before I pluck a few
from the shelf and make as to resume my place in front of the television. My
eye catches a tape that I had skipped over, which is an oddity in its own; the
label reads Cubbies Win World Series- 1995.
I pull the tape from its place on the shelf; my eyebrows furrowed, and turn the
tape over in my free hand repeatedly.
This tape it wrong. I distinctly recall the conversation Uncle Victor and I had
on the way to the airport about his illogical faith in the Cubs and their
chances of winning any future games based on their previous history.
I tuck the under my arm and push the tape on the top of my stack into the VCR.
 I press the input button on the television until the proper screen is
displayed and lean back to watch.
It’s a home movie of my father and Uncle Victor when they were younger,
accompanied by some unknown relatives and various other people. I go through
tape after tape, absorbing as much as I can before I notice that the sun is
coming through the window at a different angle.
I stop the current tape and shut the television off before standing and
stretching. I gather the watched tapes and return them to their places on the
shelf before retrieving the Cubbies tape from where it had fallen from my grasp
and onto the floor before I return to my room and pull a blue dress out and
slide the plastic covering off and lay it out on the bed.
I find my curling iron and makeup bag before retreating to the bathroom to
ready myself for tonight.
I go through the motions of cleansing and prepping my skin before I settle on a
tinted moisturizer and minimal makeup. Beth had been insistent on my learning
how to properly apply various cosmetics, skin and hair care products.
I pull the sides of my hair back and pin the locks of hair back away from my
face before I begin the tedious task of curling each section of hair into a
perfect spiral. I mist my hair with a spray that is supposed to offer ‘Maximum
hold’ and wipe the residue from my skin.
Back in the bedroom, I undress and begin redressing in the semi-formal fashion
I have chosen for tonight. The silky slip slides against my skin in a
pleasurable way and I soak the feeling in for a moment before I pull on a pair
of thigh highs and finally, the dress.
The dark blue fabric billows as I move it through the air and hold it up
against my body in examination. I pull the dress over my head and sweep my
stiff hair over my shoulder before I pull the zipper up and tie the ties into a
bow in the middle of my lower back.
I choose to forgo shoes, as I am not expecting to step outside of the house
tonight.
The day is growing chilly and I give into temptation and pull Nigel’s shirt out
from under my pillow before I slip it on and tuck my hands into the cuffs.
I am immediately hit with the strong scent that lingers in the soft cotton; I
hum in contentment and lift the collar up around my neck.
I hear the door downstairs open and slam shut before a heavy footfalls echo up
the stairs and into my room.
This day is far from over.
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Next up, MORE NIGEL!!!!! I can't wait!
***** Bounty to Kin *****
Chapter Notes
     First of all... Hi!
     I am so sorry it has taken me so long to get everything back into
     working order. I've been writing bits on my phone but it's pretty
     hard to get my brain going without my Word program leering at me from
     my desktop.
     I would also like to do a little shout out to all of my readers, I
     realize that the TNDOCC fandom isn't small, per se, but Nigel/
     GIrlAdam is, as far as I know, kind of nonexistent. SO I would just
     like to say thank you to my little cult following and that I loves
     you all for sticking with me.
     Also, all of my chapter titles are either song titles or lyrics, and,
     as per request, I will be building a playlist of my inspiration tunes
     that will be updated with this story.
     And now, sit back and enjoy my un-betad story of whatever-ness!
     Please enjoy!
Chapter six: Bounty to Kin
I glance at the clock on the nightstand and frown, it’s barely eleven o’clock.
The echoing pounds of shoes on the wood floors below have me flustered. I doubt
Gabi could make such a ruckus.  
I slowly make my way across the floor and down the carpeted steps before coming
to a halt at the landing. Whoever is in the house is currently rummaging
through the den.  I think for a moment, on what would be the best course of
action, my thoughts bouncing between calling the authorities and leaving the
house, before I decide to stop thinking such nonsense. Both of those options
would not be ideal, my lack of the native language and lay of the land would,
no doubt, have me in much more trouble than I could possibly be in now.  
I steel myself and slowly, cautiously, make my way to the doorway of the den
before I move to stand against the doorjamb.  The well-dressed man, who is
obviously not Gabi, is rummaging through the shelves of VHS tapes without
really disturbing the placement or order. I watch for a few moments as the man
works his way through the lower shelves, before he stands and turns his head
slightly to take in the rest of the shelves.
I recognize this man instantly, his sharp features are the same, even with the
improved lighting of the sun filled room.
“Does Gabi know that you are here, Mister Darko?” I say lowly as I cross my
arms, attempting to give off a nonchalant look to my appearance and not reveal
the whirling thoughts in my mind.
Darko whips around quickly in surprise at my voice, his arm working its way
into his suit jacket before he pills a pistol out and points it at me.
Obviously, he thought he was going to be alone in the house, which meant he
knew Gabi’s schedule. Yet, here I am, staring down the barrel of a gun and
still calmer than I would have been if I were looking into his eyes, the
overlooked factor in his snoopy little plans. I grin at my own thoughts and
some of the tension leaves darko’s tense frame as his face lightens up with
recognition and some unknown glee. His own wicked grin sliding onto his face as
if I was the one that had been caught somewhere where I was not supposed to be
before he lowers the gun.
“No, I suppose not, and I intend it to stay that way. Does Nigel know that YOU
are here, little girl?” 
His words confuse me. “If I were in your position, I would be more worried
about the person breaking the law, you, more than I would be worried about the
person who had simply been misplaced.”
His grin widens and he makes his way towards me, moving like the predator that
I instinctually know him to be. It’s not as though he and Nigel were simply
racket ball partners or something as equally mundane.
He’s within my personal space now, and I have to crane my neck to look up at
him while keeping my eyes focused in between his eyebrows. I feel like a
dangling mouse and he’s the snake coiled below.  He reaches his hand up and I
flinch at the thought of physical contact at this moment, his hand hovers over
my shoulder for a moment before he hooks his fingers into a curl and pulls it
forward.
“That, is where you are wrong, little dove.” He leans in, his arm is trapping
me against the doorjamb as he slouches slightly to bring his face level with
mine, “If you were me, you would have killed me by now. What you should ask
yourself, is why I haven’t shot you between the pretty little eyes yet.”
Something hard and cold taps against my thigh twice before I hear the telltale
click of the safety being taken off. I try to muster up the proper feelings for
this situation, but I am left in a state of curiosity.  darko pressed the
barrel of the gun against my hip and drags it up my side and under Nigel’s
shirt, before coming to a stop under my chin. The squared end of the gun is
firmly pressed into the soft meat of my neck as the chill of the metal sinks
into my skin.
“You were looking for something, Mister Dako, a video tape perhaps? Tell me,
did you find what you were looking for?” I ask using the small amount of
information I have to string to together a sentence that implies that I know
much more than I actually do. Harlan’s words ring through my mind, we’re all
liars, after all.
Darko’s eyes narrow into slits a second before he applies more pressure to the
gun. I think idly on the fact that I don’t have to work to control my facial
features or heart rate like non aspies would in this kind of situation. 
“What do you know about the tape?” Darko hisses at me, a fleck of saliva lands
on my cheek and quickly wipe it off before I press my hand against Darko’s
chest.
“If you shoot me you’ll never find out.” I point out mater of factly, “And
unless you want to be caught with your gun pressed up under my chin, I suggest
you leave sooner rather than later. Gabi will be back soon, as I’m sure you
know, and with her comes a crowd.” I keep my eyes locked to his forehead and
speak steadily, not allowing my voice to soften in the quiet room.
As if on cue, the sound of keys scraping against the lock on the front door
causes Darko to start and glance at his watch, Gabi is early, which surprises
me just as much as it does Darko but I don’t allow that to show.
Darko presses the gun up again and I swallow reflexively as he leans his head
down, his mouth beside my ear.  “This conversation isn’t over, little girl.
I’ll be seeing you soon.” He growls before he straightens himself, slides his
gun back into his coat pocket and makes his way down the hall towards the doors
that lead into the garden.
I inhale deeply and allow myself a moment of victory before the sound of the
thick wooden door being pushed opens and the tiny clink of heels reverberates
off the walls.
“What are you doing?” Gabi asks as she comes around the corner. “What are you
wearing, where did you get that shirt?”  I tug at the sleeves of the shirt in
question and stand up straight before I move away from the doorway.
“I was just admiring the den.” I say, before I slip the shirt over my shoulders
and ball it up tightly in my hands, “I got this shirt from my room, if you must
know, I got a chill.”
Gabi makes a scoffing noise before she crosses her arms and thrusts her
dominant leg hip out. “Sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re just stupid or
not.”  Her face is open and she doesn’t look like she meant the words she spoke
to wound. I shrug my shoulders and tuck Nigel’s shirt under my left arm.
She sighs and glances at the grandfather clock beside across from the den
before looking back towards me, “Would you be willing to help me in the
kitchen?” She asks. I nod slowly before I pull the shirt out from under my arm
and wave it around for a moment, “Yes, that would be fine. I’ll just be a
minute of two, I should put this back upstairs?” My words come out like a
question and Gabi nods before turning from me and making her way into the
kitchen. I stay rooted in my spot for a moment as I consider telling Gabi about
Darko and as I cannot calculate an outcome that has a positive outcome, I
decide against it.
I turn and make my way up the stairs.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Moisture clings uncomfortably to my skin as I stand on the patio staring up
into the vastness of space. The hues of orange and pink that creep into the sky
with the coming night are captivating in their own way but they do not hold my
interest. My eyes scan over they bare space in between clouds searching for a
gimps of starlight before I am forced back inside to partake in the
festivities, I look down at my tumbler of amber liquid and swirl my hand,
causing the a small cyclone to happen within the confines of the glass. There
was no use telling whoever had given me the drink that I didn’t consume
alcohol, all I had received for my efforts was a laugh and a ‘double shot’ of
whatever was curling around in my glass.  The people attending this get
together were quick to accept my presence after I had joined Miguel inside to
play a ‘farewell’ song commemorating uncle Victor’s ‘long and happy’ life,
however. The phrase confuses me; to assume that someone’s life was happy is
foolish. People have a habit of judging one’s emotions by the facial
expressions, which is ridiculous.
I don’t always smile when something pleases me. In fact, it is not often that
my exterior genuinely mirrors what is happening beneath my skin. I rarely or
cry when I’m sad which, according to the previous theory means that I am never
sad.  When my friendship with Beth was still new, I would mirror her
expressions so as to blend more easily into her life. I was filled with an odd
craving for a hallowed out place to fit into after my father’s death.  I had
wanted to be accepted by her friends and welcomed to attend their parties even
thought I knew they would not hold my interests.
I look down and huff out a mockery of a laugh at my own stupidity.
A bead of sweat rolls down the side of my face and along the line of my
clavicle, the humidity makes the gauzy material of my dress cling to my legs
and irritates the healing skin hidden within my hairline. The weather here is
unpredictable; I am not fond of the climate or this garden.
The overgrown vegetation seems to smother anything that it touches and the
algae filled pond looks like it could have been home to beautiful coy fish when
it was new and more habitable.
I seat myself heavily upon an upraised chunk of concrete that had once been the
platform for some kind of statue and fold in on myself until my forehead is
resting on my knees. I drop the tumbler from my fingers and watch as the smoky
liquid sank in between the blades of grass and through the layers of earth.
A slow and solemn song filled with even chords and smooth lyrics drifts out of
the opened doors and settles like a fog in the walled off garden as the sound
of dress shoes on worn wooden planks approaching the property touches my ears.
I look  up to see Bela making his way down the paneled path he stops  to
converse with two people that are standing by the doors. As I am seated out of
the way, he does not see me as he exchanges Romanian dialogue with the couple.
Unfortunately for Bela he does not see Nigel as he makes his way down the path
with much more grace than his massive frame should be able to manage until he
is making his way past Bela.
“You sir!” Bela shouts as he notices whom the man that is making his down the
path is and moves to stand in front of him, “You cannot be here!” Bela finishes
loudly. Nigel leans in and says something to Bela in Romanian before he slams
his head into Bela’s. He falls back heavily and clutches his nose as Nigel
crouches over him and grabs him by his collar, bringing him up to continue his
slew of Romanian.
Nigel glances up and drops Bela, “Charlie, “I look over but cannot see inside
the doors, “Have you seen Gabi of late?” Nigel asks as he makes his way inside,
brushing his hands on his pants as he goes.
I lower my head as an unfamiliar feeling twists through my body, of course he
would be looking for Gabi, she is his wife after all. I curl my toes into the
grass as the sound of shattering glass echoes into the garden, I stand and
cautiously make my way inside the doors before I press my back against the wall
beside one of the windows.
Nigel is looming over Charlie, who is pressed against the wall, and pressing a
broken wineglass to his neck. This makes me think of how alike Nigel and Darko
are with their choice of where to press threatening objects.
“Isn’t that right, Gabi?” Nigel shouts as he looks up. Gabi’s fingers curl
around my arm before she pulls me back and releases me into the main room. I
stumble over the rug and fall onto the floor, my elbows hit the wood first and
I cry out as I feel the skin split with the force.
“You were meant to ring me, Darling.” Nigel says as I turn and prop myself up
on my good arm. Two unfamiliar hands grip my under my arms and pull me to my
feet, I look over my shoulder to see that Miguel is the one who had assisted me
and I give him a small, forced smile before I look back towards the commotion.
Nigel’s eyes are narrowed and on me as I glance at him, I look away.
“You need to leave Nigel, now.” Gabi says as she levels the gun in her hand at
him.
“The ass of an angel the brain of a man, the aim of Annie Oakley?” Nigel says
with a small grin before he leans back in towards Charlie, ”Ever the total
package, my Gabi is.” He twirls the stem of the wineglass between his hands for
a moment before he start s again. ”Let's say I give you 'til tomorrow to seek
me out but that's the best I can do. Agreed?” Nigel asks. Something soft is
pressed to my arm, I hiss and jump forward as I look to see that Miguel is
holding a bloodied handkerchief out to me. I wave him off and wrap my fingers
around my arm instead.
A gunshot sounds and I abandon my wound as I cup my ears, smearing blood along
my face in the process. Nigel is looking at Gabi with an odd expression when he
turns back from looking at the hole somewhere behind him. “Guess I'm off then,
Charlie.” He says as he places the wineglass down on the dresser beside
Charlie, “But we'll get a funny face out of you yet, right?”
Nigel stares down Gabi as he makes his way out of the house and down the path.
I uncurl my hands form my ears and just stand there for a moment before the
blood working its way down my arm sends me walking briskly into the kitchen to
wipe the mess away.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
My hands have pruned from my washing all of the glasses and small plates from
the party, I rinse the sink with small splashes of water that I first cup in my
hands before I rinse the soap from my skin. I can hear Bela and Gabi talking in
the adjacent room as I pull a small towel from the stove handle and proceed to
dry the dishes that would not fit on the rack. I nearly drop the small flowered
plate as the door is slammed loudly. I place the dishes in a stack on the
counter before I return the towel to its place and move into the hall to go
upstairs and wash the sweat and blood from my skin.
“Nigel leave.” I pause as I hear the end of Gabi’s sentence before I start up
the stairs.
“How?” Charlie asks.
“There is some kind of tape,” I pause again and turn back towards the landing
of the stairs. “of Nigel doing something and my father used it to make Nigel
leave Bucharest.” Gabi finishes lowly.
“This is the unfinished business. With my father gone, Nigel and Darko want to
find the tape.” I stand and make my way back up the stars, thinking about my
encounter with Darko earlier today.  So that is why he was here, I wasn’t so
far off after all. I enter my room, close and lock the door, my eyes going to
the inaccurate video tape resting innocently on the foot of my bed. I go over
to the closet and pull the door open before I look up to see the small
television/ VCR player that looks old enough to be black and white that I had
seen as I was putting my things away. I reach up, yank the heavy thing down
from the shelf, and struggle to regain my footing for a moment after the shift
in my balance.
I set it onto the floor beside a free outlet and plug it in before turning all
of the knobs to try to get it to turn on, after I succeed it takes me a few
moments to navigate the ancient piece of technology before VCR appears on the
screen. I stand and retrieve the tape before I sit back down on the floor.
I hold the tape in my hand for a long time before I make the decision to
actually watch it. I push the tape into the slit on the base of the television,
my finger hovers over the play button before I jab it forcefully and the screen
flickers to the image of what  looks like a restaurant, Nigel and Darko stand
beside two the people that are seated at the table. Nigel pats the man that he
is standing beside on the back before he turns from him, pulls a gun from his
jacket, and shoots the man in the head. I jump and the sound and quickly turn
the volume knob until no sound comes out of the speakers, while on the screen
both Nigel and Darko proceed to shoot the remaining members of the dinner
party. Darko grabs something from off of the table and takes a bite of it
before they both walk off screen.
 I stare blankly at the television for a moment before I press the button to
eject the tape and stand, I grab one of my scarves and wrap the tape tightly
before I move to my Cello case and remove all of its contents. I pry at the
lining until it releases and shove the tape into the barley large enough space
beneath the soft fabric and stiffened form before I shove it back into place
and return my instrument and accessories. I shut the case and back away from
it, looking at it with new eyes as it now holds much more than sheet music and
bowstrings.
I shove the televising back into the closet and shut the door before I seat
myself heavily onto the bed and stare at the dark case across the room.
***** Playlists for my pretties! *****
Chapter Notes
     So, here are the songs that have inspired me. Enjoy
Secret_Chord_chapter_titles
All_the_songs_in_between!
***** Part one: Holocene *****
Chapter Summary
     Chamomile Lemon Green Tea and Romanian all-bran.
Chapter Notes
     I'm sorry, I just get carried away and.. ugh! Anyways, this is part
     one. I hope you enjoy, I'm off to shower now.
     Oh, and fun fact, Nigel doesn't wear his wedding ring like Gabi
     does....Just throwing that out there.
     But, yeah, NOT BETA READ! Just sayin'.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
I had lain awake in my bed, curled between my star speckled sheets, until the
noises of the other occupants had finally quieted and the illuminated numbers
on my clock read 4:16. My eyes rarely strayed from my cello case.
After I had place the tape into the lining of the case I had sat on the bed for
a long time, my hands shaking and clammy from the overload of emotions, before
I had forced myself to shower. In the bathroom, I had stared at myself in the
mirror as if my head would open up and reveal what I should do.
I couldn’t tell Gabi, that much was clear to me, she would tell Charlie and he
would, undoubtedly do something reckless that would get everyone involved hurt.
If I keep the tape, Nigel and Darko will still be looking for it, which would
put Gabi and me in even more danger than we’re already in.
I shake my head and slide out from under the covers. I can’t stay here, not
with Darko having access. This house seems to be a mecca for violence and lies.
My fingers brush over the scab on my arm and I frown. Good intentions or not,
Gabi should not have grabbed me like that, in all honesty she should not have
touched me at all.  
I walk over to the window and push it open. Staring out at the low-lit streets,
I decide that I can’t stay here. I want to go back home, but I know that I
can’t. I wish that I could talk to Beth about this, but she would just tell me
to go to the police and trying to explain to her that the police here are not
like the police that she’s romanticized in her mind, they aren’t freedom
fighters.
I look out over the railing and down the side of the house, taking not of the
footholds and missing chunks of stone.  With my mind made up, I turn back to
the center of the room and retrieve my large backpack and soft carrying case
for my Telescope I spend the next half hour neatly packing the things I know I
can’t live without, preparing for the worst. I set out a comfortable pair of
clothes that cover all of my limbs for the climb down the side of the house. I
dig through my discarded clothes form the party and pull my phone out of the
pile.
I press the button to turn the screen on and see that I have a missed call from
Harlan I tap his icon and my thumb hovers over the call icon for a few moments
before I decide against calling him back at this moment.
I turn to the clothes I had left out and decide to forgo the undershirt and
bra; I slide my soft, white, zip up sweater over my shoulders and take a moment
to enjoy the feel of the warm fabric against the flesh of my chest. Before
Beth, I hardly wore bras, I felt no need because of my almost nonexistent
bosom, but upon her insistence, I started ritualistically wearing the
uncomfortable undergarment. I pull on the soft, but sturdy, black pants and
shrug on my too-large hoodie before fastening my boots to my feet. I unlock my
trunk that houses my pulley gear and select a length of rope before closing the
lid and pushing it up against the door.  It’s best to go out the window; it
will take them longer to realize that I’ve gone this way.
Lastly, I open my Cello case and retrieve the VHS, retrieve my telescope and
small repair case before I make myself comfortable on the floor and disassemble
the VHS tape with the small screwdriver from the repair case.  I pop the dust
cap off of my Telescope and split the two pieces apart, the small compartment
left in the cylinder that houses a rather large cleaning cloth and a small
bottle of lens cleaner. I remove the lens cleaner and wrap the spool of tape
gently in the large, sort, cloth before folding it and settling it into the
empty compartment.  I return the screwdriver to the case, pull a thin strip of
metal, that is used in cleaning the stand, out, and slide it into the pocket of
my hoodie before placing the repair case into my backpack.
I fit the two pieces together, reassemble the tape, and return the dust cap to
the scope before I quietly make my way down the stairs and return the, now
empty, tape to the shelf. I spend a few minutes making sure that the tape looks
undisturbed within the rows of dusty tapes before returning to the bedroom and
flicking the lock. If this were a more modernized house I could have just
locked the door and shut it from the outside, but this lock can only be secured
from this side of the door.
I close my cello case and slide it under the bed before I secure my telescope
in the soft case and slide it, and my backpack, over my shoulder. I loop the
rope over a sturdy drainage pipe beside the window before I tie one side around
my waist and wrap the other around my arm. I climb over the windowsill and
steady my feet on a small indentation in the side of the house before I pull
the two sides of the window close and use the flat metal too to flick the tiny
window hitch down, locking the two pieces together.  
I start down the wall, careful to distribute the extra weight on my back
properly, and slowly slacken the rope wrapped around my arm as I go. I remember
scaling the side of my apartment in Manhattan to clean Beth’s windows a few
days after she had moved in, she had been right, she could see the stars after
all of the muck was cleared away.
When my feet touch the ground I allow myself a moment of victory at my lack of
injuries before I untie the rope from my waist and pull it down while winding
it around my arm in a series of smooth loops. I slide my backpack over one
shoulder and shove the rope into it before returning it to my back.
Careful of the vegetation, I make my way through what was once a flowerbed and
onto the sidewalk. I remember a small café that I passed in the cab on my way
from Nigel’s apartment as I start my trek down the lowly illuminated street. I
allow my mind to wonder as my feet continue on their path. My thoughts drift to
the wound film that is safely tucked into my telescope cap, I had known that
both Nigel and Darko were not the kind of people that you should irritate, but
I had never imagined that they were capable of what I had seen on the tape.
But, then again, I suppose that I can blame that on my mind blindness. It
wasn’t in my bubble at the time, so why should it exist? I cross my arms,
quicken my pace and pull the hood of my sweater up over my head while tucking
my fingers into my sleeves thought of it all. The weather here is ridiculous.
I pull my phone out and check the time, 5:28. This time of year, the sun
usually rises around 6:04 a.m so I know I have at least three hours until Gabi
and Charlie will start to wake up. As I get closer to the street that the café
is on I can hear the bass heavy music growing louder and louder. I imagine the
stones beneath my feet vibrating with the beat of the music as my boots land on
them. 
The street  outside Amélie's is abuzz with music and muffled conversations of
natives, most of them looking between the age of 19 and 31, they all have
something in common though, nothing obvious to the eye, they just all look like
they belong in this patchwork French bakery.
I make my way to the counter and wait in line as I examine the words that are
scrawled over the blackboards behind the display cases. There is a small
portion of the board that is filled with messily written English, so I make my
selection form there. After a few minutes of waiting and five dollars and
eighty two cents later, I am in possession of a very large cup of Chamomile
Lemon Green Tea, with an unhealthy amount of sugar and no milk, and an all-bran
muffin that has some kind of glaze on it.
I make my way outside and seat myself at one of the smaller iron tables before
I slip the hoodie off of my shoulders and use it to cover my backpack and soft
case that I’ve placed beside my leg, the straps looped around my calf. I bring
the cup up to my mouth and inhale the steam, my upper lip immediately
perspiring as the haze curls into my mouth. I lick my lips before I tilt the
cup and allow the now set of flavors to invade my senses. The chamomile is
comforting, a welcomed familiarity that is drowned out by lemon almost
instantly. I like this tea, I decide before I place the cup down and peel the
wrapper from the muffin. I pull a piece from the bottom off and plop it into my
mouth, my stomach twisting uncomfortable in anticipation. I taste molasses and
fresh grain flour, flecks of fennel seed, that are unexpected but entirely
welcome, burst as my teeth nosh the pips with vigor, before a coil of lemon
zest makes its way between my molars.
When the muffin is gone and the tea has cooled significantly I pull my backpack
on backwards and hunch over it, my sweaters hood pulled closely around my face
as I rest my chin on my folded arms. Rays of bright sunlight filter through the
cracks between the buildings, playing catch with the streetlamps as my eyelids
grow heavy under the warmth of my sweater.  
The first thing I notice, is that my legs are cramping from their position and
the stiffness of the chair beneath me, the second is the small puddle of saliva
that has seeped from my mouth, through the thickness of my sweater, and made a
home on the skin of my arm. The third thing I notice, and this is the most
important, is the high-pitched voice echoing my name, my body freezes. But,
before I can lift my head from the protection of my hood, the voice continues.
“She’s run off again, and if she’s not with you this time where is she?” Gabi’s
voices rings. “Not that I believe you.”
“As enticing as the topic of young Adam’s whereabouts is, my dear, I’m afraid
that it is not what I am here to speak with you about. Come now, Gabi, do you
expect me to believe that you know nothing of the tape in which I am talking
about?” Nigel’s deep voice rolls across my eardrums in one smooth stroke.
“I have no fucking idea what you are talking about, Nigel. Now, if we are
finished here, I have something that I need to attend to.” Gabi replies, her
voice starting harsh and ending smug.
“Now, Gabi, don’t you mean someone?” Nigel’s tone betrays nothing as it oozes
indifference.
The sound of chairs scraping and heels on stone retreating echoes through the
ally and I allow my body to relax as my lungs expand fully for the first time
in a few moments. It’s not until I can feel a presence at my side that I start
to raise my head, but, before I can accomplish my movement, a large hand finds
its way to the back of my neck. I tense as the heat form the hand seeps through
my sweater and onto my skin. The pressure increases and another hand lands on
my thigh, I turn my head to towards the warmth and my eyes meet Nigel’s. He’s
crouched beside the chair that I am seated in, pinning me with his hands.
“Now, I’m not usually the kind of man that would be entirely unhappy if the
woman I fell asleep next to was gone in the morning, in fact I prefer it. So
tell me, little girl, why it is that when I awoke yesterday morning to an empty
place beside me I found myself filled with anger.” Nigel asks, his cool voice,
once again, betraying nothing.  His eyes, on the other hand, are darkened with
some string emotion.
I lick my lips and force my throat to swallow before I part my lips, preparing
to answer.
“I-I can’t tell you that.” I start softly, “that would require so many unknown
variables, and even if I had all of the information a normal person would need
I’m sure I would still need some more, so really, it would take such a long
time to answer your question that you, most likely, would have forgotten that
you had even asked it.” I stutter out quickly.
Nigel huffs and pulls me up from my chair, my leg getting tangled further in
the straps my backpack, causing me to stumble and fall into him, as my cup
spills over on the table. I clench my hands in the fabric of Nigel’s shirt as I
lift my leg out of the strap and then, after releasing one hand, bending to
pull both the strap of my backpack and my case over my shoulder. I notice,
albeit a bit too soon, that the sipper of my sweater has slid down a few
inches, assumingly caught in the grate-like surface of the table as I slept,
exposing my breastbone, and that my small breasts are pressed against Nigel’s
forearm. I take in an unsteady breath, a mistake, and feel my pebbling nipples
brush, not only against my buttery sweater, but against the natural heat that
radiates off of Nigel’s body.
I look up at him from under my hood, his upper lip flares out into a sneer-ish
pose for a moment before he clamps it between his teeth. In a flurry of
movements, he’s re-zipped my zipper and is pulling me from the sidewalk and
pushing me into the front seat of a sleek looking car. He uses his foot to move
my legs into the car and slams the door. The defining silence of the cab of the
car makes my rapid breaths sound like they are being amplified through the
speakers.   I take a few breaths to calm myself and cross my arms, trying to
quell my shaking body, and shut my eyes.
Should I run? The door is unlocked. But I don’t really know where I am and I’m
almost positive that Nigel would catch me. What if he finds the tape? Albeit
unlikely, it could happen yet.
My thoughts are cut short by the driver’s side door opening, Nigel placing
himself into the seat, and the door shutting loudly behind him. After a second
of silence, keys jingle and the engine turns over, gears are shifted and the
car starts to move.
 
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Amélie's is an awesome little French bakery "Chain" the one I'm
     basing this off of is the one I've been to in NoDa Arts District,
     Charlotte, NC.
***** Part two: I see fire *****
Chapter Summary
     It's long and I'm pretty unsure about it, but, here it is!
Chapter Notes
     I wrote this all in one go, and I'm tired now!
     THIS IS NOT BETA READ, but feel free to point out any mistakes, I do
     apologize for them in advanced.
     So....Sex....Yeah, that happens.
     Chapter_playlist!!!
     Guess what song I listened to on repeat for the sex scene and I'll
     give you a sneaky peaky of the next chapter.
The steel cuff that is fastened around my wrist digs into the soft skin hard
enough to bruise but not hard enough to break through and draw blood. I press
my hands against my ears harder as I squeeze my eyes tighter, the pulsing
lights and music have me feeling as if my whole being breaks apart and
reassembles itself, splashing the walls with my blood and spilling my thoughts
into the sky in time with the beat. My bladder is uncomfortably full and I need
to find a way out of this room.
After Nigel had gotten into the car, we had driven deeper into the city where,
even at 10 in the morning, the nightlife is still going as strongly as it would
in the middle of the night. After parked, Nigel had pulled me from the car and
into the club. A scantily clad woman, who Nigel ignored as he proceeded to drag
me deeper into the depths of the building, greeted us as we entered.
When we’d reached a hallway with mirrors covering the walls Nigel had yanked
open a door and tugged me inside. The room was slightly quieter than the club
was, but somehow managed to be just as intolerable with walls that looked soft
to the touch and an overpowering scent of artificial cherries. A large, round
seat-like structure sat in the center of the room and a shining silver pole was
standing proudly in the middle, nestled between plush cushions and small throw
pillows.
I’d felt Nigel’s hand slide up my arm and come to rest at the base of my
throat, he guided me with his movements until I was facing the door. I could
see Darko standing just outside in the hallway before Nigel moved his body
between us; Nigel had ducked down in an attempt to try to catch my eyes and was
unsuccessful as I rolled them to the ceiling. His fingers tightened slightly
against my skin as he applied pressure and I was forced to move back to avoid
falling, the backs of my calves bump into the seat but Nigel didn’t stop
pushing until my body bent and I was forced to fall backwards onto the, oh-so
soft, seat.
I had suck in a shocked breath and flung my hands out, they collide with the
velvety material as I tryed to find purchase and to push myself up but before I
was able to succeed, Nigel’s other hand landed heavily beside my head, his grip
changed and he yanked my head straight by my chin. I had stared up, past his
head, at the ceiling before shutting my eyes tightly and breathing deeply
through my nose.
Nigel had made a noise, a deep rumbling sound before his hand slid under my
shoulder and jerked my upper body upwards before a soft heat pressed to my
mouth. My eyes snapped opened and, for a moment, I stared up into Nigel’s dark
eyes before my brain was able to work out what had been happening. Nigel was
kissing me, this kiss was so different than the blurred memory of the one we
had shared on his couch, this kiss was vivid.
I had pulled my lips apart and gasp at the very thought, I’d inhale a slightly
spicy and very smoky breath, drawing the air form Nigel’s own body as a moist
wriggly thing found its way past my parted lips and into my mouth. My own
tongue had curled back away from the intrusion before it spasmed forward to
push Nigel’s from my mouth as it tickled the sensitive ridges on the roof of my
mouth.
I whimpered when Nigel pressed his mouth to mine harder and his tongue
continued its chaotic dance betwixt my lips, after a moment of unsuccessful
oral defense on my part Nigel withdrew his tongue and simply moved his lips
against mine.  The sensation was not all together unpleasant and I’d found
myself responding, my hands found themselves pressed against Nigel’s stomach
and I arched my neck to press closer to him as I’d accidently caught Nigel’s
lip with my teeth.
Nigel released my chin and took my wrist into his hand before he pressed it up
beside my head, holding it there for a moment before his fingers unwrapped
themselves from my fragile skin and his hand vanished. A moment later, a
metallic clicking sounds and seconds after that cold metal engulfed my wrist.
My eyes flew open once again as Nigel pulled away from me entirely; I‘d yanked
my arm closer to my body and cried out as my hand encountered the steel
handcuff. 
“Now, you be a good girl and stay here, yeah?” Nigel said as he straightens
himself, his face stretched into a smile as he leaned down to pats my thigh,
“Can’t have you running around a place like this, now can we.” His question was
rhetorical but I doubt I could have answered him if it hadn’t been so instead
of answering I’d simply wrapped my hand around the metal pole and pulled myself
into a sitting position.
I don’t know for sure how long I’ve been in this room, long enough for the
songs to change 20 times, but how can one measure time in songs? I clench my
legs together and try to focus on something other than my bladder and the
obnoxious music as I lean my head back against the pole and pull my hood down
over my eyes before I shove my free hand into my sweater pocket. My finger
touch something thin and sharp and I pull the item out to look at it, the thin
metal tool that I used to lock the window this morning and forgotten about
rests in my palm innocently. I curl my fingers around it and turn around on the
seat, wrapping my legs around the pole loosely before I shove the pointed metal
into the keyhole and beginning the tedious task of picking the lock.
When the telltale click of the lock releasing sounds quietly, I sag in relief
and put the tool back into my pocket before rubbing my cramping hand with my,
now freed, one. I squeeze and release my fingers a few times before I use the
pole to stand and stretch my achy body out.  I hop down from the seat and move
over to the door, I turn the knob and am surprised to find it unlocked, but I
suppose having locks on doors to rooms like these would be a bad idea anyways.
I pull the door opened slowly and peak my head out, looking out into the
hallway, I step out of the room and shut the door behind me. I can hear the
music pulsing from one end of the hallway, the way that would lead me back out
into the main body of the club. I decide to go the opposite way, in hopes of
finding an office of some sort, and a restroom.
I reach my arm out and let my fingers drift across the mirrors until I come to
the end of the hallway, to my right is a flight of stairs and I don’t hesitate
before I’m making y way up the stairs. At the top of the stairs is a series of
doorways, I can see into some kind of dressing room where a nude lady is
standing and running her fingers through her hair. In another room, I can see
the lights of the club flashing through a pane of glass. I move through the
doorway and a red beaded curtain before I come to stand at the window, I can
see down into the club, I scan the crowd and immediately spot Nigel and Dark at
the bar, each with a glass in their hands and wide grins on their faces.
I step back from the curtain and turn around, looking for a door that will lead
me to a rest room. My eyes meet a child’s; he is holding a videogame in his
hands and is staring at me. I bite into my lip, why is there a child here? I
lift my hand in a tentative wave and her lifts his own in return, a smile
stretching across his face before he looks back down at his game. 
I cross my legs and rack my brain for the word I had read on the airplane
restroom door, I puzzle out the pronunciation before I open my mouth to ask.
“Toaletă?” I ask, my lips stiff around the unfamiliar word, and the boy points
behind him to a cracked door. I move quickly into the small bathroom, shut the
door and flick the sideways switch to activate the overhead light before I yank
my pants down and seat myself on the toilet to relive myself. After my bladder
is empty and I’m finished cleaning myself off I stand and return my pants to
around my hips. I spend a few seconds trying to find the handle to flush the
toilet and once I do, I turn to the sink, washing my hands thoroughly before I
dry my hands and push my hood down off my head.
I pull my hair back from my face before I run my fingers through the messy
tresses, when I have a somewhat sleeker looking mess of hair I preceded to
French braid in back and twist it into a bun at the base of my neck. I zip my
sweater up all of the way and curl my arms over my breasts before I turn and
let myself out of the restroom. Now that my bladder is not in distress, I am
unsure as to what I should do, with my bodily needs and lack of harsh music I
find myself in a state of peace, or something close.
I walk around the couch and seat myself stiffly a cushion length away from the
boy who is focused on his game. I rub at my sore wrist, press my thumb up
between my lips, and start the self-soothing act of suckling on my own flesh. I
push my feet from my boots and curl my legs up on the couch. I let my eyes
drift around the room and see an array of markers in a cup on the desk that is
pushed back into a corner. I stand and walk across the room to search through
the markers, I pick up one of the white dry-erase markers and flip it around
between my fingers as I look back at the glass wall as a though creeps its way
onto the forefront of my brain. I scoop up the markers and move to the window
before shoving the shutters out of the way and dropping the markers on the
floor beside my feet.
I focus on the smell of the markers and the patterns that I’m pulling form my
memory. I am vaguely aware of movement behind me as I crouch to pick up another
marker. Something is being dragged across the floor and in a moment, the boy is
beside me with a small box of eve more markers and a chair. He picks up the
markers on the floor and puts them into the box before sitting on the chair and
holding the box out to me. I pull my lips into a smile and murmur out a ‘Thank
you’ before I reach into the box and select my next color.
When an arm wraps around my neck and pulls me back against a firm chest I gasp
and drop the marker in my hand, it lands on my foot before rolling onto the
floor.
“Naughty girl, you weren’t where I left you.” Nigel’s hot breath washes over my
neck as he whispers into my ear. “Isn’t that just the prettiest mess of marker
you’ve ever seen, Darko? A real artist, my Adam is.” Nigel raises his voice to
project it into the room as his deft fingers stroke over my neck and
collarbone.
Darko laughs and says something Romanian that sends the boy at my side
scurrying from the room, the door shuts behind him with a loud bang. I shift in
Nigel’s hold restlessly before he releases me and I bend to pick up the marker.
My fingers close around the body of the marker as an arm wraps around my waist
and I’m lifted from the ground.  I drop the marker again and curl my hands
around Nigel’s forearm, hoping that he won’t drop me.
“Darko, it’s been a pleasure. Now I’ve got to get this little one home,”
Nigel’s face presses into the back of my neck as he finishes, “before she turns
into a pumpkin.”
“That’s impossible!” I shriek as he spins and dips to pick up my boots before
making his way out of the room, Darko waves at me with a wide grin on his face,
“Cinderella isn’t real and the story is illogical.” I finish softly as he
starts down the stairs.
Nigel stops in the hallway and pulls the same door opened again before he drops
me on the chair and crouches to shove my boots onto my feet, “That’s not the
point, Adam, it’s time to go.”
I nod and stare at his fingers as they work through the laces on my boots
before he finds the zipper on the side. “I’m hungry.” I say as he zips the boot
closed around my foot.
“What do you want?” Nigel asks as he stands and holds his hand out to me, I
take it and am pulled up before he turns and pulls me out into the hallway.
I bite my lip and quicken my pace to press myself against him as we enter the
body of the club. Nigel pulls a pack of cigarettes that belong to a man seated
with his back to us off of a table as he guides us through the crowd and out
the door.
When we get outside the sun is shining down in a midafternoon way and it has
heated up a bit, I push my sleeves up my arms as I follow Nigel to his car. I
stare down at my feet and bump into Nigel’s back as he comes to a stop a few
feet from the car.
“Well, look at what we have here, It’s the cocksucking tuba player and his
little friends, come back to pay off your debts, eh Charlie boy.” I peak around
Nigel’s arm and see Charlie standing in between a redhead and another brunette,
both around the same age as Charlie.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Charlie spits put as he walks
closer.
Nigel sniffs, lights a cigarette, and inhales deeply before he reaches behind
himself to grab me. He shoves his keys into my hand and gives me a gentle push
towards the car before approaching the trio. “What’s this now?” Nigel asks,
“Tell me, Charlie, where is Gabi, I would very much like to speak with her
about a personal matter that has just come up.” He says as I make my way
towards the car, the keys jingling softly with my steps. 
“I’m not telling you anything, you greasy fuck, I saw the tape!” I pause and
turn around quickly. No he didn’t, he’s bluffing, but why? Does he really think
that Nigel will admit defeat and fall at his feet at his childish attempts to
goad him? Nigel is smarter than that. I think.
“Tape, Charlie?” Nigel asks as he flicks the ash from his cigarette.
“You know what tape.” Charlie says mysteriously as he gets up into Nigel’s face
in a vain attempt at intimidation. 
Nigel inhales a deep breath of smoke before he flicks the half-burned cigarette
to the ground at his feet, in one quick movement Nigel kicks Charlie in the
chest and immediately leans down and slams Charlie’s head into the concrete,
“Where is it, Charlie?” Nigel asks lowly.
“Where’s what?” Charlie gasps, forgetting his little ploy in favor of his pain.
Nigel slams his head down again and I hear the faint sounds of sirens, I look
over to see Charlie’s brunette friend on his cellphone, his lips moving
quickly.
“The tape, Charlie. Where is it?” Nigel asks as he grips Charlie’s shirt and
drags him up only to slam his fist into his throat and send Charlie sprawling
across the ground. The sirens grow louder and I rush forward and slide my hands
under Nigel’s shirt, my left hand drifts over his scar as both come to rest on
his stomach, hoping to persuade him with the tactile distraction I lean up,
pressing my body to his back, “Nigel, the police.” I say softly into the
material that covers his shoulder.
Nigel stiffens and turns, scooping me up again as he makes his way to his car,
he takes the keys from my hand and unlocks the doors before he opens the
driver’s side door and sets me inside. He shoos me across the console and
slides in behind me as I settle into the smooth leather.
Nigel peels out of the parking lot and dodges through a few streets before he
slows and his fingers flex against the steering wheel.  We drive in silence for
ten minutes before my cramping stomach persuades me to speak. I clear my throat
and take a breath, “I’m still hungry.” I say, and after a beat I add, “I want
Mac and cheese.” 
Nigel’s throaty laugh reverberates through the cab of the car and he mutters
something in Romanian before he pulls into a high-end restaurant’s parking lot
and drives around to the back. He shifts the gears and puts the car into park
before he turns towards me. I turn towards him, more out of social obligation
than desire, before I rest my eyes on the piece of hair that has fallen onto
his forehead. Nigel reaches out and pulls me to him, he presses my head to his
chest and stokes his hand down my braid before he releases me and opens his
door, “Alright, pretty girl, can’t have you starving on me.” Nigel steps out of
the car and closes the door behind him. I’m frozen over the center console for
a moment, confused by his actions.
I sit back in the seat and lean my head back against the headrest, I slide my
thumb in between my lips for the second time today as I self soothe the foreign
emotions away.  My cellphone Vibrates in my pocket and I reach my hand down to
retrieve it. Harlan is calling.
I slide the button to answer and hold the cellphone up to my ear, “Hello
Harlan.” I say clearly into the receiver.
“Adam! How are you?” Harlan asks, his voice soothes me with the familiarity it
brings and I relax into the leather. “I’m well, thank you for asking. How are
you, Harlan?” I ask politely. He laughs a hearty sound that makes me remember
the two of us sitting in the park sharing lunch together, of when I had told
him about Beth and Harlan had made the assumption that I was sexually attracted
to the same sex, something I had never corrected.
“Fine, Adam, I’m doing just fine. How are you adjusting? How is Victor and his
daughter, Gabby?” He asks.
“I’m pleased to hear that. I’m adjusting alright, Victor died and Gabiwas fine
the last time I saw her.” I correct his error. The line is silent for a moment
before Harlan exhales loudly.
“Adam, I’m sorry, how did that happen.” I go on to tell him the same thing I
had told Beth days ago and we continue to converse for a few minutes, Harlan
rants about how I should have just stayed there with him, how he could of taken
care of me. I don’t doubt that he could, but I would never burden him like
that.
When I look over, I see Nigel walking briskly towards the car with a familiar
takeaway box in his hand his eyes focused on my hand, or, more accurately, the
phone that’s in my hand.
“Harlan, I have to go, I’m about to eat.” I tell him, it’s not exactly a lie, I
am going to eat soon, and I don’t want to worry him.
“Alright Adam, you stay strong and call me whenever you need to, or even just
if you want to.” He says. I agree and we exchange goodbyes a moment before
Nigel yanks the door open, slides into the car, shuts the door and snatches
the, now disconnected, phone from my hand.  He looks at the illuminated screen,
at the ‘recent calls’ list and scowls at the phone before he tosses it,
forcefully, onto the dash of the car.
I jump and frown, staring at my expensive phone that now has more than a few
scratches, I’m sure.
Nigel grabs my face and turns my head towards him, I look at his nose to avoid
his eyes, “Who the fuck is Harlan, Adam?” Nigel grits out.
“He’s” I start and Nigel’s fingers twitch against my skin, causing me to
stutter, “He- He’s my friend?” It comes out like a question and I swallow
thickly. “He was my caretaker after my father died, before I came here, they
were best friends.” I finish.
“Why are you so angry?” I ask quietly. ”He was only checking up on me,” I say,”
asking if I’ve met any girls.” My lips twitch and I flick my eyes up to Nigel’s
for a second before I focus them back on his nose.
“Girls?” Nigel asks as his fingers release mu face and stroke down my cheek. I
nod in confirmation, that is what I had said.
“Why girls, Adam? Is there something you’ve left out?” Nigel asks as he hands
me the takeaway container and pulls a metal fork in a cloth napkin out of his
shirt pocket.
“When I had first told him about Beth, he had assumed that I was sexually
attracted to her, interested in her as a partner rather than a friend.” I say
as I open the lid and stab the curled noodles with the fork before shoving them
into my mouth, they’re too hot and I open my mouth and tilt my head down, the
pasta falling off of my tongue and back into the container.
Nigel hums and starts the car before pulling back onto the road. I spear
another bunch of the rich pasta, but this time I blow vigorously onto the
steaming bite before I shove it into my mouth. I continue in silence until my
hunger eases enough for it to stop being uncomfortable.
“Do you and Gabi have an open marriage?” I ask around a mouthful of the cheesy
goodness.
 “No.” Nigel says tightly. And after a moment of silence I continue.
“I only ask because she and Charlie had sex last night.” I say as I shove more
noodles into my mouth, I guess I was wrong, I am good at small talk.
“What the fuck do you mean they fucked last night?!” Nigel hisses, his fingers
gripping the steering wheel.
I swallow the partially chewed noodles in my mouth before I answer, “A- After
Bela told Gabi about the tape, Gabi told Charlie and then they had sex.” I
force the words out.
“Gabi knows about the tape.” Nigel says flatly, not a question, but I nod my
head anyways as I pick the last few pieces of pasta off the plastic with to
tines of the fork. I chew through the pasta before I swallow and set the fork
in the container before I close the lid and set it on the floorboard. I turn in
the seat and lean over the center console before I dig through my backpack and
pull out my toothbrush and toothpaste, I apply a small amount to the minty
paste to the bristles before I put the brush into my mouth and return the
toothpaste to my backpack.
“What are you doing?” Nigel asks as I move to sit back into the seat. When I’m
comfortable I move the brush against my teeth.
“I’m brushing my teeth.” I say around the handle of the brush before I work the
bristles over the surface of my teeth.
Nigel scoffs and turns down the street that his apartment is on, he presses a
button on the dash and a garage door opens. He drives in and parks in a free
parking space that has his door number in it before he opens his door and steps
out, I reach down to get the takeaway container as the sound of one of the back
doors opening, some shuffling and then the door closing again sounds through
the quiet cab. I grab my phone off the dash and open the door to get out, my
boots land on the concrete and I stand, shoving my phone into my pants pocket,
my toothbrush clenched between my teeth.
I shut the door and Nigel locks the doors before I can open the back door to
get my bag and case, I look over at his questioningly and he holds up the items
in question, each strap handing from his hand as if they weigh nothing. I shrug
my shoulders and move around to the front of the car with the plastic container
in my hands. I take my toothbrush out of my mouth as I follow him.
Nigel grabs the takeaway box and tosses it into a trashcan on his way through a
door that leads into the shining lobby. He holds the door opened for me and I
have to duck under his arm to move past him and into the marble covered room.
Nigel closes the door behind him and takes my elbow in his hand, escorting me
through the shining fore and into the elevator.
The ride up is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. I pull my cellphone out and
type out a text message to Beth, telling her about the tea I had this morning,
expression my opinion on how I think that she would enjoy it, before I shove
the device back into my pocket.
The doors open, and Nigel and I make our way down the hallway. I twirl my
toothbrush between my hands as I wait for him to unlock and open the door. When
the lock flicks and the door is opened Nigel walks in first, he drops my bags
onto the couch before he disappears down the hall that leads to his bedroom.
I walk into the kitchen and turn on the tap before I proceed to wash my
toothbrush off and rinse my mouth out. I pull a paper towel from the dispenser,
set it on the counter, a rest my toothbrush down on it as I swish the cool
water around in my mouth.
I spit the saliva cocktail out into the sink before I cup my hands and use the
water to rinse the remains down the drain. I cup my hands under the faucet one
more time and bring them to my lips, drinking the cool water down greedily.  
Two large palms slide under my arms and come to rest against my ribs as Nigel
presses his body against my back, I shut the water off and dry my hands on
another paper towel as the fingers of his right hand grip the zipper to my
sweater and pull it down slowly. I swallow and take a deep breath, preparing
for the answer to the question I am about to ask.  
“Are-“ I choke as Nigel nuzzles my neck and slides his large hands up across my
ribs to cup my breasts, My body shivers, I press my thighs together as the
sticky heat crawls through my abdomen and my nipples pebble at both the chill
of the air and the warmth of Nigel’s hands.
“Are we going to have sex?” I ask bluntly, prepared for both answers and their
physical consequences.
Nigel’s tongue slides against the skin of my neck, “Yes.” He growls against the
soft flesh.
“I-I’ve never done this before.” I tell him as one of his hands slides down my
stomach and under the waistband of my pants, his fingers slide over my bare
mound before he slides his middle finger between my labia to press against my
clit. I whimper lowly and grip the counter.
“I know.” Nigel replies before he pulls my sweater off and lifts me from the
ground. His fingers don’t stop their movements as he carries me through the
living room and into his bedroom. He sets me down at the bottom of the bed, his
hand sliding out of my pants, and turns me around to face him before he leans
down and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
He pushes me down onto the bed before he kneels and removes my boots and socks.
After discarding my footwear, he sits up on his knees and slides his fingers
into the waistband of my pants and panties before he pulls them both down in
one smooth movement. They’re thrown in the direction of my boots as he crawls
onto the bed and rests his knees beside my hips, my torso is significantly
shorter than his, so he has to bend to reach my lips for the next kiss he gives
me.
His fingers slide into my hair as he works the burn and braid loose. When my
hair is freed, he pulls back and sits at the foot of the bed. I sit up to watch
him as he slides his shoes off, followed by his socks soon after, and loosens
his belt before he stands and unfastens his pants, sliding the zipper down and
letting them rest on his hips lazily as he waves his hand at me. I furrow my
brows at his odd movements and shake my head at him.
“Move back, I’m much taller than you are and your feet are hanging off the edge
of the mattress.”  Nigel says and I nod, turning around to crawl up to the
pillows. The windows are open and there is a slight breeze that pebbles my
flesh, so I slide between the sheets as I turn back to face him. He’s standing
at the foot of the bed, watching me, with one of his hands inside of his
boxers, his hand moving slightly under the fabric.
“Fucking beautiful.” He says as he pulls his shirt off, tossing it to his
right, and crawls up the bed towards me, his pants falling down further on his
hips. The muscles in his arms ripple as he stalks forward like a panther. He
grabs my knee through the covers and pulls me down on the bed, I land on my
back, as he continues his way up. My breath quickens as I stare up at his face,
his lips twitch as he leans down and pushes them against mine, his tongue push
into my mouth as a rolling shudder works through my body.
Nigel drags the covers off my body and lands beside me as he kicks his pants
and boxers off, I turn my head to look at him, but he’s back over me, pushing
my legs opened to make room for his body, before my vision can settle.  He
grips my hips and pulls me down further until the backs of my thighs rest on
top of his.
He sits back on his calves and runs his hands over my legs and stomach, my
insides curl and I feel moisture gathering inside of my labia. With my thighs
on his, he leans back over me and strokes my hair out of my face softly, his
eyes settling on my lips before he presses another long and through kiss to
them. His right hand slips out of my hair before he slides his fingers against
the heated flesh of my labia. He slips his fingers inside the petals and groans
as they are enveloped by the wetness.
He presses his thumb into my clit as his mouth teases mine and one of his large
fingers finds its way to my opening, circling softly before it pushes inside
and curls against the upper wall. I hum and my jaw spasm, my teeth biting into
his bottom lip harshly before I can regain control of the muscles.
“I’m sorry!” I gasp into his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind the harshness
of my bite and I’m not about to bring it to his attention.
His other arm moves from beside my head and his arm makes its way under my
lower back, causing me to arch over his forearm. My own hands, which I had been
holding uselessly against my chest, grip his biceps as he slides a second
finger inside of my body, the arm under my back seemingly intensifies the
sensitivity of the lower part of my body.
Nigel moves his mouth to suck and nip at my neck and I turn my head to the side
as he rocks his body with the movements of his fingers. The slightly familiar
feeling of warm honey seeping gout from my clit starts to spread, first across
my thighs, then up through my abdomen.
Nigel increases the speed of his fingers and uses the heel of his hand against
my clit instead of his thumb. The increased contact has my thighs twitching and
my tows curling. I tilt my head back as his fingers bump against the thin
membrane that would need to be stretched carefully to avoid tearing, and gasp,
my hands gripping at his back as he rocks over my body, his arm pulling my body
closer to his.
A groan slides out of his mouth as he slows his movements and his fingers large
fingers slip from my body. He rubs at my clit until I’m panting and my thighs
are squeezing his sides before he removes his hand. I can heel his hand bump
against my sensitive flesh a few times before he lifts his head and sucks his
fingers into his mouth, scooping the gathered saliva out with coiled fingers
before he rubs the slightly chilled slick against my opening.
He presses the tip of his penis against me and I tense, my muscles clenching
against the flesh that is in contact with my opening. Nigel hisses and brings
his left arm up to slide under my upper back, his hand splayed across the back
of my neck, before he pushes into me with a small pulse of his hips before he
draws back. I gasp at the almost uncomfortable stretch but my muscles relax at
his retreat.
He continues this way until he’s worked the head of his penis inside of me. I
wait, careful not to allow my muscles to contracts, for him to pull back out,
but instead he continues forward, pushing deeper inside of my body until he
meets the fragile membrane. He tighten his grips on my body, the hand that had
been splayed against my lower back moves further under my body and curls over
my side slightly and his fingers coil against my neck and shoulder, before he
pulls me forcefully down the bed, sheathing himself fully inside of my body.
A broken sob crawls up my throat as I dig my nails into his back and tighten my
limbs around his body, my stomach heaves as the muscles in my abdomen try to
force him out of my body. I long, low, keen works its way from my mouth as
Nigel rocks his body into mine, my legs pushing higher up his body as he
thrusts forward. Nigel groans as leans up to press soft kisses into my neck,
murmuring Romanian into my skin.
The pain doesn’t exactly go away, but it fades and I’m left with an not
entirely unpleasant ache after a few minutes of Nigel’s rhythmic movements. He
releases my neck and moves his hand back down to stroke my clit softly,
carefully, so as not to overload my achy flesh. His thrusts increase and my
body slides against the sheets, I groan as he nudges against a soft barrier
inside of me, causing my cervix to cramp slightly. And press my mouth into his
shoulder.
Nigel’s fingers speed up, making me arch further and whimper into his skin, my
abdomen clenching as my body is forced to move past the achy feeling and
embrace the pleasure pulsing through it. Nigel unwraps his other arm from under
my back and slams it into the bed beside my shoulder, his fingers curling over
the flesh as his movements increase, my body rocking with his as he bumps into
my inner wall again in his haste. A growl rips from his throat before his hips
slam into mine, causing me to cry out in bursts of pain, before his penis
pulses inside of me and A burning heat fills me, the added lubricant makes
Nigel glide much easier inside of my body, but is stings the torn flesh there
also. After a few more soft thrusts, Nigel stills and presses his panting mouth
against my neck.
My body slowly relaxes, my calves falling over Nigel’s hips loosely as he runs
his hands over my body soothingly, my body still pulses around his softening
penis, trying to chases after an orgasm, feeling owed one after what it had
just been put through. Nigel’s large palm slides over my abdomen, almost
apologetically before he removes himself from my body, I hiss as my muscles
tighten as he leaves an empty feeling inside of me.    
Nigel sits back on his knees and looks at my face, his thumb wiping the still-
moist tears off of my skin, as I look back at him, my face splotchy from the
bursts of pleasure and pain. I pull my legs together around his hips until my
thighs touch, my claves against his sides.
Nigel stares at me for a moment, calculatingly, before he reaches down, grabs
the covers, and throws them over his head, his body disappearing under the
heavy duvet as his body flattens against the mattress.  I frown as I feel him
blow against my stomach, and gasp as his fingers splay my labia and his mouth
envelopes the still sensitive flesh.
 
 
End Notes
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