My brows pinch together and I go to protest before snapping my lips shut. The room remains quiet other than the sound of the spoon scraping the bowl.
When I’m done, I hold the bowl out beside Enzo’s head, my arm trembling slightly. He takes it from my grasp, putting it on the ground next to him. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush to leave the room.
I sigh, laying back down and pulling the covers up to my neck. I haven’t been able to shake the chills since I woke up. I close my eyes, sinking into the soft pillow.
But sleep evades me.
“If you could go back in time, would you still choose to get involved with the Costa family?” I’m not sure where the question comes from, but since Enzo seems to want to linger, the least he can do is entertain me.
It takes so long for him to answer that I think he isn’t going to.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Maximo.” The way he says his name, so soft and so warm, it changes the air in the room, making it more intimate.
Love, that’s what the softness and warmth in his voice is.
Must be nice.
Love means he wouldn’t allow anyone to drown Maximo without stepping in and vice versa.
“I would think he’s the reason you’d want to leave. He’s a monster.”
“Maybe,” again, his voice is soft. “But I love him.” I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s capable of saying the words aloud.
You have to love someone such as Maximo to put up with the shit that Enzo does, but still… The ability to admit that you love such a person…
“It has to take a strong heart to love such a fucked up soul.”
“Not so much as strong, but loyal,” he says.
Silence encompasses the room.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“What?”
“Your favorite color,” he repeats. “What is it?”
“Purple,” it takes a moment for it to sink in that he actually asked such a simple question and something about it makes me want to continue talking to him. “What’s yours?”
“Black.”
“Of course it is.”
He chuckles and the sound is so beautiful that I have to lift my head to peer over at him. But the sun has set even further and I can only see a silhouette of the side of his face.
Maybe it's best that way.
“What are you doing here, Enzo?” The question leaves my lips, a little breathless, but the weight of my words are heavy in the room.
I don’t think Enzo is going to respond for a moment, but finally, he does, “I don’t know.”
And I can’t be pissed at him for the answer, because at least it's truthful. And frankly, I’m not put off by his presence. It’s lonely being in here balled up in the covers, feeling like death warmed over.
“Okay.”