Maid for the Mafia by Jaylee

The Most Pathetic

**ROMANY**

"You are telling me-" I began softly, my eyes darting about Mickey's face as the shock of his admission skyrockets through me, "-that you have been stalking me all of this time..." He nods and I swallow what feels like a thistle in my throat. "...All the way up til the day I was tossed onto the street and scrambling to Alex's nightclub to meet my cousin..." my teeth clench, anger fissuring through me as I recall how I collapsed in a heap of shattered rubble and *screamed up at the night sky* on the very, very tiny, four foot by three foot alcove of the duplex Matthew and I had shared an apartment in. My face had been *covered* in the shame of my stupidity and my tears had been mingled with the snot of an abandoned wretch... a silly easily duped girl who had lost *everything* that meant *anything* to her long before Matthew had come along.

Matthew had managed to turn me into a *victim.* A casualty. Prey.

That night my knees were wet with the muddied footprints of all those who had traveled in or out of the commons and my identity had been ripped free of my person and then tossed upon the shell that remained. Simply left to hang like a flag of disgrace around my humiliated form as I whimpered and moaned at *nothing* and *no one.* Bawling and begging for Matthew to explain why he was doing me that way - why he was *ending* us.

It was hands down *the most pathetic* moment of my entire existence and at the time I thought that just the memory of it would be more than enough to keep me humble for the rest of my days.

But I was wrong.

felt only moments ago and replace it with inviolable rage. Suddenly my heart is thundering in my head and my eyes are hot with anger. "You could have stopped it," I hiss, my head jerking up as I inhale a sharp and painful breath, and Mickey jerks as if he's been slapped. "You could have stopped *him!* You could have changed *everything for me*... you *could have saved me from..."* I bite back the accusation, flinching as I'm suddenly on the verge of hyperventilation. I school my breaths so that I can get ahead of what's happening and prevent my little meltdown from becoming what might very well be an irreparable break in my sanity. My head is shaking back

just wait a minute, doll," he grumbles, his eyes searching mine for whatever theories or presumptions he believes I may have conjured for myself. With an incredulous shake of his head he chuckles "Let me make one thing *absolutely fucking clear," he spits between clenched teeth, his voice

*Four fingered what? Huh?*

he snaps, growling as he flexes his hands, releasing my bicep. With an angry huff he cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders as if to ease the wind of his suddenly rusted muscles. I'm *sorely* tempted to reach around and knead the kinks out myself when he snaps out, "I told myself doing so would be taking things too far. Following you around just to get to know you was one thing, but..." he pauses, shaking his head at himself before he continues, "Spying on you that way would have been like feeding the beast you awoke in me that first day I saw you. I would have transgressed into someone much worse than I am now. It would have been like *robbing* you of your free will.That... and if anyone ever found out, I'd be finished. Toast. The bosses? They would have fucking killed me and treated it like a favor! But that wasn't the worst thing that could've happened," Mickey chuckles humorlessly, his perfectly styled hair suddenly spiking with tension as he snakes a hand through it. Mickey, grins at the floorboard, straightening in his seat and laughing toward the ground as if he and the Under King are sharing a little inside jokes with one another. Suddenly, Mickey tips his head to the side, his chocolate brown hair falling boyishly over his forehead as he meets my eyes. "The bosses probably would have decided to teach me a lesson and give me

I try to play

I'd mistakenly hoped that we were headed. Mickey clamps his eyes shut for a moment, shrugging his shoulders in defeat, "I-I'm sorry, doll... I

expel the tension that *I unwillingly created* for him, he begins to unbutton his coat. My appreciative gaze draws over his movements, languidly tracing upon each and every ripple of strength that precedes the other. Every intricately carved limb... every bulging of stone... the shift and pull of his mostly unconscious muscles - which I just so happen to know, feel like marble beneath my fingertips when I stroke them and like silken fire when *they stroke me -* dance symmetrically with only the barest provocation. All that he owns and all that he does - I can see flex in harmony beneath his painted clothes. The precision of him... the finely tuned *balance* he presents... it was

rumor going around campus claiming that the professor had taken a less than respectable interest in you, I was out of town closing the deal for your-" he flinches so slightly that the twitching it's almost unnoticeable "-for my restaurant and couldn't leave until I had every last signature that I needed. So, it took me a couple of days before I headed back. But the moment I arrived I sought you out..." Again, he chuckles, this time almost sadly, "Bruno had overheard the prick getting onto you about wearing skirts and form fitting tops - and basically just dressing like a

beneath my chin and tugging me forward until I can peer directly into the abysmal