You'll Find Me Under the Stars

{Max - two weeks later; Italy}

I walked down a cobblestone alley of a small city in Italy. I couldn’t remember what city it was. Every place began running together in a sickening stream. Take one road to the next. Storm one brothel after another. I had begun to create a pattern; a rhythm.

I hated it.

The night was coming fast but the air was still heavy with heat. My head hung low as a few lights along the street slowly lit up. I took a sharp left up a flight of stairs. There were a few doors leading into homes and apartments but there was one in particular I was searching for.

This door was a faded burgundy color with a brass nob scuffed with much use. On my right, there it was hidden in a deep shadow. I rapped my knuckled twice on the door in a rapid succession before waiting a heartbeat to knock three times in a timely manner. The door creaked open slowly to reveal a young man with a suspicious glare.

I stared at him menacingly. “Stand down.” I muttered threateningly in my natural tongue.

I swiftly realized that the male was roughly older than me but I knew I would be able to promptly kill him if it came to that. In which, it did. He attempted to run a short knife into my abdomen. I countered it easily by grabbing his arm and twisting it behind him. He grunted in pain. I pulled up rapidly so that a satisfying ‘pop’ met my ears.

The man yelped out in pain. It, however, became muffled by my hand grabbing his face and pulling his head around. A simple crack told me that his neck had snapped as I had wished. His body weight pulled me down momentarily. I dragged him further into the building and propped him against the wall.

Before anymore could possibly be witnessed, I shut the door and proceeded to enter through the dimly lit hallway. Screaming was muffled by the walls - or rags – and the place reeked of disgusting body fluids; all kinds of body fluids that is.

I opened each door and shined a small flashlight I had produced from my pocket. Disgusting males fucking nearly lifeless girls ignored me when I briefly entered each room. I wrinkled my nose at the rancid smell perforating from them.

Each girl, whether awake or not, disappointed me strongly. None were my Desiree. I was glad for that but sorely depressed all in the same note. My love was somewhere, enduring nightmarish actions. My stomach churned and I had to brace myself against the wall. I began dry-heaving. This had become a rather common occurrence as of late. My dreams were becoming extensively horrific; causing me to have difficulties in holding anything substantial down. It was making me weak.

I hated it.

I continued further down the hall until I came to the “break room.” They all seemed to look the same. There was a dirty table in the middle of the room with plastic, cheap chairs surrounding it. Cards, drinking glasses, and cigarette butts littered the entire tabletop. A dirty sink was near the wall with a dingy fridge not too far. One single bulb lit the dirty space. Other than these few essentials, the room was bare of any other miscellaneous items.

However, this room was occupied. Five men sat around the table playing cards with cigarettes or cigars sticking out of their mouths. German beer sat next to two men while glasses filled with burgundy colored liquid were near the other three. All five men had facial hair of some sort but none were neatly trim. Most of them had dark hair that stuck in dirty disarray around their faces.

“Dzhentl'meny!” (Gentlemen!) I threw my hands into the air before letting them fall heavily beside my body. I smiled wide in mock joy. I recognized a few of the men playing cards.

When none of them replied, I switched my tongue to Italian. I knew they understood Russian but one of the men seemed confused. “Fratello! Non ti riconosci un tuo amico? Maxim?” (Essentially: Brothers! Do you not recognize your friend? Maxim?)

Recognition lit four out of the five faces that had been staring at me in hard suspicion and caution. Greetings in Italian and Russian met my ears.

My eyes, however, never left the single man staring at me with a blank expression. He was the only one that had dirty blonde hair and a rather round face. He seemed lanky and weak but throughout my young years, I knew indefinitely that looks were deceiving in this kind of game.

The four gentlemen clapped me on the shoulders and shook my hands. I replied to their question as to why I was here by saying that I was looking for a fun time while I seeked out my uncle. The guys laughed and offered me drinks. I agreed and questioned what game they were playing. It was just typical poker; nothing too fancy.

I seated myself across from the blonde gentleman. He eyed me with an underlying hatred. A hatred I didn’t know the reason for. I smirked at him before turning to my partner on my left. I couldn’t remember any names. I never cared to when it concerned these types of men. They were all easily disposable; dead to me. They were, in fact, worse than me. But who am I to judge another man just because he sins differently than me?

Chaos ripped from a hallway near upstairs. A thud sounded before an ear-piercing scream followed. A name was screeched out before another thud.

My heart froze.

Did she say… Max?