1
Lucca
I look at the four bare walls of my two-bedroom house and smile. It’s fucking stupid to smile over something as simple as barren walls, but I can’t help it. When you grow up with nothing of your own, nothing that has ever truly been yours, a pair of shoes, or even a bed, you smile at the stupid things, like getting your own place.
The neighborhood is shitty, and since moving in two days ago, I’ve heard police sirens and fighting out in the halls, all hours of the day.
It’s not the best fucking place in town, but it’s good enough for me. At eighteen, there isn’t much I care about. Pussy and money are the most important things in my life.
I walk into what would be the living room if I had a couch or something to sit on. When I moved in, I got the bare minimum, a bed, some pots and pans, even though I don’t cook, and a few other odds and ends. Working for the Moretti crime family doesn’t leave much downtime, but when I’m not working, this will be my go-to place.
The best thing about this place, if you could find a silver lining in a piece of shit hell hole like this, is the back porch. The houses are close together, but I’ve been out in the backyard twice now and have yet to see another person.
Walking through the living room, I stop when I reach the back door. My fingers graze the cold copper doorknob as I look through the dirty glass. I’m not sure why, but I’m shocked to find a little girl sitting outside in the grass, her eyes glued on my door.
The door creaks loudly as I open it, and the cool autumn breeze slaps me in the face. The little girl doesn’t even move, or blink. She just remains sitting, staring at me with big green eyes as if she is in awe.
As I step out onto the porch, I get a better look at her and find she can’t be much older than ten. Her hair is red, bright red, the kind that would get you made fun of in school. I’m tempted to walk across the grass to get a better look at her features but realize a moment later that would probably scare her.
Still, my feet move without thought, and I stop just a few feet from her. She cranes her neck back to continue staring at me, and I notice the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I can tell she is poor, just as most people in this neighborhood are, the purple sweater she is wearing is ripped at the cuff, and the colors on the printed butterfly on her chest are faded.
She keeps staring at me, like she can’t believe I’m standing here.
“My name’s Lucca, and your what’s name?” I pause for a fraction of a second, “Butterfly?” I point to her shirt and smile.
She looks down at the butterfly on her shirt, and then back up at me. Her gaze never wavers. In fact, the intensity of her stare grows, becoming two weights that press down on my shoulders.
Even though she is a little girl, I can only imagine all that she’s been through in such a small amount of time. If she’s living here, she’s seen things, probably experienced things. There are far worse hardships in life than being poor.
“Do you speak, butterfly?” I ask, even though I should turn around and walk my ass back inside.
Her green eyes glisten like small emeralds in the afternoon sun. All she does is nod her head, no words passing her lips—annoyance tugs at the back of my mind.
Why hasn’t she spoken?
Maybe because you’re a stranger, idiot?
“I just moved in next door. I saw you through the window staring at me.” I sigh and scratch at the back of my head with one of my hands. “You know, this is a bad neighborhood. You shouldn’t be sitting outside by yourself.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
She shrugs, unfazed by my words. Obviously, she knows the type of people that lurk around these places. So why sit here? Does she not care? Or does she think no one will hurt her because she is a girl? Either way, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her out here alone.
“Where are your parents?” Maybe if I give them a scolding and scare them a little bit, they won’t just let their daughter sit outside by herself.
At the mere mention of her parents, fear flashes across her face, lighting up her features like a lightning bolt zinging across the stormy night sky. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. As soon as the look appears, it’s gone, and I wonder, for a millisecond, if I imagined seeing it.
My lips part and the next question I plan to ask her is hanging on the tip of my tongue. It’s then that the loud creak of a door meets my ears, and I look up and over the girl’s head to find a large man about as tall as me, stepping out onto the porch. That must be her father.
His gaze is murderous as it lands on me, and I can tell in an instant that there is something else about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Butterfly turns and peers over her shoulder at him.
“Get your little ass back in the house right now!” The man glowers at her, and like an obedient doll, butterfly pushes off the ground and strides through the grass.
I clench my hands into tight fists, unsure why I feel a protective pull toward this girl. My eyes remain on her the entire time, and I catch the way her body stiffens just the slightest as she slips past the man and into the house.
Something is off about him and about her, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. His gaze narrows, and he stares at me, for another second, before walking into the house. The door closes with a creak, and then he is gone, right along with butterfly. I shake off the bad feeling and head back into my house, leaving the nameless girl in the back of my mind.
2
Claire
I know it’s rude to watch people. To stare at them. I don’t like it when people stare at me, but I can’t help myself. Ever since he moved in a few weeks ago, I’m fascinated by the man that calls himself Lucca. I wonder if he would like to be my friend. I know he is older, but a friend can be anyone, and I want Lucca to be mine.
A frown forms on my face at the reminder of my lack of friends. I have no one to talk to, no one that likes me. My father only lets me leave the house for school, and the kids at school all think I’m weird because my clothes are old and stained. I wouldn’t dare embarrass myself further by explaining to them that my mother left and that my father, even though he works, likes to drink most of our money away.
“I don’t want you outside. Stay in the house, Claire. If I come home and find out you’ve been outside, I’ll lock you up.” The vein on the side of his head bulges, and his fists tighten. My entire body tenses, and my heart thunders in my chest.
Is he going to hit me again?
The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I keep it a secret, mainly because no one would care anyway, and also because I’m more afraid of losing my father than I am of his fists.
“I’ll stay inside. I promise.” I let the lie roll off my tongue. He has no way of knowing if I go out, I just have to be careful.
The disapproving look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply heads for the door and walks out, slamming it closed behind him.
I’m bouncing on the heels of my feet with excitement when I rush toward the back porch and press my face against the cold window to look outside. As soon as I spot Lucca sitting on his porch, I unlock the door and pull it open. Happiness bubbles up in my belly, and it feels like Christmas morning back when Momma and Daddy were both home, and Daddy wasn’t drinking or raising his fists to momma or me.