Feeling sick as she walked up to the door, Nat lightly lifted her hand to the wood to knock. Was right now the best time to bring this up? Maybe she should just run to her room and lock up, like she had been doing the last few weeks. But that was no way to live. Nat shifted in front of the door, pulling at some of her hair as she waited for Vito to answer. She needed to talk to him, if anything. She missed him too much to wait any longer.
The darkness in the room matched the mood worn on Vito’s face, contour, full of hidden secrets that would not be revealed until the light shed onto it. The man seldom took to brooding these days, not with Natalia about, showing him the brighter side life held beyond the lonely years he spent drifting through belfries and through darkened backstreets. When the knock comes at the door, he stirs, looking toward it for a good while, as though it might spring to life and put him down as the Military Police had done to many others before—almost did to Natalia. Had he not been there…
Sometimes the thought lingers on his shoulders, like Altus, carrying the world’s weight on his shoulders, seeing what first will give, his strength and tenacity or everything else. With Natalia, they were like boats passing in the night, able to do little more than cast a light to let the other know they’re there and drift away. Slowly Vito comes to a stand, approaching the door with tentative steps guiding him forward, his hand resting and the flat, cool, heavy wood that made up the door. Even slower, he slides it open, peering out, a yellow slit framing his eye and the tangled brush he called hair lately and the downward tug on his lips. He attempts to feign a smile. It doesn’t last.
"Yes, Nattia?" -
