The warm noon sun filters through the quaint restaurant’s windows. The air is thick with the aroma of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread, a symphony of scents that transport me back to the bustling streets of Italy. Around us, the gentle clinking of cutlery and the soft murmur of conversation create a soothing background ambiance.
I’m seated at a small, round table with Skye and Lucy. The intimate setting forces us into close proximity, our knees occasionally brushing under the table. It’s a stark contrast to the vastness of the city outside, where towering skyscrapers loom over the narrow, winding streets of Boston’s historic North End.
Skye and Lucy sit in front of me, both dressed in casual attire. Despite that, there’s an undeniable aura of power that surrounds Skye, drawing admiring glances from other patrons.
The conversation between Skye and Lucy feels forced, their words stilted and overly polite. It’s like watching two predators circle each other, each wary of making the first move. The tension is palpable, hanging in the air like a heavy fog.
“It’s so wonderful to have Luke back,” Skye says, her voice sweet as she reaches for my hand on the table. Her fingers intertwine with mine, her grip just a little too tight to be entirely comfortable. “Isn’t it, Lucy?”
Lucy’s jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Her eyes flick to our joined hands before meeting Skye’s gaze. “Yeah,” she agrees, her tone carefully neutral. “It’s great.”
I can feel the weight of unspoken words pressing down on us, threatening to shatter this fragile facade of normalcy. Lucy’s restraint is evident in the way she grips her water glass, her knuckles white with the effort of holding back.
As Lucy and Skye continue their strained conversation, their words fading into a dull buzz in my ears, I become aware of animated chatter from the table behind me. A group of young women are giggling and whispering, their voices gradually rising as they get caught up in their stories.
“I can’t believe you actually did it!” one woman exclaims, her voice tinged with a mixture of awe and amusement. “You really subscribed to Wonder Guy’s OnlyFans?”
“Shh!” another woman hisses, embarrassment evident in her tone. “Not so loud! But... yeah, I did.”
“Oh my god!” a third voice chimes in. “What was it like? Does he show cock and balls?”
The woman who subscribed sighs heavily. “It was... okay, I guess. Lots of shirtless workout videos and stuff. But then I saw he was offering pussy ratings.”
The table erupts into laughter.
“You didn’t!” one friend gasps.
“I did,” the subscriber admits, her voice a mixture of defiance and regret. “I paid for a rating and everything.”
There’s a moment of tense silence before one of her friends asks, “Well? What did he say?”
The woman’s voice is small when she replies, “He... he gave me a 4.”
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the clatter of a fork against a plate at their table. Then, as if a dam has burst, her friends explode into an even more aggressive laughter.
“A 4?!” one wheezes between guffaws. “Out of what, 5?”
“Out of 10,” the rated woman grumbles, her voice thick with humiliation.
“Dude,” one friend manages to say once she’s caught her breath. “How could you pay for a pussy rating and get a 4? Your roast beef must be gross!”
“Shut up!” the rated woman snaps, but her friends are too far gone, overcome by the hilarity of the situation.
“I can’t believe Wonder Guy is out here crushing dreams and pussies,” another friend chokes out between giggles. “Imagine paying good money just to get your coochie roasted!”
I’m so caught up in eavesdropping on the women’s conversation that I’ve completely tuned out Skye and Lucy. Their words fade into background noise as I strain to hear more details about Wonder Guy’s OnlyFans exploits. A part of me feels guilty for ignoring them, but I can’t seem to tear my attention away from the mind-blowing tea happening behind me.
Suddenly, I feel a sharp squeeze on my hand, instantly snapping me back to the present moment. I blink rapidly, my eyes refocusing on Skye’s face. Her emerald eyes are narrowed slightly, a mix of amusement and annoyance dancing in their depths.
“Were you listening to us?” Skye asks, her voice low and tinged with a hint of warning. “We asked you what do you want for lunch.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I realize how obvious my distraction must have been. “Oh, um, sorry,” I stammer, scrambling to collect my thoughts. “I’ll have the chicken alfredo.”
The girls behind me pipe up again, their voices growing louder as they get more animated. Their crude language and boisterous laughter reminds me more of rowdy frat boys than the women I’m used too.
“Dude, you won’t believe what I’ve been doing,” one of them says, her voice filled with mischievous glee. “I’ve been saving my boyfriend’s cum inside 2-liter bottles.”
“What the actual fuck?!” one friend wheezes.
“Shut up, shut up!” another hisses, barely containing her own laughter. “Let her cook. Let her cook!”
The original girl lowers her voice, but in the sudden hush that’s fallen over their table, her words carry clearly to my ears. “I’m waiting for him to fill two bottles,” she explains, her tone a mix of pride and barely contained excitement. “And then... I can’t wait to just dump them all over myself.”
‘That would take years wouldn’t it?’
I can’t help it. The sheer insanity of the situation, combined with the mental image her words conjure, causes me to let out a loud, involuntary bark of laughter. The sound echoes through the restaurant, drawing curious glances from nearby tables.
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Skye and Lucy exchange a glance, their earlier tension momentarily forgotten in the face of my unexpected outburst. Skye’s emerald eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of curiosity and concern swirling in their depths. Lucy leans forward, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Luke, you keep zoning out,” Skye says, her voice low and tinged with a hint of exasperation. “What are you even laughing at?”
Lucy nods in agreement, her eyes scanning my face as if searching for clues. “Yeah, you’ve been distracted this whole time. What’s going on?”
I feel a flush creep up my neck, suddenly aware of how obvious my eavesdropping must have been. Leaning in close, I lower my voice to a whisper, conscious of the other diners around us.
“The girls behind us. They’re having the craziest conversation.” I whisper.
Skye’s eyebrow arches elegantly, a flicker of interest dancing in her emerald eyes. Lucy’s expression shifts from confusion to curiosity, her head tilting slightly as if trying to catch a snippet of the conversation herself.
“What are they talking about?” Lucy asks, her voice hushed but eager.
“Well,” I begin, my voice still low, “first, they were talking about some superhero named Wonder Guy who has an OnlyFans account. Apparently, he offers pussy ratings and one of the girls paid for one only to get a 4 out of 10.”
Skye’s eyes widen slightly, a mix of disbelief and disgust dancing in their emerald depths. Lucy’s mouth drops open, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
“But that’s not even the craziest part,” I continue, leaning in even closer. “One of them just announced she’s been saving her boyfriend’s jizz in 2-liter bottles. She wants to fill two of them and then dump it all over herself.”
Skye’s lips curve into a wry smile as she shakes her head slowly. “Girls will be girls, after all,” she says, her voice a blend of exasperation and fondness.
‘What the fuck?’
Lucy nods, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “It’s a shame to see Wonder Guy stooping as low as pussy ratings, though,” Lucy muses, her voice tinged with disappointment.
“He’s a mockery of all capes,” Skye declares, her voice low but intense. “To fall so far as to sell yourself to ants. It’s disgusting.”
Lucy’s eyebrow arches slightly at Skye’s words. But she seems to decide against pursuing the topic, instead turning her attention to me.
“So, Luke, I’m heading back today.”
I nod, feeling a mixture of emotions swirl within me. There’s a tinge of sadness at her departure, but also a sense of relief that the tension-filled lunch is coming to an end.
“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” I reply.
Lucy smiles. “I already got your number earlier from Skye, so we can call each other whenever, and I’ll be home for Christmas.”
“It was nice to see you again,” I say, the words feeling inadequate in the face of the kindness she showed me, but I’m at a loss for what to say. I was never good at talking with her after i started dating Skye.
Skye, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly speaks up. Her voice is smooth as silk, but there’s an undercurrent of possessiveness. “Don’t feel like you need to rush back, though,” she says, her emerald eyes fixed on Lucy with an intensity that seems to make the very air between them crackle with energy.
Lucy’s eyes flash with barely contained anger, her jaw clenching so tightly I can almost hear her teeth grinding. For a moment, I fear Lucy might lunge across the table, consequences be damned.
But then, with visible effort, Lucy takes a deep breath. Her shoulders relax incrementally.
“For Luke’s sake,” Lucy says, her gaze boring into Skye’s, “we should at least attempt to be cordial with one another.”
Skye’s emerald eyes narrow dangerously, a predatory gleam dancing in their depths. Her lips curve into a smile that’s all teeth, sharp and menacing. When she speaks, her voice is silky smooth but laced with venom.
“I’m sorry,” Skye purrs, not sounding sorry at all, “I must have forgotten when I had to listen to those beneath me.”
The words hang in the air like a gauntlet thrown, daring Lucy to respond. I watch, heart pounding, as Lucy’s face cycles through a range of emotions, shock, hurt, and finally, a simmering rage that turns her brown eyes to molten copper.
I feel a wave of déjà vu wash over me, memories of similar scenes playing out with my late wife. The same possessive energy, the same dismissive cruelty towards my sister, it’s all hauntingly familiar. A knot forms in my stomach, guilt and frustration warring within me.
‘God, it was even worse last time, though.’
With a heavy sigh, I reach out and gently touch Skye’s hand. The contact seems to break the spell, both women’s attention snapping to me. I can feel the weight of their gazes, expectant and intense.
Skye’s expression shifts to something a bit more smug. Then, with a casualness that contradicts the charged atmosphere, she asks a question that makes my blood run cold.
“So, Luke, which one of us do you like better?”
I stare at Skye in disbelief for a moment, her words echoing in my ears. Then, without warning, a bubble of laughter erupts from deep within me. It starts as a low chuckle but quickly builds into a full-blown guffaw that shakes my entire body. Tears spring to my eyes as I struggle to catch my breath, each new wave of laughter more intense than the last.
Through my genuine joy, I manage to pat Skye’s hand affectionately. “You sweet, demented, broken woman,” I wheeze out between fits of giggles.
My outburst draws curious glances from nearby tables.
Lucy and Skye exchange bewildered glances, their earlier hostility momentarily forgotten in the face of my unexpected reaction. Lucy’s brow furrows deeply, creating a small canyon between her eyebrows. Skye’s mouth hangs slightly open, her usually sharp emerald eyes wide with confusion.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, wiping tears from my eyes. “It’s just... oh God...” Another wave of giggles overtakes me, and I have to take a few deep breaths to regain some semblance of composure.
Finally, still chuckling, I manage to explain. “My late wife,” I say, my voice rough from laughing, “she asked me the exact same question once when we were out to eat, just like this. It literally destroyed my relationship with my sister.”
I shake my head, a mixture of amusement and nostalgia washing over me. “God bless you for never changing, Skye.”
Lucy frowns at me, her brow furrowing deeply. “Luke,” she says slowly, her voice tinged with worry, “you might be more broken than she is.”
Skye’s emerald eyes narrow, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Her jaw clenches, a muscle twitching visibly as she struggles to contain her reaction. When she speaks, her voice is low and tight, barely controlled anger simmering beneath the surface. “Don’t bring up your ex-wife,” she hisses, her fingers curling into fists on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth.
The intensity of Skye’s reaction, so eerily similar to my late Skye’s jealousy, sends me into another fit of laughter. It bubbles up from deep within me, uncontrollable and slightly manic.
I struggle to catch my breath, my sides aching from the force of my laughter. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I manage to calm myself. The laughter subsides, leaving behind a profound silence that seems to stretch between us like an invisible thread.
With deliberate slowness, I reach out and take Skye’s hand again. Her skin is warm against mine. I look into her green eyes, seeing the swirling mix of confusion, anger, and something deeper, more vulnerable.
“Skye,” I say, my voice hoarse from laughing but filled with an intensity that surprises even me. “I don’t care what you do, what you are. I need you. I can’t lose you again.”
A smile tugs at my lips, affectionate and slightly rueful. “Love me, smile with me, get mad at me, punish me, ruin me. I don’t care about anything else. As long as you do it with me.”
“What the fuck?” Skye finally manages to whisper, her voice barely audible over the ambient noise of the restaurant. Despite her words, her hands clutch mine even tighter, as if afraid I might disappear if she lets go. The conflict playing out across her face is mesmerizing.
Lucy’s gaze darts between Skye and me, her brown eyes wide with a mixture of concern and fear.
“Luke, I don’t want to lose my brother again,” Lucy says, her words tinged with a desperation that tugs at my heart.
Skye blinks rapidly as if coming out of a trance.
“Fine, fine,” Skye says, her voice regaining its usual authoritative tone, though there’s a slight tremor. “We’ll see you on Christmas.”
“Sounds good. Christmas it is, then,” she says, her voice carrying a note of finality tinged with newfound optimism.