Behind the Eightball

         He laid there, trying not to move. Hoping she didn't notice that he had been gone. He blinked sweat out of his eyes. The window was cracked open letting in a gentle breeze, swirling through the bedroom. She nestled her head into his bare chest. Could she hear how fast his heart was beating? It wasn't much faster than how it usually was whenever she touched his skin.

                   But now was different.

         He finally began to control his breathing, his chest rising and falling slower and at a more steady pace. She moved her hand up his arm. Would she feel how hot his skin was? She was cold as marble to him.
The sun began to rise. He struggled to keep his eyes closed. She wasn't awake yet, and he didn't look forward to having to come clean.

         Clean.

He didn't even want to be there, but it was his deplorable job.
         Once again.

Eyes shut, he saw the night flash before him. The smell of the gun powder, still alive in his nose, hardly covered up the smell of the fish and sea spray.

         It was necessary to bump him off, the guys told him when they met up in the smoky and dim pool hall. "I mean, you know this already. You mess with the Boss and get on his bad side, you can't be helped." The voice echoed in his memory, muffling the shots that were fired.
         Then things got out of hand quickly. A stool-pigeon, watching nearby, sent for some coppers.

run

         Run

                   RUN

                             Get Out Of Here!

         He opened his eyes to the blue hazy light of dawn, pouring in through the dirty window. The L line train clattered a few blocks away. His black pinstriped fedora hung on the bedpost, the shadow cast made it look like there was someone standing there. His wing-tipped shoes, caked with cement, were sitting dejected in the corner. He had managed to wash the sticky dried blood off of his hands and most of the smells of the evening from his body in the icy shower before he laid down.

         When the hellish event he had participated in had ended, he ran back towards the city from the rundown part of town they were just in. He was nearing the area where he first met his love a year or so ago. She stood against the wall with sad eyes and sadder clothes in his memory, offering love or dancing to men in the dance hall. He passed by the same hall, hoping no one had seen him. He slid into the shadows as a policeman made his rounds in his car, the headlights piercing the darkness like two diamond studs. The cop ducked into a speakeasy that he was on the payroll for and loud jazz flowed as full as the booze as the door opened. He continued on home once the coast was clear. The candy-striped barber’s pole hung crooked, the last piece of a memory of a good childhood. He knew he was almost home.

         Almost Safe.

                   But never free from fate.

Things would have to change, but he couldn't figure how.

         He snapped back to reality when she shifted off of him and turned over to face him. Her calm and loving cornflower eyes met his sorrowful hazelnut ones. He at least managed to cover his frantic fear and worries. Her eyes searched over his pale alabaster face.

         "I dreamt you and the boys went down to the docks. You'se guys met a man and filled 'im with daylight*."

She smiled. "But I know you don't do that anymore."

         "Don't worry about it doll." he tousled her still wavy umber hair. "It was just a dream." He smiled back. It was a smile between the one that made her melt and the one that let her know she's safe with him.

"I know." She moved back into his arms and closed her eyes. Her make-up was gently smudged around her eyes, making the dark circles from the long nights of worry look like a deep plunging abyss in her pale face. Her lips were still faintly stained with a color of lipstick she hasn't worn in years.

         He always wanted her to feel safe. He would, and already had, risked his life for her. He lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips. Despite her difficult life that he saved her from, she was his "pure, innocent" angel, his savior from the world. It's a pity he can't be saved. Looking into her eyes, he could see his future, everything he had ever wanted or dreamed of. He knew what he should do to set everything right.

         But he couldn't.



                   One last thought crossed his mind that night.



         No matter what it took, he would never let her fall back into that life of lies and deceit. He never wanted to watch her walking through the red light district again.
He was determined.

                   She would never find out.

He finally drifted off to sleep to the sound of the rhythmic dripping from their new ice box.

         She didn't fall asleep as quicky as he thought. Again she glanced back up at his tired, but calm face.Gently, she swept the deep chocolate fringe of hair out of his eyes and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand, tracing past his jawline and lips with her fingertips.
         "I know." She whispered sadly. "I know all about it and I hope to God you never find out. For your sake, for mine."
She rested her head on his chest and tried to ignore the feeling of her heart breaking realizing they had fallen back into the clutches of the life they hated and tried so hard to leave behind.
         She let out a silent prayer he hadn't seen her in the dance hall earlier that night as she closed her eyes.



1920's slang:
*Behind the eight ball: in a tight spot, a difficult situation.
*Daylight, as in "fill him with daylight": Put a hole in, by shooting or stabbing