promise me that you'll
make this city burn
city burn
i don't care what it takes,
it's what we deserve
we deserve
–corbin

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             I'M SEATED BETWEEN A cousin I last saw when I was twelve, and some relative I've never met in my life.

Not a millimeter of the table was visible, as it was wholly occupied by an abundance of fancy dishes, utensils, and napkins. In my mere line of sight, I could see an assortment of gravy, a green bean casserole, sizzling gratin, and two maids' hands snaking around the dishes to serve everyone simultaneously.

I feel like puking my lungs out.

I need a cigarette. I need to see the woman that got me hooked on cigarettes because I was hooked on the sight of her. Caterina's eyes follow me everywhere I look, two twinkling turquoise spots telling me not to leave her.

What's she doing by herself? Is she bored? Or scared?

In the neighborhood she resides in, she couldn't be more unsafe. I only let her stay there because she never budges when it comes to living elsewhere. Or taking a single penny from me, for that matter. She calls it dirty money and doesn't want anything to do with it. Though it irks me to no end, it secretly makes me admire every cell in her body even more.

"–I swear, not even a second later, he was screaming like a damn prostitute–"

"–Wendy, watch your foul mouth. There are kids here," Grandmother scolds, eyes narrowed, but Aunt Wendy's too busy laughing at her fuming husband's broken arm to care. Sometimes, I feel horrible for grandmother, a horrifyingly intelligent person with an empty-headed family.

"I mean look at it!" Wendy went on. "Now if people ask me if he's good in bed, I'll only end up laughing."

When the table settles down again and the chatter dims to a small hum, I hear my name uttered from someone across the table. I'm flabbergasted.

I look up and glimpse Paulina, a first cousin I used to be tight with a couple years ago. She's smiling sweetly at me, her soft blond hair glowing under the yellow light of the chandelier. My eyes land on her neck, where a liter of foundation and a loose scarf weren't able to hide a faded hickey. Her husband, my coworker, is on a business trip in Dubai for three months.

My corrupted family disgusts me almost as much as I disgust myself.

"How's work? I hope it's not too tiring," She asks, and to my surprise, she seems genuinely interested as she brings the glass of wine to her lips.

I clear my throat, trying to get over the fact that I was actually speaking in a family reunion. "It's well. We're signing contracts with another large scale company, and it's going to be very beneficial for Ainsworth Corp." When I'm done briefing her, all while morphing my vocabulary to a toddler's so I don't seem pretentious, I see that I almost have most the tables's attention.

It's not everyday I participate in dinner table chit-chat.

When I met Caterina, a few years back, I discovered the art and gratification of a real conversation, and that resulted in the gradual shrinking of my social circle. I lost close friends, then all the co-workers I drank beer with at Levi's on Fridays, then mere acquaintances I chit-chatted with during coffee breaks.

I stopped wanting to converse with anyone who didn't have quick retorts, a mind-blowing IQ, knowledge in practically everything, a startling elegance and mannerism when speaking, and a refreshing ease in admitting defeat.

Anyone who isn't Caterina.

For the last couple years, she has been my confidante, a rival, a teacher, my lover, my best friend.

A heavy weight settles in my gut when I think about her, all alone. How could I leave her all alone?

Paulina nods in approval and is about to answer, when her irritating twin sister straightens her back, places both forearms on the table, and fixes me instead. "Enough of that dull small talk," she drawls cheekily, in that way women her age think makes them look young and hippy. An expensive pendant rests between her two half-exposed breasts, and I cringe at how cheap she looks, even though her bank account is dotted with endless zeros.

I am overcome with an urge to hurt her with my bear hands.

"Tell us if there's any Mrs. Ainsworth we should know about," Because that's the only subject the rich are intellectually capable of discussing with ease, Caterina's voice sings in my head. As if hearing my thoughts, my cousin perks up. "Say, what happened to –"

"Sofia," Grandmother interrupts, looking somber and serious. She has always been the most cultivated of all of us, having went to and lectured in Yale, volunteered half her life and read most of the books in universal literature. "Don't meddle in his business."

"I was just asking about Caterina. She used to come to these dinners, even if all she did was rile everyone up. That's all,"

I am this close to beating her. She continues. "I'm just surprised, maybe a bit curious–"

"She won't be around no more, sweetcheeks." My father states from across the table, and I feel my entire body stiffening from the roughness of his voice.

"I don't see her anymore." Is all I say, when people don't stop ogling me for an answer. This is what they want to hear. That I walked out of the abusive relationship because I'm strong and independent. "We went our separate ways," I push it. "We don't talk anymore."

I see both my grandmother and father's heads snap my way, and the claustrophobic feeling comes again. The walls are closing in on me. I feel like lashing out. I will lash out. I need to get out now before I flip the table. My fingers itch for her.

"Thank you for the food." I hear myself saying, my heart beating in my ears. "Excuse me," I mutter, swiftly getting up and traversing the entire mansion in order to get to the entrance where my coat and umbrella await me. I take small breaths to calm myself.

You're leaving me, Nathaniel?

Rough fingers wrap around my wrist and tug me away from the door. My father's bushy eyebrows are scrunched, his blue eyes stormy and furious. "I know where you've been, boy," He grumbles. "I know where you went last week. I told you not to go there, Nathaniel. I told you. We can't keep protecting you–"

"I don't need you to protect me," I spit back. "I know what I'm doing." Nausea overtakes my senses, and I almost light a cigarette right there, in my father's face. I almost throw up on him.

I almost hit him so he'd get a taste of all those burning, belt-sized lines on my back.

"You don't know shit, son. I don't want you going there again, ever, you hear me? And what's this with the thrown pills? huh? Think you can live without your –"

But I don't hear what he says, because I'm suffering from withdrawals. And nothing can calm an addicted man except for his drug. The next second, I'm in my Audi, driving to the worst neighborhood in the state.

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don't forget to vote and comment so the author knows she's not writing bullshit!