"Looks like you're going to stay here for a while."

His words still rang in my ear like the strong essence of dull bleach that stung my nostrils. Ah, the scent of a new home. A new rendition of what I called it as Satan's abode. Prison.

The metal bars scoffing at me like as if I was a circus lunatic, making questionable moves like a monkey on cocaine. "You'll never make it out of here!" They howled, making wolf whistles at me, giving rise to the fire that had already died a few hours ago.

"One. Two. Three." I repeated, as a mechanism to extinguish the hot ball of doom slowly growing in my gut, like the stinky and clayey molds tucked in the corners of this metal match-box I was residing in. The rather metallic thunder that was made when the man in blue struck his bat against my only window to the dark and greasy hallway, was like Hercules on a Cool Aid induced sugar rush.

"One. Two. Three." I counted once again, this time shutting my eyes with a sigh.

Now, I was no longer trapped in the clutches of my sewer-like confinement.

I could see Italy. My heart skipped a beat as I imagined the sun kissed place. My home. The sunshine grinning down on me as I rode my pristine white bicycle through the narrow flower laden streets. The hot summer breeze as pleasant as that of a sauna hitting my face as I chased the road that led me to him.

Roger. Just spelling his name even with my rather fancy Italian tongue, set off a spark within me.

"Roger." I said out loud, ignoring the barbaric yells and hisses of the clueless guard. I was too consumed by the spell of Roger, like I was with just a bite of a perfectly homemade cheese to notice the croaking crow right outside my door.

Now all I could remember was a whiff of his white and blue stripped polo shirt tucked deep inside his brown khaki shorts. Almost everyone who passed by him raised eyebrows at how high they were for him. But I never could complain as it instead dragged me closer and closer to him as if he were a magnet. Preferably a horse shoe one, I concluded based off of his long horse like face and his wavy blonde hair.

His eyes reminded me of the clear blue lake moving underneath the lonely bridge where I used to meet him. We used to share just a cigarette and blow the toasty smoke of death right into each other's mouths. It felt like how grapes and cheese would've tasted. Weirdly good.

What had first started out to be an accident went on to be a kind of a tradition. Before we knew it, one thing led to another. And even as I was surrounded by metal and complete darkness all around, I still pondered over the thought of how just a pasta recipe managed to draw his plump yet crusty lips onto mine.

It was the first time I had really gotten a taste of Roger. And it turned out that I was wrong about a lot of things. His masculinity derived from the deep layers of his signature cologne and his built arms was just a perfect illusion to drive people away from him. It was nothing more than a cheap trick. Just like he later turned out to be.

As I felt his warm tongue on mine, my eyes widened as I saw he didn't fight to take control over the pace we were heading in. In fact, he graciously handed me the reigns to himself; entrusting his soul to me.

I thought I had finally won. I really did. I felt victory rush through my veins, like I felt after a cup of Chardonnay and a plate of the pinkest peach. I felt like a man, only for it to be taken away in a matter of just twenty- four hours.

"It's time for your hearing, you piece of shit! Get out now!" The guard snapped, pulling me away from the Roger of my fantasy.

I could now smell fire and gun powder as I felt my hands clench into fists and my heart pick pace with the sharpest words he threw at me. The words pricked even worse than needles and made my heart bleed with despair. I could feel the huge ball of fire make my body so warm that even counting from one to three couldn't make it go away.

If only I hadn't come all the way to America. If only I hadn't let Roger take the reigns to my purity and sanity instead.

I could feel my hands tremble, not from the cold. But from the ache to make this oblivious man swallow a couple of bullets, till he dropped dead. Just like my aunty did, except with her salivating ravioli with herbs and olives.

"What are you going to do? Beat the shit out of me?" The man in blue scoffed, his laughter so loud that it could make mountains tremble. But for now, it was making me nauseous with the chills I felt run down my aching spine.

I was a volcano, ready to erupt. I could feel the steaming hot lava of emotions brew inside of me, making its way upwards.

Cool down, I warned myself.

And just like that with a few deep breaths, I had successfully walked inside the court room of America without killing that asshole of a guard.

I watched, like a chicken about to meet a butcher's knife as I was led to my execution space, the dock.

I was pushed into the dock like a madman, my hands tied behind with those metal cuffs that caused red crescents on my wrists. And I watched the scene playing out in front of me.

A burly man named Carter came my way, who by the way was the lawyer of the people who sued me. To be exact, the parents of the child that I was thought to have killed.

They wish I had killed that child. It was Roger who killed the child, not me.

Just as I thought of the devil, the devil appeared. Roger was here.

He stopped right in front of me for a spilt second, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glassy and his mouth pleading for an apology.

I wanted to run out of the dock and engulf him in my arms, telling him it was going to be okay. I also wanted to grab a gun and kill this man who I thought I loved at the same time. But I couldn't. Because I was contained like a wild animal in that stupid cage.

"So, Mister Gianni Angelo. Can you give us a brief description of what had happened that night?" Carter asked me with a subtle sneer that said, you will die.

"That night?" I asked in a hazy state of mind, as I recollected the dark night and the repeated thud of the gun shots.

Roger told me he had no time to explain, when I spotted the bruised kid he hid in his car. He told me he needed help. He told me that if I loved him, I would go with him to America.

And I did.

The night had turned out to be pitch black. As not a single star in the sky was present to witness the sinful act that Roger committed.

"We don't have much time left! Get rid of the kid!" He yelled at me, shoving a heavy loaded gun into my jelly like hands.

I didn't even know how to shoot the gun.

"Fuck it! I'll do it myself!" He grunted and without hesitation of any kind, he pulled the trigger.

The boy yelled for his mother as each gun shot hit his small chest.

"Momma!" His voice was as fresh as day, making hot tears slip down my cheek.

But it didn't just stop with one bullet. Roger kept doing it till he heard the shrill siren of a police car. He then, shoved the gun in my hand and disappeared into the night, as fast as he could.

The police found my frail fingerprints on the gun. Hence, I was going to be charged guilty.

"Mister, Gianni?" Carter's gruff villainous voice hit my ears, bringing me back into the stuffy courtroom.

I then turned towards Roger, only to see him shake with muffled sobs. His confident shoulders were now slumped and he now carried himself like a guilty man would've. He stole glances with me every now and then, as I stared blank at the wooden clock on the cream-colored wall ahead of me.

"Mister Gianni! Answer the question, please. We're running out of time!" The man with the grey wig roared, staring at me through his intimidating glasses like a tiger.

What should I do? Should I confess the truth?

Roger would go to prison and I would be free from this hell hole. But as I stared at Roger, I felt a pang in my chest, growing bigger and bigger by every tick of the wooden clock. My heart wanted to kiss him and hold him one last time as he let out his strangled sobs into my chest. But my mind wanted to make him swallow the bullets off of the same gun he had killed the child.

He killed a fucking child, Gianni!

I then took a look at the horror- struck parents, moping the deadly fate of their baby boy.

I owed the truth to them, at least.

But what about Roger?

A part of me wanted to blow him up with an atomic bomb. But a soft part of me didn't want him to live like a guilty man. I wanted to see the man with the glistening smile and laid- back shoulders. I wanted the man I was with, back in Italy. The polo shirt, the khaki shorts, the cigarettes and the smooth horse like blonde locks of hair.

I couldn't bear the thought of seeing him with bags under his eyes, a fully grown mustache, wearing an orange jumpsuit for the rest of his life. I didn't want to see him look like he had emerged right out of the sewer. My heart couldn't part with him knowing that I had killed the man in him.

He now handed me the reigns to his destiny. His destiny was in my hands.

Sure, he had broken his word. But I was always true to mine.

"Mister, Gianni! Do you think the court is a joke?" The man in the weird grey wig sitting on a chair higher than my dock yelled, slamming his fists against his crowded table.

"That night, I had kidnapped the boy and tied him up in my car. The police were running after us and we killed the boy." I managed to phrase, in my poor English skills.

I hope they understand, I thought.

"Hold up a second. Can you be more specific? Who was the one who pulled the trigger?" Carter roared like a charged-up dragon, ready to devour me.

This was it.

"I pulled the trigger." I mumbled, earning a gasp from Roger who looked wide eyed at me.

"Why?" Roger whispered, hanging his head lower than ever.

As soon as I had revealed that I pulled the trigger, the entire court looked at me through the eyes of a criminal.

"There you have it! So, what was Roger's role then?" Carter asked, feeling jollier than ever. The man had already started celebrating.

Roger then glared at me. He knew what was coming. He shook his head, ushering me to tell the truth.

But he couldn't convince me.

"Roger was just a man I caught to drive the car. He drove the car because if he hadn't complied, I would have shot him in the head." I finished, preparing myself for what was about to come next.

Everyone gasped at my answers and I heard the final bang of the judge's gavel. The bang that decided the course of my entire life.

I was treated like a criminal both inside and outside that court room. The mother of that boy also made sure to slap me across the face. Carter started celebrating his huge win and the asshole of a guard became my tormentor for life.

As for Roger, I kissed him one last time before warning him to stay out of trouble. He was so disturbed, that he lived the life of a saint, or my second guess was that he was dead already.