Page 66 of Waste of Worth

Hot, wet, and tight.

Her body held him there long after he was done, as her fingers danced up his spine, and her tongue teased along the knuckle of his index finger.

Dino’s hand splayed over Karen’s cheek, and he turned her face so he could look at her again. A pleased, blissed glimmer stared back in her gaze, her lips smiling in that lax way of hers that said she was happy, and tired.

She hummed under his weight, her cheek nuzzling into his palm.

“Don’t ever ask me to go,” Dino said, “and I’ll be as happy as I need to be.”

Karen nodded, kissing the pad of his thumb as it stroked the seam of her lips. “I won’t—I promise.”

DINO stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, unwilling to move. Well, part of him was unwilling, the other part simply had no desire to face the day. Eventually, despite the way his body protested and his mind screamed at him to stay right where he was, Dino got up and headed for the bathroom.

He barely felt anything under the scalding hot water of the shower, and made it quick as to not waste more time than he already had. He wasn’t even in the shower long enough to fog up the mirror—his mistake—so he was stuck staring at his reflection when he got out.

Depression, Karen had said.

The men in this life didn’t talk about those sorts of things. And if by chance they did, it was almost always about someone’s wife who popped one too many pills or drank a bit too much at dinner to ignore what was happening around her.

He understood that depression was more than being stuck in bed or suicidal ideation. It was also wrapped up in a person’s sense of self, or even how they felt physically. Depression couldn’t be summed up in a neat little bow tied around a prescription bottle, despite how too many people thought they could fix depression by doing just that.

Karen meant no harm by bringing it up.

Unfortunately, Dino couldn’t get it out of his head.

It was also why, regardless of knowing he should take another day or two to relax as much as he could before heading back to work and showing his face, Dino forced himself out of Karen’s bed, into his own, and now, to get the hell out of his apartment. He didn’t want to feed into that whispering voice in the back of his head with its what ifs.

What if he was depressed?

What would that mean?

Dino wasn’t willing to find out, if only because he didn’t think it mattered. Feeding into the idea that he had a problem would do him no good in the lifestyle he lived. No one was out to lend him a helping hand, and if anything, something like that would only be another weakness to poke at. A very visible, raw wound that he couldn’t protect from people like his uncle.

It didn’t matter because it wouldn’t make a difference.

Feeling worthless was one thing. He didn’t see how being told there was a reason why he felt that way would make it better.

It wouldn’t.

Refusing to give his reflection or thoughts anymore time that morning, he headed out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his waist and a smaller one in his hand. He ran the smaller towel through his hair as he stepped into the closet of his bedroom, pulling out one of the three-piece suits hanging on the rack.

It was only after he was dressed and tying the laces of his black dress shoes did Dino finally feel like he might be able to handle getting through the hell the day was sure to bring. While the bruising on his face had gone—he still had a bit of yellow under his right eye—the pain from the rest of his beating was still very much there.

This was how Ben’s game was played.

No one ever questioned why Dino would disappear for a week—his uncle always had some excuse at the ready. Dino was, by Ben’s belief, expected to come back to life when he was ready to do so with his lesson learned, and his mouth firmly shut.

It was never easy.

It had gotten harder and harder to do over the years.

But as Dino strolled out of his bedroom and made his way to the kitchen to grab a coffee before heading out, he was reminded of his reasons for being stuck like he was in this terrible fucking life and situation.

One of those reasons happened to be sitting at his kitchen table.

Theo worked at the table, the dismantled pieces of a handgun spread out across the wood. Piece by piece, he picked up the metal and buffed and shined, cleaning each one until they all gleamed a bright black under the kitchen light. He seemed thoroughly involved in his work, not once looking up to greet Dino as his brother made himself a coffee.

Dino thought it odd that his brother was there.