Luca: good luck, Gemme.Mature

If you're wondering why I just left like that - and even went as far as to immobilise Gemme so she couldn't follow me - I'll tell you.

As soon as I figure that one out myself.

It was just an inexplicable urge to go somewhere else. I don't even know where, or why. Which is why I'm wandering around the town aimlessly, chain smoking and trying to figure out why I felt the need to go.

I'm going to blame the whole Gemme/Nigh thing. Let's face it, when someone you'd gotten to know a bit suddenly develops another personality, it's weird. I mean, this... Nigh...  She's a lot more like me, someone I'd usually be more confident about getting to know.

But I think the fact that she's so much more like me freaks me out. On top of the whole split personality thing, obviously. I mean one of me is bad enough.

My feet end up taking me to the other side of town. I look up at the building before me - a rundown bar that no longer functions as a bar, if you catch my drift. It still has a licence to sell alcohol, and it still does sell the occasional drink, but mostly it's a hideout a lot like my apartment but bigger. Home to the bigger illegal operations in this town.

For example firearms and knives.

About time I got a new knife, really, after what happened to the last one.

I push open the door and look around at all the people inside lolling around doing very little. Some old guy is cleaning his shot gun. He looks like he should have stopped wearing leather waistcoats about fifty years ago. And he has a beard. Another reason to avoid him. No one questions me as I go behind the bar and find my way out back.

It doesn't take long to find the guy I'm looking for. He looks up when I come in, his hands in a box, organising whatever's inside.

"Lucas!" he smiles as I sit down on the sofa and light up another cigarette. I roll my eyes.

"It's Luca. No ‘s' remember?" I correct him and he nods to himself, going back to organising the things inside the box. "What you got there, Cal?"

"Just got a delivery of bullets, but they were just bundled in. No order to size or anything. You know how I hate that." OCD, go figure.

"Sucks, man. Got any of those combat knives in?" I ask, looking around the small room for a box that might contain what I'm looking for.

"What happened to your last one?" he enquires casually, though I hear the suspicion in his voice.

"Oh, long story short, my friend got hold of it and knifed a guy, but got shot and it got left in the guy." I shrug, tapping ash onto the floor. He glares at me and gets up, disappearing into another room for a moment.

"What were you, raised in a barn?" he snaps, shoving an ashtray at me as he returns. I simply smile and make a point of using it so he doesn't shoot me. "That sounds like a pretty interesting story. Got people after you?"

"Something like that. Anyways, you got the combat knives or not?" I can't be bothered to beat around the bush. I came here for a new knife, not to gossip.

"Uhh... lemme look." He got up again and shifted a few boxes. "Navy issue, stainless steel, right?"

"Nine inches."

"Does it have to be nine?" I just glare at him when he turns around. "Yeah, okay. I think they're in the other box." He shifts and goes to this other box. "This one isn't stainless steel; I don't think I've got any of those. It's a carbon blade. It's lighter, stronger and more resilient. Sound good to you?" He looks up at me, holding the knife out to me. I take it and run my finger along the edge, ignoring the blood as it drips down onto the floor. I barely notice the pain, it's so sharp. Healing my finger, I hand it back for him to return it to its sheath.

"I'll take it." I say, pulling out my wallet.

"I should hope so now you got your blood on it." he muttered, shaking his head as I pulled out the money. I didn't need to ask how much, we've done this too many times.

"Pleasure doing business with you, as always, you grumpy old fag," I grin, taking the knife again. He glowers at me as I strap the sheath to my left wrist, flexing my muscles to wear the fabric in a bit.

"I'm not old, you little shit. I'm not a fag, either." He's nearly forty, and the way he looks at other men, you'd be surprised to know he's straight. Or just really in the closet. "Get out, before I get the urge to shoot you."

"Now, now, let's not be hasty." I smile and pull out my gun. "Help a friend out, here. I need some more bullets, or this thing is gonna be as good as useless after five shots. It's just as well I don't listen to you, really. You might have just lost a few hundred bucks." He sighs in a defeated kinda way and takes it from me, taking the magazine out to see what kind of bullets it needs. I don't know much about guns, I prefer close combat, but I know how to load and fire one at least. And if my aim is off, I can make the bullet go where I want anyways.

Anyways, Cal gives me some more bullets for it, telling me that they're free if I'm out of the building and off his premises in under ten seconds.

I deliberately took eleven, just to see what he would do.

He fired a blank at me.

We laughed and I left. Not so bad, really. It took my mind off Gemme for a while anyways. Except that now I'm back to wandering around aimlessly, I have nothing else to keep my mind distracted.

Why can I not figure out how I feel about Gemme? Friends, lust, like, freaked out by, and in a way I think sometimes I feel like I should hate her. Something about her strips away my defence. That's who she sees - she sees Luca, not Cancer. Of course the last person that saw Luca was Emily. And I killed her.

Good luck, Gemme.


The End

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