For Angelo(83)

His ominously soft tone had the stylist nodding shakily.

Angelo made Lane sit in a chair. “Stay there.”

She only looked at him, but the terror in her eyes told him she wouldn’t be able to move.

Keeping his gaze on her, he reached for the electric shaver—

“Oh my God,” the stylist moaned. “Please don’t do anything—”

“Shut up,” Angelo snarled.

And then they heard it, the sound of police sirens—

Lane jerked in her seat, her gaze flying to the windows behind him, and Angelo knew she was trying to muster the courage to make a run for it.

He switched the electric shaver on.

Lane’s head snapped towards him.

He started shaving the back of his head, hoping to God he was getting it right—

The wailing of sirens had become deafening, followed by the sound of doors crashing open and the police shouting for Angelo to drop his weapon.

He almost laughed.

Weapon?

What fucking weapon?

Didn’t they fucking realize Lane was the only one who could kill him now?

He turned to Lane as the police started making their way towards the salon.

She whispered, “W-what a-are y-you d-doing?”

Before he could answer, several police officers had decided to lunge towards him at the same time, and all hell broke loose.

She saw Angelo go down—

Lane screamed.

Nellie was suddenly beside her, hugging her, telling her everything was going to be okay.

But it was not, it was not, and Angelo was struggling so hard the officers had to hit him again—

Why had he brought her here?

Why?

The police managed to cuff him, and they forced Angelo to face the door—

To face her—

Their eyes met.

And his was telling her something—

Something a part of her was too frightened to understand—

Lane bit her lip hard as the police shoved him, forcing Angelo to move.

He kept looking at her—

What?

What?

What?

“Stop looking at her, asshole,” an officer snarled as he thumped Angelo on the head, forcing him to look the other way.

And that was when she saw it.

The back of his head was a complete mess.

A bleeding mess.

She choked back a cry as she realized what she was staring at.

A complete, bleeding, spelled mess.

The letters were incomplete, but she could read them just fine.

L. A. N. And perilously close to his right ear, a half-finished E.

The walls she had built to make herself forget started to crumble.

And she remembered the way she had gone insane—

I’d rather shave my name on your head before I let you go to another girl.

And she understood that this was Angelo going insane—

Because that was how love worked.

It wasn’t always beautiful, wasn’t always neat or easily defined.

Sometimes, it was painful, twisted, and insane.

The way she loved him and the way he loved her.

A cry broke out of her and, pulling away from Nellie, she started to run—

She reached Angelo just before the officers could shove him inside the back of their car. “W-wait!” The officers stopped moving, and she pushed past them.

So many words she wanted to say, but they disappeared the moment she saw him—

Really saw him, and it was like seeing the sun after being buried for so long.

Lane swallowed back a sob.

A crowd of onlookers had surrounded the salon, drawn by the presence of police, but he didn’t give a fuck about any of them. Even with all their phones trained on them, recording every fucking second, he only had eyes for her.

Angelo asked hoarsely, “Lane?”

She shook her head.

He froze. Had he been wrong? Had he failed to reach her? Did he not have any last chance—

And then he heard her whisper tremulously, “C-call me…”

He inhaled deeply as he realized what she wanted to say.

“C-call me…” Her voice broke. “Y-your Lane.”

Ah.

He fell to his knees.

And she followed him, like she always did, because she was who she was, and he was who he was.

“I’m sorry—” And his own voice caught because he felt too, too much.

But still, he tried again, because she deserved the words. “I’m sorry—” His chest felt like it was about to explode. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I’m s-sorry, t-too. That I d-didn’t realize w-why you wanted to hurt me.”

Tears streamed down her face.

He moved forward, his cuffed hands behind his back making him clumsy.

He licked her tears, and she started to cry harder. She raised one shaking hand to his hair, and her sobs became uncontrollable. “Your h-hair…”

“Promise me you’ll finish it?” he managed to tease.

She shook her head.

“You have to.” His voice became flat. “Because…it’s proof…that I’m…” He swallowed hard. “I’m your fallen angel. Aren’t I?”