The mobster and the writer

My Valentine's date was called Acer. It was red. Beautiful.

We met through my brother just on my birthday and since then we have not separated. He was the most incredible thing in this world, he loved everything I threw at him, which was quite a lot, and he didn't complain that he had to work hard because he was always by my side. He didn't bother if I wanted to spend the whole afternoon lying on the couch watching Gossip Girl with him. He didn't care about anything. It was almost perfect. Almost, because I always needed a cable or a battery. He was very dependent on them. Yeah, well, my Valentine's date was my laptop, and our plan was for me to make some progress on the romance novel that I had to deliver at the end of the month. The life of a romantic writer is not easy and in my case, it was not even romantic.

My name is Samantha, if, as the protagonist of the Bewitched series, my mother was a big fan and hence my name. I walk my brother somewhere in the city with a very small cute (because that's what he always does) I was on my couch colored gray recreating anger on the laptop a bit desperate to end the damn story that it was making my life bitter.

It made me bitter because the protagonist was not me.

What is the point of creating a very handsome boy in a book when the one who is going to keep him is not you? Amazing. This is how the world went. I hated Cindy, the six-foot blue-eyed blonde skinnier than a skull who was the winner of the award I had created myself.

Congratulations! You are nobody but I leave you a handsome man at your door without you having to do anything. Thank you for existing. Ha! Life was very unfair.

I guess every good story has a beginning and an end. That's obvious. Bad stories follow those rules too, but no one ever says that. So that? Anyway. I was, in my messy apartment, with a semi-locked laptop when they began to knock on the door of my house, causing my cat Salem to hide under the sofa, where it would hardly be possible later on for good.

I cursed in several languages and barefoot went to open the door.

"I don't want ..." I stopped when I saw the most imposing man in the world in front of me, panting and gagging. Covered in tattoos with a gun...

With a gun?

YES! It's a damn gun!

He did not flinch at the mere me m and grabbed her waist and closed giving the door. He pulled me into the living room while I looked more like a rag doll than a person.

Great… I go into shock just as a Greek god has fallen from the sky.

Although I tried to speak I could only open and close my mouth like a fish. I've always been this attractive. You know, it is born, it is not made. Until finally I could find my voice.

"You're staining my carpet with blood"

Ok... If it is totally out of place. Instead of saying: Who are you? Did you call the police? Is it okay? What the hell are you doing here? or things like that I tell you the obvious.

I always thought I deserved a Nobel.

The boy, man, god, or whatever, stared at my face for a few moments before starting to laugh out loud. As tall and wide and as handsome as he was, seeing him laugh all over my face like he was a child was a sight. I almost felt proud to see so... Almost, but I was filling my house with blood and above all, I was not good at cleaning

"Look, I'm sorry to be rude and stuff. I'm not good at visits, but I'm even worse at cleaning and I don't know if you're going to bleed out or something, but it gives me chills just thinking about taking a sponge and removing stains. Do you mind going to the bathroom so you clean that up?"

"Sure" Although he tried to put on a serious face again, he was holding back the laugh.

Wonderful, now I was a rodeo clown.

"Now we talk cutie"

Ah! Spontaneous combustion. He had a deep country voice, and he had called me cute, ok my panties have fallen off and everything.

"Don't call me cutie, I'm allergic" I followed him to the bathroom and leaned against the doorjamb "My name is Samantha"

"Delighted, Samantha" He took off the black vest he was wearing, and I could see a very tight black shirt soaked in blood "I'm G. You don't need to know my full name. And I'm hurt in case you haven't noticed. I'm not sure if I have a bullet, or just grazed or stabbed. Whatever it is, it sucks. I hope it's a bullet"

He took off his shirt and I started hyperventilating. This man was perfect.

"Great, G. Well ... I think I have a medicine cabinet... Somewhere... Surely..."

I turned around and practically ran to my bedroom looking for the damn medicine cabinet I knew had to be somewhere.

Breathing a little better, I looked at myself in the mirror. I wanted to die. She had a horrible dead face, with her hair in a disgusting bun, and she was wearing the most hideous and masculine blouse in the world that I had taken from my brother. I sure fell in love. I let my hair down and tried to get decent.

Nothing, it was in vain.

Resigned, I returned to the bathroom and there I found the gorilla digging into his wound. I looked at him with wide eyes, surely he looked like a cartoon, but that behavior did not seem too hygienic.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm a busybody, but it's going to be worse this way. Let me help you and stop mutilating yourself that you are starting to give me grief" I crossed my arms while he looked at me like I was a freak.