Virulent (Folie a Deux 1)

Suddenly my eyes fall on something so beautiful that it takes my breath away. I reach forward, running my fingers down the length of it and sigh happily. The only thing that’s ever been able to take my breath away before is my Sweet Molly, and yet here I am, faced with another thing of distinguished beauty that’s overwhelming my senses in a completely different way.

“It’s beautiful, Daddy,” Molly says quietly. I can hear the wonder in her tone—she must see it the same way I do and that only makes me confident that this is the right choice. It’s heavy—aluminum and black, kind of like our silver and black color scheme for our upcoming nuptials.

I take in a steady breath as I pick it up from the display rack it’s on and give Molly a gentle shove out of the way. Once I’m sure she’s far enough, I pull it back and swing it through the air, letting out a short laugh at the whoosh sound it makes, splitting the air.

“Yeah?” I ask her with a grin.

“Definitely,” she replies with an enthusiastic nod of her head.

I rest the bat against my shoulder and hold a hand out toward my girl. I intend to show her one hell of a time and give her a ceremony she won’t forget for as long as we both shall live.

All we have to do is pick a place and then send out the invitations.

Molly wrinkles her nose at me and I laugh.

“I’m telling you that I trust this guy,” I say again with a grin. “He’s ordained in some kind of denomination or has a license or some shit to do this. As soon as it’s done, and I get to kiss my bride, he’ll get paid and take off. If anything else should happen, I guarantee he’ll act like he’s never even heard of us before.”

I lean back in my chair, sliding my thumbs on the inside of my suspenders, running them up and down the material while Molly mulls over my suggestion. I know why she’s so hesitant. It’s because in the entire time that we’ve actually been together, I’ve never once mentioned anyone besides her, because honestly, no one else matters to me. But we need this guy to help us and I don’t know how else to get her to understand other than telling her that I trust him a thousand times over.

“What’s his name?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting her chin out toward me.

“Jameson.”

“And where do you know him from again?” she presses, furrowing her brow.

“Babe, I told you—the first and only time we ever got into an argument and I went out to cool myself off, I met him at that old bar over on Bleeker. We got to talking and he told me some crazy shit about himself over a few beers and every now and then, we hang out.”

“When? When do you guys hang out?” she asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

I lean my head back and let out my breath in a heavy sigh. “Molls. Babe? Do you listen to me when I talk? I’m just wondering because I already told you no more than five minutes ago.”

“I forgot,” she replies coolly.

“Okay,” I begin as I clasp my hands behind my head. “Sometimes, when you sleep for a couple of days straight, I go out and walk around. Sometimes, I end up at the old bar over on Bleeker and Jameson happens to be there. We talk—about everything. You and me, him and his crazy shit, and how it’s funny that we’re pals because we don’t have a fucking thing in common. And then when we’re done bullshitting for a couple of hours, we pay our tabs and leave. I come home to you and I don’t know where he goes off too. It’s not my business.”

And if I have to repeat this again, we’re going for the second argument in about five years.

“Oh, that’s right! You told me already,” she replies with a girlish giggle.

I close my eyes and shake my head imperceptibly as I take a deep breath, smile, and turn my attention back toward my Sweet Molly. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day, sweet thing,” I say quietly with a laugh.

Molly pulls her legs up on the chair and wraps her arms around them. She sticks one finger out and reaches around the side of the table for my chair, pulling her so close to me that the tips of our chairs are touching. I lean down and nip at her finger, growling like a dog and she giggles in response.

“Seriously though, babe. Are you good with Jameson doing it for us?” I ask before leaning down and kissing the tip of her finger.

“As long as you trust him, then I’m fine with it,” she replies with a shrug.