Bound by Hatred (Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles #3)(26)
But what worried me most was that I found myself comparing every guy I met to Matteo, and they always fell short. They weren’t as good-looking, as interesting, they didn’t have a six-pack, and most importantly being in their proximity didn’t give me a thrill. It annoyed the hell out of me that despite being (hopefully) thousands of miles away from Matteo, he still held some power over me. I wished I’d never let him kiss me, then I wouldn’t have that problem.
I’d just have to find a nice guy who could make me forget Matteo and his annoyingly sexy and arrogant smile. Maybe my next destination, Berlin, would help with that.
***
I only stayed four weeks in Berlin before I decided to move on. Something hadn’t felt right, or maybe I wasn’t used to staying in a place for a longer period of time anymore. At least I’d worked as a waitress for the last three weeks and managed to earn some money. It wasn’t much but enough to buy me my train ticket to Munich and food for the next couple of days. I didn’t have anything left for a hotel room however, so that was a major problem.
I had spent too much at the beginning of my flight, never having learned to be economical. Money had never been an issue growing up. If there was one thing that women in the mob never had to forego, then it was money. I was a spoiled brat, that much I’d come to realize.
The moment I arrived in Munich I knew this could work. I loved everything about the city, but there was still the problem that I didn’t have any money to pay for a room. I didn’t want to spend the night on the streets. I wasn’t sure how safe it would be. As I walked through the city center, I noticed a few people singing and playing instruments, and they seemed to make a fast buck with it. There was always a heap of Euro coins in the hats they’d put on the ground.
I could play the piano. Father had forced Aria, Lily and me to take lessons from the moment we could talk but I had neither a piano, nor a keyboard I could use to make music. I had a decent singing voice, definitely nothing to get excited about but at least it didn’t make people want to hold their ears. Maybe it was worth a try.
A group of three girls with colorful hair was singing and playing the guitar at the next corner, and I headed for them. When they finally took a break, I approached them. I really hoped they spoke English. They looked to be in my age. “Hey. I was wondering if you know of any places where I could do what you do and sing for people? I’m out of money and this is pretty much my only shot at paying for a room tonight.”
The girls exchanged a look and I was half convinced they hadn’t understood me when the girl with short blue hair said in an accent I couldn’t decipher, “You need a permission. The authorities are pretty strict in Munich. They’ll fine you if you make music or any kind of other art in the streets without permission.”
“Damn. Is it easy to get a permission?”
The pink-haired girl shook her head. “No. They only hand out a few permissions and they make sure you can sing and actually play instruments before they allow you to make music here.”
I sighed and slumped against the wall of the building. The three girls exchanged another look, then whispered in a language that definitely wasn’t German before they turned to me. “We’re sharing a small apartment. If you want you can sleep on the couch in the living room until you find a job and can afford your own place.”
My eyes widened. “Really?”
Blue haired girl nodded with a smile. “You’re a backpacker, right?”
“Yes. Traveling through Europe before college.”
“We’re all from Croatia, but we’ve been spending the last few months in Munich. You’ll love it.” Pink-haired girl stood. “So what’s your name?”
I hesitated a moment before deciding who I wanted to be. “Gwen.”
Maybe Munich would finally become a place I could stay and figure out what I’d do with the rest of my life.
***
What was meant to be for a few days only had turned into two months. I was still sharing an apartment with the three crazy girls from Croatia. We’d become friends and I paid rent for my spot on the sofa, albeit not much. Of course every part of my life was built on lie after lie, but sometimes I almost forgot that I wasn’t who I pretended to be. I’d even found a job as a waitress in a café that catered mostly to tourists and my German had improved greatly.
Now that I’d finally found a place where I wanted to stay, I’d decided to give dating a real shot. When my flat mates introduced me to Sid, a fellow musician from Canada with long dreadlocks, I knew he was someone I could get used to, and maybe even make me forget that stupid kiss I’d shared with Matteo.
Sid was nothing like Matteo. He was nothing like men in the world I’d grown up in. He was a vegan, peace-loving idealist, and he never hesitated to convince others about his ideals. He could spend hours talking about the horrors of dairy farms and the dangers of the NRA. Sometimes I wondered what he’d say if he knew who I was.
This idealistic world-improver was his mask, I’d realized. Maybe everyone wore some kind of mask. What had been a novelty and endearing in the beginning, quickly started to annoy me. Still I couldn’t break up with Sid because it would seem like the ultimate failure. If even someone like Sid couldn’t stop me from thinking about Matteo, who could?
Sid’s hand crept under my shirt, then unhooked my bra. I made a sound of protest. We were in the living room of my shared apartment, so if one of my flat mates returned she’d get a show. His fingertips were rough from playing the guitar. He pushed me down until I lay flat on my back and he was half on top of me. His tongue seemed to take up too much space in my mouth and he tasted of stale smoke. Why had I thought a smoking guy was hot? Maybe in theory, but the taste and stink weren’t something I was too excited about. He started unbuttoning my jeans and kept rubbing his bulge against my leg like a horny dog.