Chapter Text
October 24th – three days earlier
This time, there were no obnoxious lollipop-stealing kids in the waiting room of the Mountainside Treatment Center. Anthony had been able to stick his hand in the glass jar at the reception, barely looked at by Loona who went back to her TikTok videos as if nothing had happened, and fish out a red one.
This was strawberry and cream – not his favorite, but it’ll do.
While sucking the sugar ball, stuck in his left cheek like a hamster, Angel looked at his phone for the umpteenth time, absentmindedly scrolling through the chat with Husk, still saved under that unlikely name.
He couldn’t help but smile, silently, rereading a conversation that – after the Saturday night in which he had, in order, revealed himself as a performer, cried in his dressing room and danced to the tune of a corny jukebox song in a random diner in Brooklyn – had become much more relaxed.
It flowed, like everything else.
As irremediably boomer as Henry was, with texting, there were no longer the awkward silences of the first time they had started talking; there was a rather dense exchange, back and forth on the most disparate issues: from the anecdotes of the day to stories about work, from the eight hundred different photos that Anthony regularly sent him – selfies and not-selfies – to more personal questions that Henry dodged with the skill of someone who knows perfectly well how to cheat at a game.
He had more or less told him this just a couple of days ago, when Anthony had written him back to ask for more information about Vegas, out of curiosity at half past two in the morning after he had finished his shift at The Vees. Considering Henry’s work schedule, he had found him awake.
He hadn’t said much, though, just that before New York he’d lived in Las Vegas and was a croupier, and a gambler. When Anthony joked about counting cards, Henry had responded with a winking emoji – and for him, using an emoji was a momentous event, so he’d assumed he’d nailed the cheating thing and hadn’t pressed further.
However, if before that evening it was mainly him who wrote to Henry, after the diner and the jukebox – if it hadn’t been such a lovely night, he would have considered it absolutely cringe – something had also been unlocked in Husker; he hadn’t gotten to the point of sending him photos yet, and perhaps he never would, but Angel considered it a huge step forward.
That dance had been almost more intimate than the Fabulous Fuck – with capital F – of twenty-ish days ago, even though Anthony’s thoughts had been fixed on this for a couple of days.
Since when Monday night he had sent Henry a photo of his ass in the mirror, where the little stylized heart was tattooed, writing that he was really missing the imprint of his spanking and the other had replied exactly what he was now reading, scrolling through the messages:
Husk The DILF
I wanna do it again.
This had had a double effect on Anthony: first of all, the desire to drop everything and go to Henry; secondly, since that wasn’t possible, he had jerked off thinking about his hands on him, also to get out of his head the feeling of the last john who had touched him. Usually it was quite pleasant – after all, he enjoyed sex quite a lot regardless of who he was having it with – but Valentino’s closest friends always gave him an odd sensation.
He rolled the lollipop around in his mouth, running the ball of his piercing over it to trace its outline and thinking about something else entirely.
He and Husk had seen each other again, of course: a quick coffee before both their shifts, a walk with the dogs in Central Park. Both times had ended with Henry’s tongue in his mouth and his short – hungry – breath reminding him, nuzzling his nose against his cheek, that they didn't have enough time.
Anthony, after much negotiation, had obtained to meet the following Sunday afternoon, fitting in commitments, work shifts and the day Henry saw his daughter.
Yet another topic that the other dodged with the skill of a gambler.
The click of Charlie’s office door opening and the subsequent chatter jolted him out of his thoughts, causing him to blink and watch as the psychiatrist greeted the patient before him and then turned to Angel with her usual dimpled Disney princess smile.
Today she seemed happier than usual, if it’s even possible.
“Anthony, come on in!”
She led the way into the study, which the other knew as if it were his home; he took off his fuchsia teddy and dropped it and himself onto the usual chocolate-colored leather sofa, resting his long legs in a pair of ripped jeans on the armrest and crossing his Docs.
He took the finished lollipop stick out of his mouth and watched as she closed the door and took a seat on the couch across from him, as usual.
“How are you tod— What happened to your cheek?”
The bruise from Valentino’s backhand slap was almost healed now, a dark purple and yellowish hue around the edges; Anthony shrugged, fiddling with his cell phone.
“I bumped into a pole at work.”
Charlie looked at him and Tony could tell, without much difficulty, that she didn’t believe him. She sighed and moved on.
“How’s it going with NA?”
The cheek issue was put aside and Anthony loosened up a little more, hinting at a half smile.
“Oh, very well!” Charlie chirped, happily, writing something down in the notebook where she usually took her notes. “And how’s your job, poles aside?”
“Work’s fine, too.” he replied automatically, ignoring the various thoughts that were nibbling at his conscience.
A friend of Valentino hurt you and didn’t respect the safe word.
Anthony ignored the usual little voice, watching the psychiatrist’s patient expression.
“Have you looked for any other club?”
“Not yet.”
Charlie sighed again, jotting down more thoughts.
“I believe that one of the cruxes of your addiction, Anthony, is that you can’t quite let go of the past. We should work on that, huh?”
But Tony had stopped listening to her the moment his phone vibrated in his hands and the notification with Henry’s name flashed on the screen; he had unlocked it automatically and a spontaneous little smile had curved his lips as he read a ‘ Morning, you wanna grab a coffee today? ’ just like that, out of nowhere.
He quickly typed an affirmative response, complete with emojis, and when he realized Charlie was silent he blinked back at her.
She and her pleasantly amused face.
“Who makes you smile like that?”
Anthony cleared his throat like nothing happened, putting the phone away and resting the back of his neck on his arms crossed behind his head.
“Nah, no one. Cherri.”
“No one or Cherri?”
Neither of them, actually.
He listened to the ticking clock Charlie had on her bookshelf, letting his hazel eyes wander over the books, the plants that were always a bit thirsty, and that photo of her and her girlfriend.
He wondered, instinctively, if the smile Charlie had in the photo was anything like the one he got when he thought of Henry.
“... I met someone.”
The psychiatrist’s silence prompted him to continue, still without looking at her.
“I’m not sure what we are yet, or if we actually are anything, but—” he took a breath, a small pause in his speech. “I like him.”
One of the various little voices inside him, the one that usually had Valentino’s voice, curled his lip into a grimace while murmuring a not-so-subtle ‘ cringe ’ to him; but the other part, the one that felt good, made him curve his lips again in a half-smile.
“And it’s not like we just fuck, doc,” he continued, spontaneously, as Charlie listened without interrupting. “We’ve only fucked a couple of times. And a half ,” he clarified, clicking his pierced tongue in mild disappointment before shrugging. “I like him because he’s not so interested in sex. Sure, he has a gorgeous dick, so thick, and he made me co—”
“ Oookay , I think I get the idea.” Charlie interrupted him this time, with a vague urgency; he glanced at the psychiatrist, and grinned slyly, arching his back languidly where he was lounging.
“You’re so shy even with your girlfriend, huh?” he teased her and, as usual, the blonde didn’t get the provocation at all and simply wrote something down in her notebook. Angel knew exactly what was written: ‘ hyper-sexualized behaviors to compensate for insecurity and abuse ’.
“Anyway,” he continued, sitting up and putting his soles on the sandy-colored carpet. “We’re not really dating, so I don’t want to define this .” he shrugged.
“It’s a good start, though. Have you told him about your addiction?”
Anthony stared at Charlie, flat and vaguely annoyed.
“Yeah right, ‘cause it’s a great first date topic.”
“Honesty is one of the NA’s rules, Anthony,” the psychiatrist said, calm but firm. “If you don’t respect it, the process will be ineffective.”
“I didn’t lie,” he said, a little pouty. “It’s just— I still didn’t have the chance to tell him.”
Like you didn’t tell him that you’re a hooker. And like you didn’t tell Charlie either, that you’re still working as one.
“I’ll tell him. Promise.”
I don’t know how or when, but who cares.
Charlie sighed, patiently, writing something else in her notebook. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her left ear, and Anthony’s hazel gaze caught something that usually wasn’t there.
His eyes went wide.
“Doc!”
She gasped, stopping her writing and watching confusedly at Angel's big smile as he, in response, raised his left hand with the back facing her and wiggled his fingers eloquently.
“Since when?”
Charlie and that diamond ring on her left finger, where legend has it there is a vein connected directly to the heart.
The doctor blushed a little, stammering something unidentifiable about the unexpected proposal and various details that Anthony listened to, glancing smugly at the clock that confirmed that there were only fifteen minutes left until the end of that session.
“Oh, I almost forgot!”
Tony returned his attention to Charlie, who got up from the sofa to reach her desk and rummage in the top drawer; he rested his head against the back of the sofa and looked at her upside down, lazy and distracted, until he saw her pick up something and walk back towards him, who straightened up.
“For you, Anthony. Congratulations.”
In her outstretched palm was a wooden token that looked like a casino chip; the Mountainside Treatment Center logo was on the back, and a large 1 was carved into the front.
One year of sobriety.
“I know the year ends on October 31st, but since we won’t see each other until after Halloween, I thought I’d give it to you now.”
His brain hadn’t associated the amount of themed and very orange decorations that had invaded New York with what had happened on October 31st.
A year since the Halloween party where he had hit rock bottom and had started digging six feet underground.
Anthony swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and the weight of three hundred and sixty-five days without touching drugs or alcohol fell upon him, making him feel great and awful at the same time.
What was he supposed to think if in a year the desire to get high hadn’t changed a bit?
No, that was not entirely true.
His pocket vibrated again, reminding him who had made that desire vanish, at least for a little while.
“Thanks, doc.” he smiled at Charlie and squeezed the token tightly between his fingers.
October 27th – present
Anthony glanced at his phone screen for the umpteenth time, praying that the time he had designated to meet Henry would come soon, only to find that only seven fucking minutes had passed since the last time he checked.
Seven, endless minutes in which Nicholas and Daniel – Molly’s husband – had talked about the Yankees’ last game with inexplicable passion.
Take me now Lord, please.
The one time Anthony had actually gone to Yankee Stadium to watch baseball, it had been incredibly boring, except for the players and their very tight pants; it had been during a date with a baseball-fan john, who had brought him along on their way to the hotel.
Tony would have gladly skipped the ‘foreplay’, but at least he had paid him for the extra time.
Like almost every Sunday, at the Scavo house – Molly’s, considering that their father had disinherited his, disowned him, kicked him out of the house with a very loudly italian curse that sounded like ‘I don’t wanna have anything to do with you anymore’ – there was a lunch considered sacred, as every self-respecting Italian teaches.
Anthony was always invited, of course, though the times he did show up were not entirely voluntary; he would rather have stayed in bed and slept late than sit at the table and listen to Nicholas’s pompous chatter, but saying ‘no’ to Molly was a nearly impossible challenge.
Among other things, if their father had known that Nico was still hanging out with him – in very rare and rather annoying moments – he probably would have had something to say; but considering that Molly was involved, all was forgiven.
It was easy to figure out who was the favorite child.
“After the third inning I thought they were fucking done for.”
Nicholas Scavo was the eldest of the three brothers – but he and Molly, being twins, were worth almost one – and he was also the one most involved in the family’s illicit affairs. Their father, now close to retirement, had already begun to pass the reins to him and introduce him deeper into the Mafia underworld, and it seemed that everyone at that table was quietly aware of the source of the Scavos’ money.
The house where Molly, Daniel, and Anna lived was a townhouse in one of Manhattan’s nicest neighborhoods, practically across from Central Park; considering that Daniel worked as an accountant for Scavo Senior and she worked as a sales assistant at Macey’s because ‘it’s fun!’, doing the math wasn’t too hard.
Let’s add to this the numerous donations to Anna’s private school.
“Tony, vuoi un caffè?”
Molly’s voice brought him out from his thoughts; he blinked and stared at his sister, standing in the kitchen doorway as Daniel and Nicholas continued their discussion.
He sighed, standing up.
“Ti do una mano.”
Everything to get the fuck away from here.
Passing behind Nico, he took the opportunity to give him a slap on the back of the neck, to which the other responded with a nice ‘vaffanculo’, before going back to talking to Daniel.
Molly’s kitchen had a pretty window that looked out directly onto the backyard; owning your own patch of green in Manhattan was practically a privilege. In the aforementioned backyard, Anna was happily playing with the leaves that had fallen from the tree, collecting them in little piles sorted by color on the table. There was also a half-carved pumpkin on that very table, probably a job they still had to finish for the upcoming Halloween.
Yeah.
Anthony slipped his left hand into the back pocket of his black shorts – those, along with the fishnet stockings tucked into his usual Docs, had been looked at with some disapproval by Nico – to squeeze the sobriety token.
He looked at his sister and a flash of the night of October 31st of last year came to his mind.
He had never seen her cry like that.
“Sugar?”
Molly’s question broke the placid silence, broken only by the babbling sound of the moka pot and the muffled chatter of the other two, who remained in the dining room.
He nodded, personally opening the cupboard above the sink to get the sugar jar and place it on the kitchen island counter, while Molly took the moka pot off the stove and began pouring coffee into four cups already laid out.
He watched her again as she disappeared into the dining room for a moment, carrying two coffees, while he loaded his espresso with two teaspoons of sugar; he stirred in silence, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket again and opening the chat with Henry.
The last message, from him, dated back to 2:00 PM; considering that it was already 3:30 PM, he felt authorized to write to him again.
Tony 💖
what time can i come 💦 to ur place??
He put it away in a smirk, blowing on the coffee to cool it, distracted by a small hand tugging at the hem of the oversized purple sweater that practically served as his dress, considering how short were his shorts.
He lowered his hazel gaze to meet Anna’s, so different from Molly’s – and his own, in fact – and smiled at her, a glimmer of his golden canine.
“What’s up, sugar?”
“Come play with me and Froggy?”
Froggy was a sort of puppet with extendable limbs, dressed like a jester, who, if pressed in certain places, croaked a ribbit very similar to an actual frog; it had added himself to the vast collection of frogs that populated Anna’s room and of which he knew every single name.
Froggy – who was actually called Fizzarollie, at least according to the packaging – was a sort of exception to the army of amphibians, but for some reason he was one of his niece’s favorites.
Anthony chuckled, ruffling her dark blonde hair a bit.
“Later, honey. Let zio drink his coffee first, hmm?”
Anna put on a very pretty-princess-pout, clutching Froggy tighter to her chest and marching back out into the garden to resume her work of cataloging fallen leaves.
As he watched her play, he felt a wave of tenderness invade him; he took a picture of her from the window, sending it to Henry immediately afterwards – who in the meantime had not yet responded.
Tony 💖
if u don’t htfu i still have a lovely date
“What time do you have to go, Tony?”
Molly had returned; she leaned her hips against the kitchen island to finally sip her coffee and look at her brother with a silent question: where do you have to go.
Anthony had been very silent about this, but he glanced at his phone anyway to check.
“I’m still waiting, but I think soon.”
“And where are you going?”
In the end, the question hadn’t been silent for too long; it had simply skipped lunch.
“I’ll meet a friend at his place.”
“A friend.”
“Yeah, Molly, as odd as it sounds I have friends too, you know?” Angel joked, finishing his coffee and avoiding his sister’s gaze to approach the sink and leave the empty cup there.
“He’s Anna’s friend’s father, his name is Husk.”
“Mh.”
Molly’s grumbling earned an almost annoyed sigh from her brother.
“What.”
“It’s just— You usually hang out with Cherri, when you talk about male friends it’s not—”
“Molly.”
Tony didn’t bother to even look at her; leaning against the sink, which looked directly out onto the garden window, his back to her, he could almost feel her jump at his tone: firm and sharp. Something he never used with her, or at least he did very rarely.
There was no need to say anything else; he heard her sigh, though, and move closer to the sink to gently place a hand on his back.
“I worry about you.”
Another memory – Molly crying, screaming something indistinct, words he couldn’t quite make out because his head was on the floor and there’s puke in his nose – clouded his consciousness for a moment, before Tony sent it back down. Where it belonged.
It was all Halloween’s fault if he started thinking about that night again.
He forced himself to smile and leaned his head sideways toward her, giving her a soft head-butt.
“I know. Thanks, but you don’t have to worry.” he reassured her, fishing the cell phone out of his pocket, which had just vibrated. “This time it won’t–”
He didn’t finish the sentence, because he didn’t even need to open the notification on his screen to read what Henry had just written to him.
Husk The DILF
I cannot make it today, I’m sorry.
Stop, just that: no justification or explanation, no details. Not even a fucking lie. There was not even a hint of re-scheduling their appointment another day.
He had been systematically ignoring his messages, more or less since late morning, and by almost four in the afternoon when they had agreed to meet, he was getting only this in return? Not even a fucking phone call?
Suddenly, the coffee he had just drunk returned to his mouth with a bitter taste, something that tightened his stomach in a feeling he had promised himself he would never feel again.
See, Angelito? In the end, he ditched you like everyone in your life.
“Tony?”
Molly’s voice called back to him and he struggled for a couple of moments to look at her again, while he locked the screen again and put the phone back in his pocket.
“Is everything alright? You went pale all of—”
“I’m fine,” he interrupted quickly. “Can I use the bathroom for a moment?”
Molly frowned at the request – since when Anthony asks for permission? – nodding and not having time to stop him as the other rushed out of the kitchen to reach the stairs that led to the bathroom upstairs.
Calm down, Tony , he said to himself, walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He might have had a setback, right? These things happen all the time. You can ask him why.
Angel forced himself to breathe slowly, typing a couple of question marks on the chat – he couldn’t articulate anything else at the moment – and placed the phone on the sink.
He leaned on that too, swallowing down the bitter taste and reminding himself once again that he had to breathe; he looked at his reflection in the mirror, while the late October afternoon light – already orange with sunset – illuminated him from behind, filtering through the window curtains.
“He didn’t reject you,” he muttered to himself in the mirror. “Calm down. Don’t do that again.”
He hadn’t had a panic attack in months, but the unsettling sensation of shortness of breath and the blackout that threatened to shut down his brain in a spiral of anxiety crept along the edges of his control.
Calm down calm down calm down calm down.
He repeated it to himself, or perhaps he hadn’t even spoken out loud; his reflection in the mirror hadn’t moved his lips, but was looking at him with a hollow smirk, much like the way Valentino looked at him when he wanted to make him feel that way.
Like no one in the world could actually want him.
He checked his phone again, hand shaking: the message had been seen, but there had been no response.
Maybe it would have been better if he had never even read it.
Panic began to bloom behind his sternum, wrapping around his lungs like poison ivy and making everything quick and hazy: his pulse, his breathing, his thoughts. This time, his control cracked a little bit more and he found himself clenching his knuckles until they paled against the ceramic sink.
The Anthony in the mirror continued to stare at him impassively, while the Anthony in the bathroom was covered in cold sweat and having the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack.
The rational part of him told him that no, the panic attack wasn’t Henry’s fault; it was all his fault.
It was Halloween memories that, from the moment Charlie had given him the token, had begun to haunt his memory again; it was everything that a year of therapy had taught him to recognize but that he had not yet accepted, not completely.
Anthony Scavo was not weak, he never had been.
And yet, when Molly had saved him from the overdose, he was sure that a part of him had remained on that floor – paralyzed, terrified, broken – leaving much more space for the fragile Angelito that Valentino had worked so hard to create, over the years of their relationship, dismantling piece by piece all his certainties and giving him something to hold on to: drugs.
Which one, it doesn’t matter.
Tony’s gaze slid feverishly to the cabinet over the sink.
He opened it, with the urgency of a junkie looking for his fix; Daniel had hurt himself in the gym last month, they had given him oxycodone. He knew, because every drug addict always knows when new drugs enter the houses he frequents, even if he doesn’t use them.
The little orange bottle, with three pills left at the bottom, looked back at him as he reached out to grab it and shake it; it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
Do you really want to make it all go down the drain?
He didn’t really know who that little voice belonged to, but it came to him from somewhere.
Anthony rubbed his thumb over the knurled cap of the little bottle, scratching his nail against it, torn between opening it or not; he looked at the still silent phone, as if it was silently asking for an answer.
A flash of awareness crossed his brain: there was a drug that wouldn’t cause him to break the sobriety token still pressed into his pocket.
He absentmindedly touched his now almost completely healed cheek – only a yellowish halo remained in the center near the healed cut – with the same hand that held the pills.
Screw all this.
He picked up his phone and opened his contacts, choosing between the blocked ones a very familiar number. He put the phone to his ear and didn’t have to wait long: a spanish accent answered on the second ring.
Anthony swallowed all the bitterness that tightened his throat, putting the pills back on the shelf and closing the cabinet.
“Take me out.”