Chapter 122: A Day of a Chilly November
I was just about to twist the doorknob and step out when Jonathan’s voice cut through the air, stopping me dead in my tracks. "Ezra..."
"Hmm? Yeah?" I turned back, catching his eyes. They were heavy with something—concern, maybe, or just that look he gets when he’s about to dish out some unsolicited advice.
"Don’t be so stressed, man." His voice softened, and he leaned back against the worn-out couch, arms crossed. "Life’s supposed to be an adventure, you know?"
I raised an eyebrow, letting a smirk creep onto my face. "Oh, yeah, it is really adventurous. For sure and thrilling as well." My tone dripped with sarcasm, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Jonathan barked out a laugh, his head tipping back. "You motherfucker," he said, still grinning, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe me.
"Goodbye, you poet," I shot back, giving him a mock salute as I pushed the door open. It creaked shut behind me, muffling his laughter as I stepped out of Heaven’s Feel Brothel and into the sharp bite of late November air.
Back at the brothel, Jonathan was still sprawled on the couch, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The place was quiet now, just the faint hum of the radiator and the occasional creak of the old building settling. He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. "That guy," he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Always running from one mess to another."
The sun was high, glaring down like it was trying to prove a point, but it was cold as hell. Everyone on the street was bundled up—scarves, coats, the works—looking like they were ready for a snowstorm, not just a chilly morning. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, cursing myself for not bringing my shirt yesterday night.
"Should’ve brought my damn shirt," I muttered, my breath puffing out in a little cloud.
My head was still spinning from the night—and morning—with Elizabeth. That woman was something else. Wild, relentless, the kind of person who could make you forget your own name for a few hours. My throat felt dry just thinking about it.
"Still thirsty," I grumbled to myself, my boots scuffing against the ground.