Gave him the message.
Angelo's hands motioned fluidly in sign language as naturally as his voice would have sounded if he had spoken aloud. He stood in a hallway with a man who was extremely tall and entirely too well built. He was in his late forties, his features that of a Portuguese man. Medium length messy brown hair, deep hazel eyes with hoods, and almond coloured skin. He had t be about six feet tall (183 centimetres) and had a wide build of muscles and jagged scars.
"Just gave him a roughin' up, did ya?" The man hummed, clipping his cigar.
Angelo nodded silently. He has two days.
"Good," He gruffed. "Ya did well."
The man Angelo was standing before was called Jose. He was his mentor, the man who taught him how to be an enforcer in the mafia. Angelo was always given tutors for how to kick people's asses and launder money, but he didn't really like it. He'd rather do something else… but he didn't know what.
So assumably dismissed due to the silence and half-assed praise, Angelo began to walk away. However, Jose stopped him in his tracks, slapping something that sloshed but was hard against his chest. Upon looking down, Angelo found that Jose had placed a sealed water bottle against his abdomen. Glancing at Jose again with a sassy eyebrow raise, the guy wasn't even looking at him, just smoking his cigar casually.
The truth was, Angelo hadn't had water in hours, and Jose probably knew that. He usually got distracted and didn't eat or drink, and when he did find himself hungry or thirsty, he generally had no appetite. So when Jose threatened him to eat or drink something, he tended to just take the offer, lest he find the guy standing over his bed with a home-cooked meal at three in the morning like he used to.
Taking the water, Angelo began to move away, but Jose grabbed his arm in a death grip. Looking back, the guy was staring at him fully now, gaze flicking to the water bottle expectantly with no words. Letting out a quiet, disgruntled huff, Angelo snapped off the lid of the bottle and took a single gulp. However, Jose still continued to stare at him. Angelo's eye twitched in annoyance, and then he downed half the water bottle. Wiping his mouth, he glared at Jose, who just hummed approvingly and let go of him.
Starting to walk again, Angelo screwed the lid of the water bottle back on angrily. He knew that Jose was just trying to make sure he was taking care of himself, but it was annoying sometimes. He was nineteen, he knew when to drink a bottle of water on time so he wouldn't die…
He thought bitterly, as he downed the rest of the bottom before he even made it to his bedroom.
Upon entering his room, anyone would think it was a nice setup, albeit small. Nothing too big or spacious, but enough room for just him. He had a double bed in the middle of the right wall, with two side tables. A blue coloured lightbulb shone in the lamp on one side, and a book laid on the other labelled Loyalty in Chains with a plain black cover. Meanwhile, on the left side of the room, was a door to a private bathroom along with a little desk and a dressed by the window on the fall that was facing him.
Everything was in gentle colours of brown and tan, with schemes of red (like the ovular carpet in the middle of the room). Brown covers were on the bed wit scarlet stitches that made spiral designs. The window to the outside was closed but unlocked, like always. If he did lock it, he would get an earful from a certain nighttime visitor that came by every now and then, and he didn't feel like dealing with that lately.
A quick trop to the bathroom later, Angelo kicked off his boots and got changed into a plain white T-shirt and black sweatpants, wearing no socks as he climbed into bed. He curled up under the covers in a small ball-like form, staring at the wall across from him silently as he patiently waited for sleep to take him.
As he did, he couldn't help but think of one thing over and over again, which was the quiet hope that he didn't have to go back to that man in two days… because if he did, then that man wouldn't see the next sunrise.