S2/04. Old habits die hard

4.1 Francesco De la Cruz
Summer 1998, Francesco's apartment, San Myshuno

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Francesco was so mad he could scream. He thought he was done with Diego. But that asshole just had haunted him in the worst possible moment, totally unexpected; and after so many years.

He took another drag from his cigarette.

He stopped mid-movement. No, his hand didn't shake. It just felt like it.

"Hey." 

Of course, it was just a matter of time until Drake would come looking after him. Barely a minute; way too soon.

Francesco didn't want to see him, he didn't want to talk, and even less explain anything.

"Are you okay?"

Of course Drake had to ask, being an actual decent guy.

"Yeah."

"Did I-"

"No, it's not you."

Okay, literally it was Drake. After so many times they'd gotten down and dirty; suddenly there's a movement, a touch, a something-something that Francesco couldn't quite put his finger on, and it'd kicked him over the edge.

He had to get out.

How long had it been? A good five years?

Once he'd left Diego – definitely and irrevocably – he'd gotten over his abuse surprisingly quickly. Not that he had much time to recover. Once back on the street, he'd gritted his teeth and do what it took to get a roof over his head and occasionally free dinner; but it wasn't for long until Diego completely vanished from his mind when it came to sex. It wasn't always good, but at least not dreadful either.

Not much later, Mae'd been the first person he'd slept with without any ulterior motives than plain, ordinary lust. And very soon he'd started to notice other people, attractive people, too.

Luckily, Mae'd loved her own freedom as much as he then needed his, and he'd jumped the opportunity and test the waters. 

He relished reclaiming control over his body and his mind. Sex in itself, felt good; and the feeling wasn't tied to a person anymore. Neither was it ruined by his previous bad experiences, nor was it worse when he wasn't in love with his partners.

He was fine.

By the time he'd met Rosa, he'd already forgotten Diego ever existed. His first love'd became nothing more than source material for deliciously lurid love songs, nothing more.

And suddenly – out of the blue – this.

Drake sat down, providently a generous distance between them for which Francesco was grateful. He lit himself a cigarette, too.

"I guess you want me to leave," he said after taking two drags. He always did, two in a row, without taking a breath in between.

"Hm." Francesco didn't manage to say more. He wanted to be alone, but he also didn't want Drake to leave.

Drake didn't say more, but Francesco caught him observing when he risked a glance. Instantly Francesco regretted it. Drake's light blue eyes were full with a calm, curious concern. 

So inviting to cave; tell him everything, fall for him.

No thanks.

Francesco searched for pity, or annoyance, anything that would make him angry instead, but he couldn't find it.

For a while they just smoked together in silence and stared into the night sky.

"Gotta go." Drake said and squeezed out his cigarette in the ashtray. "We're recording early tomorrow."

"Get out, then," Francesco forced himself to smile. "Why did you even come tonight? Later you'll blame me when your record turns out trash."

He wouldn't have taken Drake for one of those phonies that partied harder than work. Still, he was relieved he found something off-putting about him, prevent himself from falling too deep.

Not now, not yet.

Drake's lips curled into a very unmistakable, suggestive smirk.

Okay, it was hard to resent Drake. Even when he was a lazy ass; sitting on all that talent for the easiest instrument of the world.

Drake smacked Francesco's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"See ya."

Fuck.

Nothing went as it should.

S2/02. Bad Blood

2.5 Francesco De la Cruz
Spring 1998, Mountaver Records studio, San Myshuno

"I can't stand it," Francesco said.

Nico slammed down his head phones.

"How many more times do you want to record it?"

It was kind of an achievement, to get him to lose his temper.

"No more," Francesco said.

"Then what do you want?"

"It doesn't matter how often I replay it. It sounds... different."

"Different to?"

Francesco rolled his eyes.
"Different to Rick, of course. I can't play it like him and neither can Al."

Rick'd been their steady tour support on the bass since he could think, but when Deep Rift switched labels they'd left him and other people behind in Oasis Springs too. The problem wasn't that Francesco or Alejandro weren't capable to play the bass part – it was probably the easiest instrument in existence; it was that playing an instrument always had a personal note which was impossible to copy.

"Get over it," barked Alejandro. "That nitpickery of yours is getting on my nerves."

"This isn't gonna work long term," Francesco went on. "We need steady members. Not supports that come and go as they like."

"Not this shit again..." Nico groaned.

Alejandro snorted.

"You seriously wanna throw away a part of our revenue because of your obsessive perfectionism, don't ya."

"Don't pretend you don't hear it," Francesco snapped. He knew it wasn't only him. They all had to notice it, but apparently the other two were much too comfortable half-assing their songs.

"Listen, all those that made it big are fully lined up. No supports. Not where it matters."

Before he'd punch a hole in the wall, he picked up the bass again and replayed the problematic sequence. Try and get used to the different flavor, as it was unlikely they'd get Rick back.

"He's never gonna shut up, Al... The fuck we gon' do? The record won't be finished for ever."

"Such a pain in the ass..." Alejandro groaned. But something in his tone suggested that Francesco finally might've come through. Money or not, the guitarist had his pride as an artist too.

"Sorry to disturb you boys," Joanne entered and didn't sound sorry at all, "but your cab's waiting, Franco. And Al, your ex asks for a call back."

The next band was already right behind Deep Rift's manager.
"And your time's up for more than half an hour!" Lyta barked. "Fuck off!"

Francesco couldn't care less about Toxic Purple's vocalist. It was the blonde bass player that drew all his attention. On his way out he couldn't resist touching Drake's hand and play with those fingers that were skilled in more than just bass playing.

"Tonight," he whispered and he couldn't wait for it. Drake shot him a conspiratorial smirk.
Francesco would've tried and talk him into joining Deep Rift just so he could spend more time with him already, if Alejandro wouldn't insist on keeping private matters out of business.
Admitted, it'd probably be rather distracting than productive to have Drake around when working.

Ms. Soledad Blum received Francesco in person. Joanne had picked Blum & Blum for having a good reputation with complicated cases in domestic relations and Francesco hoped the lawyer could help him. She looked very professional, at least.

"What can I do for you, Mr. De la Cruz?"

"I wanna divorce my wife. She's nuts."

"I suppose you don't have an agreement."

"Not at all. She doesn't want to divorce." He wasn't as lucky as Alejandro who settled everything with a few signatures at the registry office.

"Are you in a hurry?" Ms. Blum asked.

"What? Why?"

"Divorce applications generally are granted automatically two years after the formal application has been issued, with or without the consent of the objecting party if the applicant doesn't change their mind meanwhile. If you cannot wait that long, we will have to persuade a judge that we have a case of severe circumstances; let's say, domestic violence or major adultery. Then the divorce can be granted with immediate effect, but of course this must be proven. Either way, first we have to send an official divorce application to the other party –"

"No, we can't do that."

"Excuse me?"

"Like I said, my wife's nuts. She's kinda... tied my hands."

"Explain."

"Well, I've tried to talk to her after we broke up, settling the divorce and stuff."

He'd returned home the next morning after he'd left. Rosa looked like crap, she'd probably not slept all night, but she was so... happy when she saw him. Francesco had expected another shit show, but they actually had a normal conversation for once. She was so excited to see him, it was kinda sweet. Especially after she'd kept him at arm's length for so long.
Maybe she'd finally got off her trip.

"She tried to persuade me to go back to her instead, but I've taken too much from her already to fall for her bullshit."

He'd caved in.
Damn.

He knew well enough that he was better off without her. Fuck, the last few months he hadn't even missed her while on tour; he was just glad he didn't have to deal with her fits for as little as going to get cigarettes. He didn't even like her anymore, god knows why he had tried to fix their relationship for so long.

He'd got dressed and looked for a few things he'd need in his new place right now, while racking his brain how he could explain best that this hadn't been reconciliation.

"Where you going?" Rosa's voice'd been shaky. "You're not going back to that whore, are you?"
And here he'd learned that she hadn't come to her senses.

 

 

"You're kidding, right?" He'd really pulled himself together to not yell and wake up Luca. "Mae's married for god's sake" – hopefully happier than he – "I thought you've seen her with that douche face."

For a brief moment she'd got quiet and it seemed that it finally clicked.

"You're both cheaters," she'd hissed.

He'd been wrong again.
Whatever, they were done and he couldn't care less what she believed about him.

Rosa wasn't done, though.
"But I forgive you," she'd purred and put her arms around him. "I'm so happy you're back."

She'd still completely disregarded what he'd said or wanted. It'd just fueled his anger. He'd peeled her arms off him with more force than necessary and went back to his closet.

"I'll sell the house," he'd said, "you might pack as well."

He'd never liked this huge monstrosity in the first place, its only advantage was that it was close to his band mates' and the studio.

Though... he couldn't just throw Rosa on the street. No matter how crazy she was about him, she was still his son's mother.
"I can ask Jo to look for a new place for you and Luca. Maybe closer to your friends –"

"You can't leave me!" Rosa'd been in pieces, bawling. "I need you... and Luca needs you!"

Yeah – he hated that he'd have to leave his son behind. But Rosa would likely step up with her obsession if he'd stay and there was no way he could take it anymore. But what could he do? For Luca it'd be better to be with his mother, he was still just a baby.

"I'll come over to see him and when he's old enough he can visit me," he'd said. "We'll find a way." Francesco'd really hoped that she could be at least reasonable if it was about their kid.

"You can only see him if you come back to me," she'd hissed.

Nevermind. She'd gone completely mad, and he'd been naive to think she'd have one sane brain cell left. Getting an agreement about Luca would be such a pain in the ass.

"You can't keep me from seeing him," he'd said. The whole argument had become so ridiculous he couldn't even be angry anymore. "He's my son too, and you're in my house. If I wanted, I could just get him now and –"

He'd have to stop talking and watch Rosa suddenly run out of the bedroom. He'd heard a key turn. Then she'd come back, breathing hastily.

"When she noticed that her sweet talk won't work, she started to threaten me. That bitch's completely mad, I've never seen her like that."

"If you want to see him, you'll have to get the key from me or break the door," she'd said, her face a mask of stone.

"Did you totally snap now or what?"

"Come, try and get it from me! Then I'll sue you for domestic violence."

"Bullshit and you know it." Francesco'd to laugh. "I don't have to use violence to get him. You have no right to keep my son from me."

"But I can! If you file for divorce or anything else, then I'll sue you for domestic violence. No one can prove it didn't happen! I'll report you for drug abuse. You have a history with drugs already, don't you? Heroin was it, right? You'll have so many lawsuits and I'll make them go on forever... they'll ruin your career and they'll prevent you from seeing Luca. Ha! He won't even want to know about your existence by the time you may finally get out of this mess!

"That's unfortunate," Ms. Blum said, quite unimpressed. "Is there any evidence, if only circumstantial, that could support her claims? Witnesses?"

Francesco snorted. "No way! I was barely at home. My band mates – hell, even the roadies saw me more often than her in the past year."

"Then I doubt you'll have much to fear for. Or is it your son you're worried about? Do you think she'd hurt him if you take legal actions against her?" For the first time during their conversation, Ms. Blum looked very concerned.

Francesco thought a bit. "No... no, I don't think so. She's nuts but she loves the kid. She's not a bad mom."

Neither her baseless threats against him were what he worried about. But if she was about to dig out his past in Paris, there were a few things that very well might become a problem. 

"How likely is it that old... encounters with the police might show up? From another country?"

"Which kind of encounters?"

Francesco hesitated. He didn't forget that thug warning him to never speak of what happened. But on the other hand, there'd been an official investigation so most of it was more or less publicly accessible.

 

"Mr. De la Cruz, if I am to help you I'll need to be able to face all eventualities," Ms. Blum insisted. "Have you been convicted of anything?"

"No, not convicted. The charges were dropped."

"Which kind of charges?"

"Murder."

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Author's note:

Yes, we're having again some lovely sim donations 🖤🖤🖤 Franny's (hopefully) competent lawyer Ms Soledad Blum (left) was donated by Froot and Toxic Purple (right, also Mariella's favorite band atm) was lent to me by Maladi.

You can read Froot's story here, and Maladi's story here!
Thank you very much 🖤