Karissa snaps more pictures as we walk around before she lowers the camera and approaches a free railing, giving her a better view all around.
"It's beautiful," she says quietly, staring down at the exposed underground tunnels. "I wish I could've been here back then and seen it all in tact."
I can't help myself. I laugh at the reverence in her voice. It's not mocking, although the look she casts me makes me think it sounds that way. "Yeah, that would be nice, I guess, if you like that sort of thing."
"What sort of thing?"
"Mass slaughtering."
Her eyes widen.
I laugh again.
So innocent.
"What did you think the Romans used this place for, Karissa?"
"I don't know," she says. "Plays, and shows, or sports, or like, festivals."
"Oh, they were festivals, all right," I say. "Just the kind that involved a lot of gore."
"I mean, I knew there were gladiators," she says as I step closer, pausing beside her at the railing. "I knew people watched them fight to the death sometimes. But they were warriors."
So naïve.
"Back then, they'd execute thousands of people in one day," I say. "And they certainly weren't humane about it. There would be so much blood they'd have to put down a layer of sand on the floor to soak it up. They'd unleash lions on unarmed men, and fifty thousand people would sit in this place and watch them be ripped apart, piece-by-piece. You wouldn't have lasted a minute in one of those seats, Karissa. You couldn't even watch the boxing match in Vegas without shielding your eyes when somebody got hit."
She looks torn between fascination and revulsion. "We just waited in line for half an hour to stand inside what's practically an execution chamber? Why?"
"Because, like you said, it's beautiful."
"Death?"
"I meant the Colosseum, but sure." I casually lean against the railing, eyeing her peculiarly. "Death can be. It's a part of life. Some of us are lucky to live longer than others, but everything that's born will eventually die. None of us are immortal."
"That's depressing," she says, looking around again. "Can we go somewhere else now… somewhere preferably where people weren't murdered for sport?"
"How about the Trevi Fountain?" I suggest. "You can throw a coin in and make a wish."
"Can I wish for immortality?"
"Sure," I say, "but I think you'd have better luck going to the Vatican for that. That's where miracles happen."
"Oh, can we go there?" she asks excitedly. "Can you, like, go to the Vatican?"
"Yes," I say with a laugh, unsure if she means me specifically. "I'm pretty sure I won't burst into flames. It's a far walk, though, and the lines will be long, so we might want to save it for another day."
"Okay," she says, smiling. "Trevi Fountain it is, then. Nobody died there, right?"
"Some guys probably died while building it, but otherwise, I don't think so."
She laughs, like I'm joking, but I'm not.
People die everywhere.
Every step you take—everywhere you stand—the ground beneath your feet is tainted by some kind of casualty. It's an inescapable fact. Nothing is untouched by death. Nothing.
The area around the fountain is packed. It's late afternoon, melding into early evening, the tourists out in droves. I fish a coin out of my pocket and hand it to Karissa as I stand back, watching as she squeezes in the crowd. She forces her way up front with ease, standing there for a moment before closing her eyes and tossing the coin in. She reopens her eyes then, staring down at the water for a few seconds, before slipping back out of the crowd to rejoin me.
"Did you wish for your immortality?"
She laughs. "Nope."
"What did you wish for?"
She shakes her head, her hair swishing back and forth. "Not telling."
"Why?"
"Because then it won't come true."
"Says who?"
"Says everyone. Those are the rules."
"Ah, come on," I say, reaching for her, pulling her to me. "You can tell me. I'm an exception."
"What makes you so special?"
"Because I just am," I say, grinning when she rolls her eyes. I reach up, cupping her chin, brushing my thumb across her lips. "And because I'll make your every wish come true. So you can tell me, because I'll do it for you. Whatever it is. It's yours."
She stares at me in contemplation. "I'll think about it."
Leaning down, I kiss her softly. "That's a start."
She takes some more pictures before we stroll away, just walking through the streets with no real destination in mind. We stop inside a few shops and I buy her some gelato, watching with amusement as she takes the first bite. Her eyes roll in the back of her head as she sticks the spoon back in the small bowl, getting a scoop of the messy tan-colored gelato.
"Here," she says, holding the spoon out to me. "Try some."
Hesitating, I shake my head. Chocolate Hazelnut. "No thanks."
Shrugging, she takes another bite.
And another.
And another.
We walk for a while longer as the day wears on and end up at the Villa Borghese, a large park in the center of the city. We head down a path, near the lake. Karissa's footsteps slow then, her eyes darting around, before she nudges me. "Can we sit down for a bit?"
I motion toward her. "Whatever you want. I'm following you."
She veers off the path right away, tromping through the lush grass. She plops right down beneath the shade of an old tree, away from everyone else, and I join her, sitting down carefully nearby. Her shoes are kicked off swiftly as she lounges back in the cool grass. "Uh, that's so much better."
"I bet."
"So how does it feel?" she asks, propped up on her elbows to look at me.
"How does what feel?"
"To be one of us regular folk," she says. "You went all day with no special treatment… had to wait for a table to open up, had to stand in line, weren't catered to or shuttled around wherever you wanted to go. Must've been torture for you, you know, being treated normal."
I stretch my legs out as I shake my head. "I like the anonymity. It's nice not having to worry about whose eyes are watching and whose hands are in my food, if a gun's pointed at me or if there's an ambush waiting around the next corner. Back in New York, I live with a target on my back. Sure, they treat me well when I'm in front of them, but when I turn around, well, there's no telling what they're planning. It's different here, though. Nobody's out to get me here."