Bound by blood and ardor

Chapter 5

V.R

I wake up suddenly, feeling disoriented and groggy. The room is dark, and as I rub my sore eyes, I realize it's still the middle of the night. The silence around me tells me that both my brother and my mom are fast asleep. The hunger pangs in my stomach remind me that I haven't eaten anything since my afternoon nap. I know I have to satisfy my cravings before I can go back to sleep.

With a determined mindset, I push the covers aside and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor sends a shiver up my spine, but I brush it off and make my way out of the room. The familiar creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet echoes through the silent house. I tiptoe past my brother's room, careful not to wake him, and head toward the kitchen.

The soft glow of the moon seeps through the curtains, casting a dim light over the kitchen counter. I reach for the switch, but I hesitate, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. Instead, I rely on my memory to guide me through the familiar surroundings. I know exactly where everything is placed.

Opening the refrigerator, I find a ripe avocado waiting for me. With a sense of excitement, I carefully slice it open, feeling the smoothness of the flesh against my fingertips. I grab a slice of bread and pop it into the toaster, watching the coils glow as they warm up. As the bread toasts, I mash the avocado in a small bowl, adding a pinch of salt and a squeeze of lemon for flavor.

The aroma of the toasted bread fills the kitchen, making my mouth water. I retrieve the warm slice from the toaster, feeling its heat against my skin. I spread the creamy avocado mixture onto the bread, yawning every five seconds. It's my favorite midnight snack, a simple pleasure that brings me comfort.

As I take a bite, the taste of the creamy avocado mixes with the crunch of the toast, dancing on my tongue. It's delicious, just as I anticipated. But with each mouthful, memories of my father flood my mind. I remember how he and I used to make this snack almost every night in our old house back in Italy, tiptoeing around, trying not to wake up Mom. We'd savor each bite together, clean up our mess afterward, and stifle our laughter.

But my train of thought is abruptly interrupted by a cacophony of sirens. The sound of ambulances, fire trucks, police cars, and helicopters pierces through the previously deafening silence. I close my eyes, desperately trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my chest. I can't help but worry that my father might be involved in whatever is happening out there.

I finish my toast, but the taste suddenly turns bitter in my mouth. I clean up the kitchen, hoping to distract myself from the troubling thoughts. Just as I think I can escape the unease, I hear heavy footsteps outside my apartment door. My heart races and I instinctively reach for the knife I used to cut the avocados, gripping it tightly.

The knocks on the door come slowly, deliberately, sending chills down my spine. It's a rhythm that doesn't match the way my father used to knock. Cautiously, I creep toward the door, peering through the peephole. Relief washes over me as I see my father standing there. I drop the knife and fling the door open, enveloping him in a tight embrace.

Tears stream down my face as I press my cheek against his chest, taking in his familiar scent. My voice trembles as I ask, "Where have you been, Dad?" The worry and fear are evident in my tone.

Alviero, my father, returns my embrace, a tear falling from his hazel eyes. "I'm sorry, amore mio," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "I need to see your Mom and Jace."

I nod, reluctantly letting go of him and closing the front door behind us. Leaning against it, I feel a sense of emptiness without his warmth. Alviero turns back, ready to face whatever awaits him. Confusion and frustration fill my eyes as I look at him and say, "You're going again? But you just came back!"