Winona [18+]

chapter seven

Cameras flashed beside him, the sound of chatter and bright congratulatory words soothing the rapid pulse in his ears.

The unveiling of his artwork, his painting, at the Museum of Modern Art was no small event.

He was ecstatic.

He thought nothing could bring down his mood.

He thought he was invincible.

Catarina offered a tight-lipped smile.

"It's... It's nice, Salvatore."

He was wrong.

Dread overcame his features and Salvatore dropped her icy hand. "Nice?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

Defeated and exhausted, Salvatore stood from his seat. He left behind his coffee and his breakfast, gathering his coat, his keys, and what was left of his dignity.

"Don't be upset." Catarina followed after him, her feet padding against the wooden floor until he reached the door.

"It's too late for that."

"Salvatore."

He ripped open the door, shrugging on his coat. There was no warmth in her eyes, no bright shades that could ignite him. Nothing to comfort him or remind him of the love he once felt towards her.

It's why he felt no remorse while saying, "We're fucking miserable, you and I. You know that?"

She stared at him blankly and Salvatore slammed the door shut behind him.

¤¤¤¤¤

The ride back to the manor gave Salvatore Rinaldi much to think about. Questions of morality and virtue and all that crap felt a lot like a ball and chain clasped around his ankle. He planned on sulking in his room all day, but the last few rays of the sun left the sky on fire and the manor seemed more chipper than usual.

"Salvatore, you've returned earlier than I expected." Zara raised her brows. "Is everything alright?"

"Catarina was called into work."

"Poor woman. You must tell her to rest."

"I will." He nodded, adjusting his sketchpad under his arm uncomfortably. "Everyone around here seems... excited."

"Ah, yes. The staff has been planning a bonfire... It's mediocre at best."

"Bonfire?"

"I allowed it. I suppose they have earned it." Zara grimaced. "Will you be attending?"

"Where is it?"

"Winona's Pond."

Salvatore would have skipped the event, but it was his soul that urged him to attend. Plus, he could use a drink or two.

Summer bonfires with his parents were his favorite when he was younger. He thought of the late-night camping trips, where he'd sit between his family around a fire with marshmallows on sticks. The scent of melted chocolate and graham crackers coloring the air.

Most of all, he longed for the simplicity of the past.

Salvatore sat far from the crowd, an ice-cold can of beer in his left hand and a cigarette in the other. He tapped his foot while people clapped to the beat of the music, keeping to himself.