Dolce Farfalla

Robin Bianchi

Robin Bianchi
I have not had an easy life. I grew up with my single mother, not a bad start! It went downhill from there- or well downhill isn't the right word? Plummet? Yes it plummeted from there. My mother was never the warmest. It was like looking at me was a reminder of something... disgusting is the best way to describe the way she looks at me.
I was a sweet kid. My teachers loved me, I was smart, kind, and polite. It think that's why so many teachers and adults around me found my home life shocking.
I think they noticed little things but didn't put it together. I was a little dirty, hair a little matted, not having a lunch packed, being hungry.
I was a super chipper kid. I think they were expecting more signs in my behavior. Outbursts, fights, maybe being quiet drawn back. But I was very good at hiding my emotions. Still am.
We lived in a fairly decent apartment. It wasn't a fairly populated building. I believe that's what saved me. My mother started dating a dealer. She didn't love him, I could tell. She was cheap. Didn't like spending money and did whatever she could to not pay. She probably got with him for the free supply of drugs she offered. She did whatever she could to get him to stay with her.
A very important detail is that he didn't like kids. He didn't like sharing the space, he didn't like being around "gross children", they were too loud. One day he got particularly intoxicated, he went on a rant about how kids are awful and told my mom to get rid of me. I don't know what he thought getting rid of me was but my mother thought killing me was a brilliant idea. After he passed out she turned to look where I was and had this look in her eyes. I knew it wasn't a good look. So my survival instincts kicked in and I started screaming for help. She grabbed my arm and started dragging me I grabbed anything I could to keep me from going wherever she was trying to get me.
We had this neighbor, Mr Hart, I saw him when I would walk to school. He was a sweet old man. He wasn't like in his 90s but he was still all grey. He was a retired police officer. That night he heard my screaming and barged through the front door. By this time I was already in the bathroom and my mother was trying to push me under the water. He came in and my mother didn't gene acknowledge him, or she was too intoxicated to know. He shot her in the shoulder and grabbed me. I was sobbing and coughing up water. He kept patting my back to get it out. My mother started screaming at him but he was having none of it, he pointed his gun at her and looked her dead in the eyes. He temporarily took his hand and dialed 911, he put it between his ear and his shoulder and resumed patting my back.
When the cops came he took me to his house and put a blanket on me and gave me some pasta. He kept me company and comforted me the best he could. When the cops came to ask me questions he sat by my side, when the social worker came he sat by my side. He was the only person I was able to call family for a long long time.
I was put in an orphanage. I put into a few foster homes but it never worked out. My social worker then decided I should start fresh in California. I was 10 at the time, I was put into a pretty nice foster home. There was space, nice guardians, it was probably more than pretty nice but you get my point. There I met two people.
Daniel, who saw my potential. With his help and guidance I became a damn good "private investigator" I basically find what rich criminals are looking for information and any dirt they want an a rival. Occasionally I am a bounty hunter for those same people, though it's not often and very lucrative.
I also met Lillian, she hates that though, thinks it's too old lady like. I call her Lily. She's my age, a fellow foster kid. I met her until eh foster home here in California. We were close friends fast. Then it became something more. We have been dating for coming up on three years. She's brilliant. Studying to become a doctor here in California. She graduated med school a little while ago and is interning here. She's sweet as hell. She speaks Italian like me, she likes to patch me up when I get hurt which is fairly often. I have what she calls and big ass mouth. She says that every time I get hurt in a fist fight.
I'm a little hot headed when someone pisses me off. When I'm truly pissed I'm quiet. A few friends call me doll cause of this creepy ass stare I do when I'm truly pissed.
Lily likes to take care of me when I'm hurt of sick. She calls it practice. She patches me up and treats me while lecturing me about safety. She understands the work isn't exactly legal and I often get gunshot wounds or stab wounds. It's really adorable the way she huffs and lectures me.