ꜱʟɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴍʏ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ┃ɪꜱᴀʙᴇʟʟᴀ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜰɪᴠᴇ: ʙᴀɪꜱᴇᴍᴀɪɴ

"I want to dance with you." I decide. She laughs again and stands, holding her hand out to me. I grab it, and she helps me up.

"We can do that right now, if you'd like." She whispers mischievously. I raise an eyebrow.

"But what about mother's radio? She puts it away after lunch." She smiles brightly.

"I know where it's hidden!" She says in a sing-song voice. Without giving me time to object, Isabella runs out of the room, returning five minutes later with mother's beat up yellow radio. Isabella pushes it into my hands. I look at her quizzically.

"I, uh...don't know how the dial works." She explains bashfully. I roll my eyes and start messing with it, turning the volume to where only we can hear it. She leans in close to my face, watching as I turn the dial. After a few minutes, I found one good channel. Italian music sang from the box. I put it on the window sill.

Lo penso sempre a te, soltanto a te~

Not knowing how to dance, I let Isabella take the lead. Though, it seems she's only ever danced alone. Eventually, we just sway together. Her hands hug my back. Mine rest on her waist. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I do the same to her.

E so che la città, vuota mi sembrerà. Se non torni tu~

"I wonder what's she's saying." Isa mutters.

Come puoi tu vivere ancor solo senza me. Non senti tu che non finì il nostro amor~

"Maybe that's what I'll do in the future...I'll learn Italian...I'll teach you the words to this song." I reply, equally as soft. Isabella hums contently.

Torna da me, amor~

"I'd like that." She whispers, almost inaudible. From across the house, mother calls her name. Isa jolts.

"Whoops...looks like she might have noticed her radio missing..." She says sheepishly. I chuckle. Feeling confident, I take her hand. I softly kiss the back of her palm.

"Go ahead then, darling. I'll finish up the work here." I wink. She pulls away and rubs the back of her hand gently. The tips of her ears are flushed. She makes her way out of the room with a small smile.

E non sarà più vuota la città~

I flip the radio off. She'll eventually notice she left it in here. Gathering the folded clothes into a basket, I push the hamper on top of the washer. My stomach flutters. Just thinking of her poorly hidden smile makes my face warm. It was my eleventh birthday, and it was perfect.

Thus began the nights of falling asleep on Italian textbooks in the library.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

My eyes struggle to open. I'm hot. Really hot. I try to move my body next, but find that it's trapped. I sit up and pull myself closer to my pillow, gritting my teeth when my aching shoulder protests. I rip an oxygen mask off my face. The room is dark, but the shapes of human figures are unmistakable.

Every person in our group, save for the adults, are crowded around my medical bed. No wonder its so warm. My stomach growls. God, I'm starving. I crawl out of the bed carefully, stepping around piles of children with caution. I'm not sure how long I was out, but my muscles are painfully tight.