ARELLA (A Mafia Story)

Fourteen

I knew as soon as I saw her that she was like me. The way she flapped her hands and could never fully look somebody in the eye for longer than a few seconds. I saw it in the way she stares at me. Almost like she recognizes that we're one the same.

That's why it's important for me to find whoever is responsible for this website and take them down. Craig is just a pawn in a bigger scheme. Where one falls, another takes it's place.

Three knocks sound on the closed door. Always three because they know what I like.

They don't wait for me to shout out for them to enter. They know I won't.

Mom walks into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She always makes sure to sit farther away from me because it makes me comfortable. It's been a long time since I've hugged my mom.

I can see the yearning in her eyes. She wants to be able to hug and sit close to me. It's been thirteen years, seven months, and nineteen days since I've last given her a hug.

That was before I learned about germs in school. About those microscopic things that infect you and make you sick. I couldn't stand the thought of another persons germs getting into my body, so I went home and researched everything I could about them.

That's the thing about having an eidetic memory. You never forget about anything. I can vividly remember every little picture that was shown to me. Every piece of disgusting information.

I can't bring myself to wrap my arms around my own mother. These are the times when I wish I could forget everything. I want to give her a hug like my brothers.

Tossing my laptop to the side, I rest my face in my hands.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Breathe. Repeat.

"Alessandro?" Mom whispers, her hand hovering over my back like she wants to touch me for comfort.

Except I can't even stand that. Pressure steadily builds in my head. Gripping the hair on the side of my head, I tug to try and ground myself. Nothings working.

I know myself enough to know when I'm about to have a meltdown. The feeling of constant annoyance, the pressure, the stress.

A tingling feeling builds behind my eyes and I stand. Pacing the length of the jets small bedroom. Six steps to the front, turn, six steps the opposite way.

"Alessandro," Mom calls out, "What's the first twelve numbers in pi?"

I pause in my steps, answering her question. She nods like she knew the answer, asking me more and more mathematical questions. Each one I answer correctly. It's like a calculator in my brain.

Distantly, I realize that she's helping me calm down. Mom did this when I was a little boy and about to have a meltdown. It always works.

My heart rate slows down along with my breathing. I stop pacing and sit down on the bed. She doesn't stop asking the questions, though. My eyes grow heavy as I rest my body back against the cool comforter.

There's still so much to do. I have to protect Arella. Sleep isn't a priority right now. I'm just so tired.

"Go to sleep, Alessandro. You can continue whatever you're doing when you wake." Mom soothes.