MAfia Desire

Thirty seven.

DIVYA

Silence. That's all I heard in here.

When I woke up in the morning, there were no welcoming squeals of Cora, no Buongiorno from Rosa. There was no Angelo popping in for breakfast or a friendly hello from Armando. There was especially, especially no Antonio, whispering soft musical words in my ears, giving me kisses of satin with velvet touches.

Silence. The hole where my heart used to be hurt. It hurt too much to breathe. My breath hitched every time I tried.

Silence. My eyes hurt from holding in unshed tears. It hurt from the burden of knowledge of a viewed video. It hurt knowing I could never unsee it.

Silence. I was sick of it. I hated it. But the walls in this place I used to call home refused to repeat the words of my parents, and the floors refused to echo the sound of their footsteps.

Hold me one more time, Mum.

My jaw hurt, and my lips trembled from holding back my tears. But I wouldn't let go.

Silence. I couldn't bear it anymore, following me around like a shadow I couldn't catch.

Silence. I gave up on it. Finding my father's old records, I put them on. Sitting by the window, I watched the cobblestone street. I let the music wash over me, just like the memories and the tears, finally free, flow down my cheeks.

Silence finally broken. There was a strange sound I could hear above the music. Long and loud, a high-pitched cry. I realised it was coming from me.

I was home, finally, but I had never felt so alone.

I called my father's phone and listened to his warm voice, telling me he would call me right back if I left a message.

I did.

Help me, Dad. I don't know. How to live.

He never did call me back.

I wandered aimlessly through the house. The comfort I had hoped for was not to be found here. This home, it had been one of laughter, warmth, respect.... The only place I had ever been accepted just as I was. Where I had been loved unconditionally, as only a parent could a child.

Now it was just a house, with a musty smell of desertion. In spite of the weekly cleaning, the soul of the house was disappearing, being sucked out, leaving it cold and damp and empty.

I had to let go. There was an iron fist in my heart that refused to. I had to let go of my parents and move on. Remember them, keep them in my memories, and move on. I knew that.

What a silly idea it had been to come here to look for solutions. How could they, who were gone, help me forget a man they had never met, who I did not understand?
I had to let go of everything and simply start over.

Everything.

I let days pass by. I didn't know when one ended and the other began.

I dreaded going to bed, but I dreaded waking up as well. So I tried to keep awake till my eyes hurt, my head pounded, and my body collapsed into a sleep full of awful dreams. Till I woke up in a sweat-soaked scream and I walked off to the next day.

I walked back from the beach, my feet swallowing one cobblestone at a time, the chill in the air wrapped around my heart in amity. Even the sun had tired of my depression and left off to another land. Nearing home, I looked up to find an Italian stallion crowding the doorway of my parents' brightly painted blue door.

Lying, cheating, Italian stallion.

He stood there leaning against the door, his cold grey linen suit in sharp contrast to the door. His white shirt breathed free of a tie. Again.