RED: A Love Story [Featured List]

Part 1: White 14 - Carnival

Again the lump in the throat, the knot in the chest, tears in the eyes. Disoriented, Marisa drifted on the streets. Everything empty, the streets, the hours, her heart. Her head spiraling. Marco. It was the first time she felt such a strong connection to someone. So strong it hurt. So strong it was sometimes scary. He understood her, in a caress, a gaze, a word that knew what existed behind laughter and sorrow—he mattered. Not the others that now inhabited her past in small storage rooms locked with the key of indifference. They weren't that many anyway. 

Louis, the older school mate with sandy hair who had taken her virginity when she was sixteen. The two of them had been dating for a while and were in his bedroom listening to music (The Beatles' Revolution) one afternoon, during his parents' absence. Marisa remembered—the closed curtains, the phosphorescent aquarium with red and silver fish near the window, the odd sensation of having her intimacy touched by another person. But Louis was an impenetrable block: in truth, he only had eyes for himself. Months later, when he departed to study marketing in France, there wasn't much room for longing.

Then it was Sergio. So handsome and dark and tall, so alluring and hollow as an empty gift wrap. Declarations of love and plans for a future more radiant than the sun. The perpetual bliss lasted nine months, the equivalent to a gestation period, until Sergio left her for his diving instructor. Marisa was heartbroken and, from then onward, avoided getting involved with anyone. Then along came Marco and she lowered her guard. She had presumed their relationship meant something to him, but was clearly mistaken. And what did my love mean? He probably called any woman like that, the lady at the store, his bank manager...

At that thought, a sob sprouted from deep down inside and tears flowed freely from her eyes. I was nothing more than a toy to Marco.

And Camila... His falsehood triggered a wave of nausea in Marisa, for she felt betrayed on more than one level. She searched her recollections for an indication of Marco's lies—and found many, since memory fabricated its own treacheries. Marisa felt torn between the hope of being wrong and the even stronger suspicion that he concealed something from her. One could only know a person in an extreme situation, when they were forced to disclose their true nature. Marco had finally revealed his. Worse, he didn't even have the decency of looking after her safety, leaving her to wander into the night on her own.

As if guessing her thought, the cell phone vibrated with a call from Marco. She did not answer it. Another call from him, followed by a message: where are you? Marisa ignored both. Now it was too late. To use Marco's words, the damage had already been done. In that very moment, what required her attention was a practical matter: she couldn't go home because her mother believed she was at Valentina's; and she couldn't show up at two in the morning at her friend's doorstep either.

Marisa needed to find a hotel for spending the night. She looked around and hastened her pace—actually, she first needed to find a safe place in order to check her cell phone for a hotel. Glancing at the cars passing by, Marisa hoped to get a taxi, but the few that went past her where already taken. As she caught sight of a bar open, her eyes lit up to readily dim out before a filthy interior populated with drunkards.

At that point, Marisa recognized the engine sound at her back and, squaring her shoulders, kept walking. She set her eyes ahead and wiped the tears with a furtive gesture.

"Mari!"

Marco caught up with her, and Marisa advanced at a brisker and brisker pace. She went around the corner and he followed her in the contraflow, with the black Ducati close to the curb.

"Mari, stop. I'm sorry, let's talk."

"We have nothing to talk about. You made your stand clear," Marisa said without pausing.