Beast Of Italy

Chapter One

Italy, 1834

She sat watching, eyes trailing the slow movement of his hands as he worked to pour them both a glass of wine. He tried to keep his shoulders straight and hands steady as his fingers latched on to the bottle, but his nerves always managed to tremble in spite of his resistance. It was as a result of the accident, he was told, remembering the words of the physician as he placed the bottle back in its place, his eyes catching a brief glimpse of his reflection in the glass. His trembling hands, scarred face and lost memory was as a result of the accident. And apparently —he sighed, turning around to face his mother who was quick to plaster a smile on her face the second his eyes came to rest on her even if the smile did nothing to hide her weariness– his mother's presence was as a result of the accident as well.

Turning back around, he lifted the glasses and began making his way back to her.

“Here.” He held out the glass to her, fingers trembling slightly.

Relieving him of the glass, “You should let the servants help you. ” She murmured softly, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a small sip.

“I am alright, Mother, you do not have to embark on this silly journey once a month.” He placed himself on the seat beside her.

“I do not believe it possible that I can stop. I cannot possibly imagine what could have happened to you if you hadn't been rescued from that fire, if you hadn't been saved and brought back to Italy. I would have lost you! I mean, first it was your brother and now...”

Rather than sigh in exhaustion, Julius lifted the glass to his lips and took yet another swing at his wine. His conversation with his mother always went this way; she began by insisting he needed more help and ended up mourning his present state. He wanted to point out the obvious fact that it was a state that was bound to last for the rest of his life, but he didn't want to upset her further.

“I am alive, Mother.” He placed the glass on the table and turned fully to her. Wide brown eyes stared back at him as she fought against her tears. “You mustn't journey so often to visit, you must save your strength. And if you die on the ship? Shall I then be burdened with the grief of losing you and the guilt of being the reason for your death?”

“Then move back to Birmingham, will you not?”

“I do not remember my time there. This is the life I know, the only one I know, Mother. If I am to recover, I must do so here.”

Josephine glanced down once more. “You still remember nothing?” Julius shook his head and turned his attention to the small remnant of wine in his glass. “Perhaps we must call the Physician? It has been two years.”

And I have stopped trying, he wanted to say but lifted the near empty cup to his lips once more and allowed the liquid drain into his mouth.

It was easier to ignore his inability to remember his past, his family and his own identity, than it was to try to remember. He had tortured himself for two years trying to remember, it was best if he forgot and tried to start again in this empty mansion that consisted of himself and a woman who worked to keep his home clean. While his mother had tried severally to hire new helps, Julius found their wandering eyes quite irritating. They stared at his burns too long and when they managed to tear their eyes off of his scarred, disfigured skin long enough to look at him, fear clouded their eyes.

He was a beast. It was the only thought he had when he encountered the world at large and so, he kept himself trapped in a building with a singular housekeeper he did his best to avoid. He kept her around because he knew he couldn't keep his home clean and cook his own meals.