Falling Angel | a Mafia Story

Chapter XVII

"I thought I saw the devil this morning,
looking in the mirror"

I woke up to sunbeams settling on my face. They peeked through the long and flowy curtains that were drawn over the big window facing the garden, plunging the entire room into a hazy morning light.

Laying with my eyes closed for a while I tried to feel my body, assessing the toll it had taken from last night.

There was a dull ache creeping through my head, and I could feel the stiffness in my shoulder muscles, but most prominent was the hole in my chest.

A hole in the shape of a little golden-haired girl.

It was a different kind of pain from the cuts and bruises on my skin, no, this was a deep, empty pain that had fully consumed my heart, threatening to tear it apart.

It was unbridled grief.

This morning, as I opened my eyes and looked out the window, I allowed myself to experience it fully for the first time.

However, to my surprise, I was still able to breathe. 

Yes, the pain was heavy and constant, but it was not strangling me like I had feared it would.

Slowly, I sat up, letting my feet hang freely over the side of the bed, the soft breeze from the window dancing around my naked legs.

I looked around, now fully stepping out of my sleepiness.

The place on the mattress next to me was empty, but it still carried some body warmth and most of all I could smell the, oh so familiar, cologne that still lingered on the pillowcase.

Sharpening my senses, I looked around the room, because I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach not knowing where Antonio was and when he would pop up and startle me again.

The room was empty, but the door to the bathroom stood slightly ajar giving way for small clouds of steam to escape into the room and dissolve once they hit the high ceiling.

Running water could be heard from inside and I could not help the mental image of Antonio in the shower pop up in my head.

Get a grip, Anabelle!

Shaking my head slightly to refocus, I stood up, ignoring the aching muscles in my body that screamed in agony at the stiff movement.

Looking down at myself I inspected my bruised skin.

Large parts of my body were covered by Antonio's shirt I was wearing, and even though I was alone in the room I felt incredibly exposed, so I held my arms close to my chest, trying to hide away from the world.

Crossing the room to exit through the door I caught a glimpse of myself in the tall mirror that was mounted on the wall.

The woman in the reflection peered at me through messy strands of hair covering her face.

Wild and untamed brown locks framed my forest green eyes, flecks of gold shimmering in the morning sun that reflected in the mirror.

The dark purple bruise on my forehead built a stark contrast to my otherwise pale skin, and as I traced the rest of my reflection my eyes lingered on my wrists.

The outlines of fingers were visible in the grotesquely defined shape of a hand, hands that had restraint me, touched me, assaulted me.

A cold shiver ran down the back of my spine and I gingerly put my hand around my wrist to cover it up, but my small fingers could only conceal so much, bruised skin peeking out on all sides.