Cassandra Reid
I cry, scream and kick, but the more I resist, the more I sink into the water. The sound of a gunshot echoes in my ears and suddenly my husband's bloodied body lies in front of me.
I try to call him, but a bandage over my lips prevents me.
I jump up and suddenly find myself in a room, a younger Adriano greets me at the door. I want to run into his arms, but a gun attached to my back stops any movement.
He wraps me in his arms before giving me a nostalgic kiss, a kiss which feels like goodbye.
"Look into my eyes, cara," he asks as someone grabs me from behind. "Focus on me, only me". Once again, my throat is closed and I can't utter a word. "I will always find you."
My husband's body collapses in front of me without me being able to move a finger.
My belly aches, I look down at the ground to discover my body bathed in blood. My hands get soaked, I bring them to my cheeks to wipe away tears and then, in front of the mirror, I see the same red liquid coming out of my eyes.
'It's a nightmare,' I repeat over and over again, but everything turns red.
I want to wake up, I need to get out of here.
I'm soaking wet, with his lips on mine and automatically, drawing a smile on my expression.
"You found me," I say, still not believing it.
"I did," he reaffirms. "I always will, cara. You have to wake up."
'I have to wake up'
I hear whispers around me, but I can't hear clearly. My own body does not answer to me and I am dragged into the darkness.
"I'm really sorry, Adriano," a high-pitched voice reaches my ears. "I never imagined that you would fall in love. I thought you were like me."
"I am, at least my rational part is," I think I recognize my husband's voice. "However, every rule has its exception. Cassandra is mine and Pietro is yours..."
'Is he alive?'
I try to speak, to call him, but I fall asleep again.
"What do you see in that guy?" It's Adriano again.
"I guess the same as Cassie in you," my best friend replies. I would know how to recognize her even with my eyes closed. "His cruelty has its charm"
"He's sick!", my husband protests.
"I'm not very sane either," she alleges. "Now that we've shared confidences, are we best friends?"
I can't hear the answer, because unconsciousness takes me once again.
I move my eyelids extremely slowly and I have to repeat the action several times before I can clear my vision.
I find myself alone in a hospital room and try to move, but the IV in my left arm renders me paralyzed. I feel light as a feather and a single movement feels like a hundred blades go through my entire body.
The sound of the gunshot echoes in my ears at the same time pulses on the echocardiogram go frantic.
"Adriano", although I try to scream, a hoarse whisper only comes out of my mouth. What drug have they given me? Sleeping pill for horses? "Adriano, Adriano."
I start to cry due to impotence without stopping pronouncing his name. Then he appears in front of me like a shooting star.
He is here, alive, intact. He cries more intensely and doesn't hesitate to throw himself into my arms.
"Oh, per Dio!", emotion overcomes us both, losing sense of time and place.
"You... were...", I can't formulate a coherent sentence. "How...?"
"I had a bulletproof vest, cara", he deduces my question. "Did you think your Man of Steel would go to war without backup?"
I can't help but laugh as he reaches out again to capture my lips.
"The baby?" I ask, because I still remember the whipping. "Did I lost him?"
"Everything's fine, honey."
I burst into tears, receiving his arms's comfort. "Calm down, it's over."
Wendy comes into the room to check on me and about an hour later the Italian sets out a bowl of soup forcing me to drink every last drop.
As my head clears, doubts begin to haunt me. It is evident that the history between my husband and his wife is much more complex than I thought. However, I refuse to believe the words of a late psychopath. Adriano is capable of many things, but never of murdering the mother of his children...
I look at our wedding rings connected to each other with our fingers intertwined. The emerald stands out against the gold and the small diamonds around it give it the final touch. No matter how many times I look at it, it still seems like the most spectacular piece of jewelry I've ever seen.
I suck in a big mouthful, then expel it. We are postponing the inevitable.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?"
"No," he responds immediately with the same attitude as the day he proposed to me. I already know that it will not be easy to get the information out of him.
"I know it belongs to your life before knowing me, you're under no obligation to tell me about it and I respect that," I state in a calm tone as I fight the pain in my left arm to give him a light caress. "However, just as you once pressured me to face my past, I must do the same with yours. At some point you must put your demons in order to let them go."
"You're right," he brushes his lips over the back of my injured hand before moving them to my mouth, "but it won't be today. Bedtime, cara."
I snort in frustration, but let him go and invite him to bed under threats, "just like he did to me" to fall asleep in his arms.
I discover my mother the next morning and ignoring my husband's bad face, I receive her hug. Our relationship is not very normal, but I prefer to have her in my life and not hold a grudge against her. We have both learned to accept each other as we are and to love each other in our own way.
My father is another matter. That one will never change. Mom justifies his absence with work like old times and he doesn't even have the decency to call me. Although being honest, I prefer it that way.
Two days later they let me go home under the condition that I remain completely at rest.
The kids cling to me like ticks and I spend a whole day with them watching cartoons, playing video games or with Oakland, who has already become an expert in jumps and flips. The little ones plan to enter him in a talent show and don't hesitate to show me the show.
I clap like a little girl, enjoying their company. I missed them so much that for hours I don't feel like sharing them with anyone, not even their father. Something that apparently my husband guesses, since he does not appear until dinner time.
With my head resting on his collarbone, I can hear the rhythmic beat of his heart perfectly. I try to focus on the wonderful sound, but I miss my target and I snort, making him mimic my attitude.
"What are we going to do with this sudden insomnia?", he asks thoughtfully as he strokes the hair that obsesses him so much.
"I don't know," I reply in a little girl's voice which would probably embarrass me in the future. "Why don't you tell me a story?""
"Really?" he asks as he forces me to look at him. I pull out a ridiculous pout and he snorts in protest. "Voucher."
He returns me to my previous position before kissing the top of my head.
"Close your eyes. Ready?"
"Ready."
"Imagine the most handsome and richest man you've ever seen in your life," I laugh out loud and he scolds me. "Do it. As you can imagine, all the girls were throwing themselves at him. All except for one. So, he thought she was different. Winning her was a challenge and he did everything possible to achieve it. Can you deduce what happened next?"
I swallow hard at his question. He is telling me his own story, from the beginning...
"He fell in love with the girl."
"That's right," he confirms, "and he married her. They had a son and then they looked for a girl to have a couple of babies. The perfect love story, don't you think?"
I decide not to respond when I feel his chest expand under my skin. He's having a hard time, but he's opening up to me.
Now is when the hard part comes.
"That's what he thought too, but nothing is what it seems and the discovery of a message by accident unleashed the tragedy. The boy discovered his wife had been cheating on him for months, almost a year. Not only that, but she planned to take half of his fortune and leave him and their children. She longed for the day she gave birth to leave them.
Frost falls short of how I feel right now. I never imagined... How did she feel able to leave that pair of wonderful angels? What kind of mother does that?
"They argued and she accidentally fell to the ground," I suppress a gasp with a hand over my mouth. I can imagine the rest of the story. "She died in childbirth because of complications."
"It was an accident," I hasten to raise my head to look directly at him. "It wasn't his fault."
He flashes a lopsided smile as he caresses my right cheek with his knuckles.
"I know, but sometimes conscience can play tricks on you and when they're at the bottom of the well, it's very easy to blame yourself. The story does not end there, after he discovered that the little newborn could not be his."
'Oh my Gosh!'
'For god's sake!'
"And he checked it out?" I can't help but blurt out the question. "Was the girl his?"
Uncertainty takes over my body as another question comes to mind: if Ella weren't his daughter, would it change anything?