[Emilia Soranzo]
[A week later]
My eyebrow arched at the angry chopping Ghost was doing in the kitchen.
"You're bothering me," I said, trying to continue with my book. "You're being quite loud, darling."
Ghost just continued chopping apples, wasn't even fazed by my comment.
I shut my book, quite loudly and intentionally "Your biggest attribute is how annoying you can be when you want to, twat."
Ghost suddenly stopped and stuck the knife to the cutting board. Then he turned around to walk towards the sofa where I was sitting.
"Arsehole, cunt, wanker, twat, imbecile, idiot—" I listed but stopped when he hit my face with a pillow, almost making me lose my balance. "You fucking cunt!" I grunted "That hurt!"
"Should've kept your face in the book," he leaned his hands on backrest of the sofa. "Darling."
I growled, looking up at him "You—"
"Twat? Imbecile? Cunt? Idiot? Arsehole?" He said in a sly tone.
Tears filled my eyes as I got up quickly to rush to the bedroom. After slamming the door shut, I leaned on it and slid down as the tears trickled down my cheeks.
"Ahh!" I screamed in frustration and threw my book across the room. I am enraged for having to be here, for having been brought here without my consent, for my father hiding things for me, for not having a mother to go home to.
My head turned to my right as my jaw clenched. The first thing I saw was a table lamp; I quickly got up and reached for it to throw it across the room, breaking the ceramic base and bending the linen shade.
"FUCK!" I screamed, tearing the inside of my throat. My vision was blurry due to the anger consuming me. My hands were tingling, all I wanted to do was keep on breaking things. This is the only thing I'm in control of, and it exasperates me.
I crawled across the bed to grasp for the remaining table lamp, and throw it against the credenza underneath the TV.
[Ghost]
Emilia has been silent for around thirty minutes now, but she did throw things around for around five minutes — I think she stopped because she ran out of things to throw.
I shouldn't have hit her in the face with the pillow, it definitely set her off, but she just loves making snarky comments when she knows I'm in a...delicate mood.
Price and Soap aren't here, they flew to Italy this morning to meet with Emilia's father. Emilia will probably be going home tomorrow or the day after, however, I have to make sure she's alive.
I knocked on the bedroom door and softly opened it. Emilia was sitting at the foot of the bed, like a little broken doll — she definitely looks defeated.
The bedroom is a mess, there's broken ceramic all over the floor. There's some bloody handprints on the white duvet. The TV is definitely broken and the mirror in her bathroom too. The carafe she had in the sitting area is now just pieces of glass on the floor. It's a good thing her father paid for everything here.
I used my feet to sweep broken pieces of everything away from a space beside her, then joined her on the floor.
"I respect someone who commits to breaking things," I commented.
Emilia was breathing heavily, her palms upwards as they rested on her thighs "It hurts," her voice trembled as tears ran down her face. "Everything hurts and it just won't stop..."
I reached for her left hand to check it — they're just small shallow cuts but they need to be cleaned "We should clean this—"
"Just leave it," Emilia spoke quietly; she really doesn't care, not one bit. "It's not worth it."
I've been where she is — hurt and not interested in being taken care of. But...well, I guess everyone deserves to be taken care of and sometimes it's more of a necessity.
"You're not going to bleed out with these little cuts," I said. "They're quite pathetic, actually and now it's going to hurt whenever you wash your hands."
Emilia lightly chuckled "You really are heartless."
A deep sigh left my mouth as I placed her hand back on her thigh — she winced.
"I don't show emotions, but that doesn't mean I don't have them," I explained and immediately regretted it — being honest about myself is definitely my least favourite thing, but I believe Emilia needed some humanity from my behalf.
The woman looked at me; her eyes were puffy and red, her nose drippy and hair all messed up. She truly embraced her rage, which I think is healthy for everyone, from time to time and when it's focused on inanimate things.
Her eyes conveyed a deep sadness, a broken sadness that becomes a black hole — a sadness I hadn't seen anywhere but in the mirror.
"I'm not sorry I made a mess," she said.
My eyes scanned the room one more time and I spotted an untouched glass beside a sofa. I got up to get the glass, and squatted down in front of her "You missed this one."
Emilia looked at the item in my hand "My mum would've liked you — she liked wreaking havoc."
I chuckled "Now I know where you got it from."
Her eyes met mine; the blackness of her lashes stood out against her reddened eyelids and bloodshot eyes.
She gently took the glass from my hand and threw it over my shoulder. Once it shattered, she showed me a shadow of a smile and so I smiled back, even if she can't clearly see it through the balaclava.
"I respect your rage, Emi," I said and meant it. "We should get your cuts cleaned and maybe after you can help me make lunch."
Emilia sniffled "I'm not hungry."
"You still need to eat," my right arm slithered under her legs and my left one behind her back in order to pick her up. "Good thing this is a cheap jumper or you would be getting your filthy hands on my nice clothes."
There was no response to my comment intended to make her laugh or a snarky comment back. Emilia just leaned her head on my shoulder and stayed quiet.
I took her upstairs, to my bedroom, which she hadn't been in. I set her down on the bed and looked inside my armoire for the medical supplies I travel with. As I made myself back to the bed, my eyes caught the damage the glass and ceramic made to her feet.
"You are bleeding on my bed," I commented, sitting opposite to her on the edge. "And I like crisp white linens."
"I'm sorry," she apologised and it seemed genuine. "This isn't necessary, I can do it myself—"
"I have to pull out broken pieces of whatever from your feet, Emilia, just stay still."
Emilia nodded.
It took me two hours to fully clean her wounds and wrap them. Afterwards I gave her something for the pain and cleaned her face with a damp towel.
"You said I could help you with lunch," she said as I made my way to the door. "I want to help."
"You can't help me like that, Emi," I said, looking at her over my shoulder. "Your hands are hurt and you will only slow me down, plus, I don't want you to bleed on the food. Just sleep."
Even if she seemed hesitant about it, she nodded. I stood there a couple of seconds, watching her struggle to cover herself with a blanket, and so I stepped in to help her.
"Here," I covered her up to her neck.
"Thank you," she sniffled. "I really appreciate you, Ghost...and I'm sorry about the mess, I'll clean it up before dinner."
"Sleep, Emi."
[Emilia Soranzo]
My eyes fluttered open at the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The first sensation I felt when I woke up were my stinging hands and feet. Ghost said it's nothing major, but that they will be a bother for a couple of days.
The bedroom door was opened and in came Ghost "Good, you're up — lunch is ready."
I lightly nodded. Even if I'm not hungry, I think it's in my best interest to eat.
Slowly, I sat up. It was difficult, getting up from bed and everything hurt, especially my feet, but I have to act as if I'm fine. However, my efforts were thrown to the bin as soon as I tried to take my first step; I almost fall, but he caught me.
"I'm sorry," I quickly said as my eyes filled with tears "I'm so sorry."
Ghost didn't say anything, he just picked me up "It's getting annoying, you being unable to walk."
He got a small smile out of me "I thought you would like me not walking."
"Only if it was my doing," Ghost's cheeky comment made me chuckle.
"Now I can't hover to bother you."
"Thank God," he sighed in relief.
I chuckled once again as he set me down on the sofa where hours ago I was reading my book. Ghost went into the kitchen and came back with two fixed plates: lasagna and salad. He makes pasta at least once a week; I imagine he needs the carbs for the muscles he carries around.
"Do you usually cook for people you dislike?" I asked as he sat down beside me.
Ghost chuckled "I've learned to cook for people I loathe, yes. You can thank Soap for that high tolerance."
I giggled, looking down at my plate of food "You're such a sweetheart, Ghost."
Ghost chuckled and I immediately looked up at him "Yes, my sweet side is the one I show the most," he's obviously being sarcastic.
The smile on my lips turned into a grin "Sometimes I think about if your sensitive side actually exists."
"A lot has to happen for me to let my walls down and it usually doesn't occur."
"I guess many have tried," I cut a corner of the lasagna to try it.
"Not that many," he said. "I usually just fuck around."
The lasagna was pretty tasty, it gave me a cozy feeling "And is that with posh girls? Do you break their hearts as some sort of vendetta?"
Ghost chuckled "They like rugged men, so who am I to deny them a fantastic shag? Speaking of relationships: did you ever get to have a chat with your fiancé?"
I instantly frowned "No, he never picked up but I knew that was a possibility; he never answers when it's an unknown number. I'm just happy he's okay, or at least that's what Price told me."
"He's fine," the man assured.
We continued to eat in silence, crossing gazes from time to time. He was actually quite polite with me and viceversa, which is odd. I don't think we're in the mood to be snarky or maybe he's being sensitive for the first time.
Once Ghost took my plate, I got up with the help of the sofa. And as much as it hurt to walk, I made my way to my bedroom — I need to tidy up the absolute mess I made.
However, when I pushed the door open, the place was pristine. A few things were missing, but there were no pieces of broken lamps or glasses on the floor. My bed had fresh linens on — there was no trace, whatsoever, of what I did this morning.
I turned around, hearing Ghost's heavy footsteps approaching me. He stopped once he was in front of me, his balaclava was down once again.
My right hand raised to his face, and before touching his precious balaclava, I waited a couple of seconds, so it seemed like he allowed it.
However, just as I was about to slip my fingers into the facewear, he gently grabbed my wrist "Just up to where you've already seen," he said.
I nodded, looking into his eyes. As he let go of my hand, I carefully pulled up his balaclava to the bridge of his nose. I didn't notice earlier that his beard is a little shorter and quite well-groomed. I think it looks quite good.
There's something magnetic about him, maybe it's the fact that I don't know what he actually looks like.
"Had we met in any other way, would you have tried to assert your dominance with me?" I asked.
Ghost smiled and it made me blush; he has perfect teeth "Are you asking me if I would've tried to fuck you?"
I nodded, not taking my eyes off him "Yes."
A smirk played on his lips as his hands reached for my waist "Not in a million years, darling."