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Cold shower (1)
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Infernale Cold shower (2)
Elio puts the spoon back on the marbled island, takes my face with both hands, and begins to place kisses on my lips. I open my mouth to make it easier for him, but he pulls away. I curse myself as I hear the little moan I make when he breaks the contact of his lips on my skin. "You don't like me kissing you when you eat, Amore mio. Let me feed you," he says darkly. It's horrible. My body is on fire, and I want him to relieve me. My breathing is entirely jerky. I'm sure Elio's pants are soaked where I sit. I want him. I want it now. I don't care about this salad at all. I want him. Elio grabs a lettuce leaf between his thumb and forefinger. Then he comes and places it before my lips: "Open," he orders me. I try to step back, but my wrists are still locked behind his head. I open my mouth and run my tongue over his fingers in pure provocation. Elio has just taken a deep breath, and his lips are half-open. He i
Infernale Cold shower (3)
Elio removes the tie from my wrists while placing small kisses on my face. Then, with infinite gentleness, he begins to massage the reddened skin of my hands, my thighs, and my neck. I let him do it. I am lost in a trance under the care he lavishes on me. My lips seek his, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he finally gives me the kiss I've been waiting for. Merda. This has to stop. Elio removes the pen holding my hair in place and casually tosses it in front of the glass coffee table in my living room. My hair falls gracefully to my back, and he takes the opportunity to run his fingers over my head to give me a massage. I'm still sitting on him, and he's still inside me. I want to get up. I don't want him to pull away. I close my eyes and squeeze his shirt between my fingers as a tear rolls down my cheek. Elio leaves his lips resting on the top of my head and massages my back. The rough skin of his fingers causes new goosebump
Infernale Cold shower (4)
"It's not time to go home," Santo simply stipulates once I join him in the car. I reapply lipstick while looking at myself with my cell phone camera: "Why does it matter if we arrive at 3:50 or 4:00?" I reply. Santo tenses up and then turns his head towards me. Merda. He just noticed. I see his eyes light up as he notices the red marks on my thighs, wrists, and throat: "Did Elio do this to you?" he whispers darkly. I close my lipstick and carelessly toss it inside my purse. My whole outfit has been completely changed. Elio has chosen that I wear a straight white dress, cinched at the waist. I purposely accessorized my outfit with an oversized scarf to hide my throat. But I didn't anticipate that the bottom of the dress would ride up so high on my thighs, nor that the silk fabric would slide over my elbows during the car ride: "That's none of your business, Santo." "Me ne freggo (I don't give a damn*). It's against the famil
Infernale Rage-1
Rage. I am shaking. My hands are frozen. My feet are frozen. My heart freezes, too, little by little, as I see the family photos spread out on the floor. My shoulders heave under my labored breathing. I can still feel on my ankles, my blood flowing, my skin pierced by the shards of glass from the photo frames. This woman dared to bring her children into my house. Elio dared to receive these children in my house. I lift my head and walk toward the curtains of our bedroom. I can hardly breathe. I trip over my stilettos and pull them back, throwing them furiously at a window, spraying a window. I am still suffocating. I grab the heavy drapes, held up by elegant ties on the side, and rip them off in a destructive madness. Please help me. I feel the soles of my feet being pierced by the shards of glass, but I don't feel any pain as severe as the one burning my veins. I want them back. I can hear the
Infernale Rage-2
(Three years before) Gabriele and Stella kept running around me. The three of us were waiting in the lobby for Elio to join us for dinner at one of the great Italian restaurants in town. Our son, Gabriele, had lifted his little sister to show me how big and strong he had become at seven years old. Stella burst out laughing and begged her brother to put her down. She had just turned five but was determined to act like a big girl. Then she squealed with joy when she saw her father coming out of his office. Gabriele had been reluctant to put his little sister down, but he had smiled broadly when he saw her being lifted into the air by their father. My treasures were exact copies of Elio, much to his dismay. Our children had inherited their Family's characteristic dark blue eyes and dark brown hair. He had spent the night trying to convince me to give him another baby, preferably a little girl who would look just like me: "Amore mio, a little girl who would have your hair, and your
Infernale Rage-3
I opened my eyes and was half-blinded by the surgical light of the hospital. Santo was sitting in a chair, staring at me darkly. I tried to sit up on my elbows, but I cried out in pain as I felt a stab in my stomach. "Don't move, Lulu." "Where are the children? Where is Elio?" Elio is in another room. "His leg was..." "Broken. But the surgeons did a good job. He'll be limping for the rest of his life, Lulu." I nodded quickly, grateful to know he was alive. His leg was fine with me as long as he was safe. "My children, Santo?" I watched in horror as Santo lowered his eyes to the ground and clenched his fists in his lap. It was the position he took when something serious had happened, and he didn't know how to tell the news. This was extremely rare, and Santo always gave honest and brutal accounts. "Santo? Where are my children?" Matteo entered my room and gave me a fake smile. He observed my vitals and nervously ran his hand
Infernale Rage-4
A crowd of people had come to visit me. I didn't want to see anyone. No one could understand what I was feeling. I threw up all the sympathetic looks. I despised the vague acquaintances who delivered bouquets wishing me a speedy recovery. I consciously ignored Santo and Matteo. I continued to visit Elio, but I left as soon as he mentioned our children. I had recovered enough to walk by myself and went out for a few moments to get some fresh air. Santo had arranged for Elio and me to be in the same room, and I was relieved to be with him again. When I returned to the room, I saw a woman kneeling on the floor, crying her eyes out. "Please, Don Elio... My children are not to blame for the death of your children. If you accepted the organ donation, your children would live on through mine..." I had slowly opened the door and stood frozen in place. How dare this woman talk about my children like that? The woman turned her head toward
Infernale Jones (1)
My alarm clock rings. 4: 00 AM. I groan and fumble on the bedside table to turn off the damn alarm. I pull back my blanket and sit up. One week. It's been a week since I set fire to my ex-marital room. Since then, I have felt strangely calm. It's as if, by doing so, I've managed to put an end to my relationship with Elio. He accepted that I go back to my apartment even if he refused the divorce. Illusory freedom. I walk into my kitchen space and look coldly at the island on which I once succumbed to his presence. I pull out my cell phone: "Hello? Yes (pause). I want to redo my kitchen. I sent you the plans and materials last night. (Pause) I can't stand that island in the middle of the space anymore. (Pause) By tomorrow? That will be perfect, thank you." That's one of the nice things about being part of the Family. You can call any time of the day, and there will always be someone ready to do the work for you. 5:00 AM.
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