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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 goosebumpKaugnay na kabanata
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.
Infernale Jones (2)
I nodded immediately. You don't say no to Santo when he comes in person. "Let me go take a shower and change. I'll meet you outside." Santo finally steps back and places his hand on top of my head. I freeze as his hand completely covers my skull. From the outside, this gesture may seem affectionate, and from my perspective, it's a fucking warning, and it's his way of showing me that I'm in his clutches. "There you go, Lulu. That's how you're loved. Docile and obedient." Stronzo. (Asshole*) 6:00 AM. I finally go out. I wear a simple pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with my sneakers. Usually, I would be on my way to my apartment to change and get ready for work. I frantically tap on my cell phone screen to warn Henry that I might be late. I freeze. Santo stands with his arms crossed in front of his black Rolls-Royce. When he meets my eyes, he shifts and opens the door. "I don't want to get in," I tell him loudly en
Infernale Jones (3)
I arrive at work as excited as a flea. I start printing out the files and brochures we've been making for months now. Henry joins me and puts an arm around my shoulders in greeting. He quickly removes the jacket from his midnight blue suit and loosens his black tie, rolling up his sleeves. "Okay, Lulu. Tell me what I can do to make it go faster." I push him away with one hand as he begins to lean over the pile of freshly printed papers: "You're not touching anything! You'll ruin my organization. Instead, open the folder on my computer and go through the documents and statistics!" Henry gives me a big smile and runs to stand behind my desk. I hear him furiously clicking, then silence. I look up at him as I bind the last few sheets of paper together. Henry is as excited as I am. His concentration is at its peak, and I know his photographic memory is taking over by the way his pupils start to move. I finally put the documents on my table and
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