Chapter 8: Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Amber’s pov:

No. No, this can’t be happening right now. “Father!” I greet him cheerfully and hug him before pulling him away to a corner. He is confused. “What are you doing here?” He asks. “I don't have to give you an answer,” I glare at him. “Whatever. You were in close proximity to Alessandro Bianchi, you do know who he is, right?” He asks me, but I don’t reply. “Stay away from that man,” he warns me. “What right have you got to dictate that to me?” I ask. 

“Just because I kicked you out of the house, doesn't mean you aren't my daughter,” the audacity that he has to say that. I shoot him a dirty look before saying, “Look, Pietro, you have never been a father to me. Ever since my mother passed away, you have buried yourself in work and Gretchen. Not once have you bothered to ask me how I felt, or what I was going through. I was just a child, and yet, I had to deal with it on my own. Art was the only thing I could focus on, but every opportunity I got was stolen from me. Gretchen had tortured me-” He cut me off saying, “You are delusional.” 

“No, you are, but I don’t want to waste any more of your time talking about this. So, goodbye, please stay away from me,” I walk away from him. How can someone be that blinded by love? I feel disgusted to call him my father. It is 8:30 p.m., and I can't wait to get out of this place. I want to bawl my eyes out right now, but I am over it, over him and my past with that pathetic excuse of a family. The cold breeze blows past my face as I engulf the view of the bright stars shining above me, this balcony is my safe spot.

My mother is always in my mind, and heart and connected to my soul, and she's all that matters. A pair of hands gently hold onto my waist, I know who it is, but I don’t have the energy to face him right now. “Daddy issues?” He asks. “Shut up,” I growl. He says, “Always so worked up, you need to relax, Mrs. Bianchi.” 

“Whatever, can we leave already?” I ask him. He escorts me out of the room and back into the limo. As soon as we reach home, I slip out of the dress and hit my head on the pillow. Alessandro comes into the room dressed in all black and says, “Duty calls, Amber, I will be back tomorrow.” I roll my eyes and say, “You don’t have to be back so early, you can take a year or two.” He chuckles as his footsteps recede. My eyes shut tightly.

The nights that I sleep next to him, my nightmares disappear but without him by my side, I’m sure they’ll creep back. As expected, I break out of my blood-curdling nightmare in the middle of the night. I pant uncontrollably as I sit upright. The bed sheets were drenched in sweat. I chug down a glass of water lying next to me. 

“Why am I so ugly?!” I hear a girl’s voice loud and clear. I follow the sounds.

“Why is my nose crooked?”

“And why is my skin so disgusting?”

“She was right, I should cut myself!”

I bust the door open and to my surprise, I see Bianca staring at herself in front of the mirror, her hands gripping her bare minimum body fat, and her eyes red from all the crying. “Bianca..” I say, gently. She walks up to me and says, “Stay away from me!” As she tries to shut the door in my face, I move into her room. “Get out!” She screams.

“Not to cross boundaries, but I am bored of staying in my room, want to talk?” I ask trying to cool the air. She stomps down the stairs into the hall. I follow her, I am worried, what if she hurts herself? I order, trying to replicate Alessandro’s voice and accent, “Bianca, back in your room.” She rolls her eyes at me. “Isn’t that what your brother does?” I ask her. I imitate him again and say, “Don’t defy my orders, Bianca.” She says, “That impression was spot on.” I smile at her. 

“Seriously, though, we should head back to your room,” I tell her. She and I walk up to her room and thump down on her bed. “Oh, wow, your bed is fluffier than mine!” I exclaim. We’re certainly not close enough for her to let me in on what she was talking about, so it is better to keep her mind off those things for a while. “Let’s have some girl talk?” I ask. “No, I don’t want to talk,” she says. “Okay, then truth or dare?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes and says, “I hate that game.” Mhm, this is going to be harder than I thought, but I am up for a challenge. “Okay, you decide, what should we do?” I ask her. “We should do nothing as of now, I’d just like for you to give me some space. So, please, leave,” Bianca says. “Fine, I’ll leave but I have a condition,” she is all ears as I say, “No more talking bad about yourself in front of the mirror for at least a week.” She agrees. 

Before she shuts the door, I say, “You’re beautiful.” She thuds the door even harder, maybe because of my comment. She’s drop-dead gorgeous. Her hazel eyes, black hair, and amazing athletic body are to die for. I need to help her mind get out of this train of thought where she self-criticizes. 

I don’t want to get back to the horrible nightmares, so I wander around the house. From the kitchen, I head to the backyard. Woah, this is huge. I step back into the house and explore a few more rooms. There’s a room locked with a code, sheesh. Another one is locked with a lock and key. Great, so much to explore. I turn the knob of a rather dusty door. Oh, this one’s unlocked. I walk right in and stumble upon many broken pieces of glass. Ouch, my foot. 

Why is this house impossible to explore? Ugh. I drag my leg back to the room, staining the floor with my precious blood on the way. I sit on the bed and stare into the mirror. What if I apply Alessandro’s idea to keep me away from my nightmares as well? “Mrs. Bianchi…” I hear his voice ringing in my ear as I feel his strong hands gripping my waist. I open my eyes and let out a sigh. That was-

“Mrs. Bianchi, you’re still up?” He asks walking into the room, blood dripping from his bare chest. “Alessandro, are you okay?” I ask him. “I’m standing here, aren't I?” He asks with a smirk strapped across his face. He rips his half-torn shirt off his body. My eyes are glued to his sculpted chest. As he walks into the bathroom, I see the tattoo that covers his back. It is a sword with flowers. I hear him take off his belt. The water flows hurriedly filling the bathtub.

“Come in here,” he says. “What?” I ask, clearly flustered. “You heard me,” he says. I don’t budge. “Mrs. Bianchi!” He scoffs. I sassily respond, “Mr. Bianchi!” He walks out, dripping wet, the spot on his chest still outlined with blood. I bite my lips as dirty thoughts fill my mind. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Huh?” I ask, my eyes shamelessly staring at him. 

He picks me up on his shoulder and drops me on a small cushion next to the bathtub. He gets down on his knees and picks up my leg. I gasp as he pulls the shard of glass out of my foot. “Don’t wander around the house like that, Tesoro,” he says. I don’t speak. He dips a cotton boll in an antiseptic and dabs it gently on my wound. His scar is still bleeding. “Alessandro, you should tend to your wound first,” I tell him. 

He wraps my foot with a gauze bandage roll. My breath hitches as his fingers touch my foot. “Alessandro…” his name leaves my lips unintentionally. After dressing my wound, he says, “You may leave now.” I rest my foot on the floor, but it hurts. “My turn,” I tell him. I get hold of a cotton boll and dip it in the antiseptic. One of my hands rests on his chest while the other traces the scar, tenderly. “Stop it,” he says. “No,” I set forth an assertion with my voice. 

He plucks my hands off his chest and holds them tightly with one hand. “Amber, please, leave,” he says. My rigid self orders him, “Stop being a baby, and sit down.” To my surprise, he sits down on the cushion, I clean the wound with water and then clean it with the boll while standing close to him. His muscles contract and relax under my touch. My eyes take time to memorize every line on his chest. I smirk at him to provoke him. “Enough, I’ll do the rest,” he grunts pulling away from me. I walk back to the room and close my eyes as I lay on the bed.