bleeding heart

Vincenzo Moreno

Vial di Moreno stretched ahead. As always, monstrous looking. Not even the enchanting hands of spring could transform it.

I glanced across the windshield, taking in the long array of olive trees to the patchy shadow cast in the floor by the leaves, to the far end of the boulevard—showcasing a glimpse of the pack house. That haunting yellow building.

The day was bright. It could turn hellishly dark in some minutes.

Pressing on the gas pedal, I crept in. The only thing I consciously did, apart from driving, was to hold my breath. Whatever happened in the next three minutes or so, I'd remain strong. Not exactly for myself, but someone. The worst wouldn't happen to me; rather her. And that was why I'd come. To stay by her side and defend. I'd take the full responsibility and further spite Madre. I'd make Rina understand that I was serious. I meant it when I'd said she mattered to me. We would figure out a way out of this weird pregnancy thing.

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