My aunt's widower

MELISSA

Hates the feeling in my chest.

you hate me.

I hate my thoughts.

The other day, you confessed that you can't stop thinking about me.

I can't stop thinking about, wishing for or getting your attention.

you can't even look me in the eyes anymore.

Never.

Fear hits me when I'm alone, but all it takes is one touch from you to make it all go away.

The guilt.

my fault.

The remorse.

your remorse.

The desire.

our wish.

Reread the memorized lines of the poem I wrote in the past, the day before my seventeenth birthday, with tears in my eyes. I was never gifted with words, but Aunt always motivated me to express my feelings in the best way, so I opened a clean sheet of my diary and wrote.

I never got a chance to show it though.

Before it was out of shame, now it's just impossible.

Anyway, I titled it intense desire and keep it under lock and key.

“Honey?” The serious and tired voice whispers my name, the intensity of the timbre shakes my legs and I have to hold tight to the stair railing to keep myself standing.

“Yes, Lorenzo?” I see her jaw tighten, the pink color leave her right hand with the pressure she exerts on the glass of Whiskey and I fear the glass will break.

You hate it when I call you by your full name.

Well, I hate it when you drink nonstop, we're pretty equal here.

“ Do not call me like that.” he protests, affected by the drink.

I sigh despondently.

“Sorry, Uncle.” His shoulders relax in response.

I go down one more step, only four more to go before my feet find the ground and follow to meet you, the only path I always want to walk.

“You should be sleeping, princess.”

“I wasn't able to.” I explain, feeling brave enough to take two more steps at once.

Now it's your turn to sigh. Too exhausted to start a fight. I thank him in my thoughts for that, keeping silent as I await his next line.

“ Sorry.” Ask. I frown, pulling my two eyebrows together.

“It was our responsibility to take care of you.” He anticipates explaining.

I clench my fists and stare at the blank wall.

It's not your fault. I want to speak, but my lips won't obey me.

The silence stabilizes and he sets the glass of Scotch on the small table to his left.

“When your parents died and left you in our responsibility, I should have been more present in both your lives. However, I didn't. The desire to grow financially and offer a more comfortable, safe life for both spoke louder.

My heart races. Talking about my parents in a situation like this only makes the pain worse. I was too young to have their faces fresh in my memory.

“It wasn't your fault.” I speak, trying to bring some breath to his broken heart.

More sighs, but I'm unable to tell if they're coming from me or him. His breathing was always so audible at times like this.

His body rises from the sofa and he starts to mess up the black strands of his hair, for almost a minute I watch him from afar, his shoulders tense as if they were too overloaded to relax, his skin golden from the sun without the usual shine, his face lined by a tired and somber expression. I go down another step, I put all my willpower not to run into his arms and comfort him. He screams at nothing like a cornered animal and I know it's a way to get the rage out of his body, yet it prevents me from making any headway in our approach.

“I should have known she'd come back with that. I was so blind. - She says and I can't help but get caught up in her words.

"Back?" I ask, gauging her body's every reaction.

“Yes, after the death of her mother Solange fell into a depression, she couldn't bear the thought that she lost her only sister in a car accident.ordinary traffic.”

Chills run down my spine.

Memories.

Memories.

Memories.

I was only five years old, it all happened shortly after his marriage to Aunt Solange.

“She started drinking, at first I didn't pay much attention.” I was worried about her welfare, you were so small and fragile. His eyes seek me out, I've never been able to describe the yellow in them, but I've always liked to think they're as sweet as caramel. I hate to see them so sad and guilty.

“It wasn't your fault.”

“She became an alcoholic.” he whispers back, reneging on my words.

“It wasn't your fault.” I repeat.

“It was my duty to take care of her. It's entirely my fault, Melissa.” growls.

I can't contain the tears that run down my face, looking at your lost and upset eyes I'm afraid of losing someone else. The only one I had left. We keep staring at each other, the veins in his neck feel like they're going to burst and spurt blood all over our room.

I shake my head to drive away the tears.

“She lied to both of us, pretended to go to rehab when she was actually going to a bar.”

“You do not understand.” He shoots, messing up the black strands even more with his hands, visibly shaken, full of fury.

“ I loved my aunt, I would do anything to be in her place and ease her pain.”

“Don't say that ever again. His feet move quickly towards me and his hands close around my arms, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. "I couldn't bear to lose you.” Confess. “ I can not lose you.” Speak in a low tone, as if you were telling a secret. I pull him closer.

“You are not going.” I speak. His arms wrap around me in the most protective, desperate hug I've ever received.

“She died of an overdose in a dirty place and alone, Mel. And, I don't even know why she's in a place like that.” He admits, burying his face in the crook of my neck, unconsciously throwing some of his body weight onto mine.

I know the whole story. I heard the doctor explain before I got kicked out of there, but I don't tell him.

“I'm going to get you out of that boarding school, you're not leaving my side ever again, okay? I'll keep an eye out and I won't let anything happen to you, keep that in your heart and mind, because it's a promise.” I just nod against his chest, not wanting anywhere but his arms.

“Go to sleep, the funeral is tomorrow morning.” His lips leave a chaste kiss on my forehead and I go upstairs to the bedroom. I stay up until the sun comes up.

The place and sensations are familiar to me, the procedure is the same. Although some of the people who are here are complete strangers, the speech doesn't change, it's always the old "it's going to be okay, honey" and the "I'm sorry for your loss". Most already have these phrases programmed in that they don't even realize they're speaking. They don't even understand the feeling of losing someone so close.

I leave a white rose in her coffin that soon begins to descend into the grave, Aunt Solange was only thirty years old and she was one of the most beautiful women I've ever known, despite her decadent end. I know that alcoholism is a disease, but despite everything, she gave me love and taught me how to love. The place Uncle Enzo chose is beautiful, despite being a cemetery. It has a beautiful garden in the surroundings.

“That girl is not lucky, she lost her whole family. someone whispers next to me and my body tenses.” Lorenzo squeezes me next to him, resting one of his hands on my waist.

"Don't mind them, I'm your family and I'll take care of you," he says, kissing the top of my head.

"What will happen to the poor thing?" The uncle is not her real uncle.” The woman speaks again. - Lorenzo's hand squeezes me tighter.

Who are these women anyway?

“She's still a minor, I bet she'll be sent to an orphanage.” One of them speaks.

“Oh, it must be true.” Another nods and earns a stern look from my uncle.

“Don't worry, no one is going to take you away from me, Princess. I'm taking care of everything.” he says with such certainty that I squeeze his hand in response.

We stayed there, representing Auntie's only living family, protecting each other from the mean comments that occasionally reached our ears, until the priest finished the last prayer and he had to go away to throw the first handful of sand over the coffin. of the woman who raised me.

I still think she'd rather be cremated, but we've never really talked about it, so I do what he does and mimic his action.

People gradually begin to dissipate, we avoid any conversations or invitations, despite somethey were made by colleagues and close friends of auntie.

I stare at the broad-shouldered man as he works to fire the principal at the school where Auntie worked, and I notice the lack of a tie on his black suit, the tired look and the dark circles under his eyes.

“Let's go.” He laces his hand through mine and dismisses the middle-aged woman, pulling me roughly toward the exit, avoiding groups of strangers along the way.

“ What are you thinking?” Ask after we get in the car.

“Nothing.” I shrug and he looks at me with a raised left eyebrow.

“You were too serious for someone who didn't think about "nothing".” Make fun of my answer.

"Just looking at how awful you look." - I try to relax, but I fail miserably and he glares at me resentfully.

"Am I supposed to look pretty?" Ask without humor.

“Ever in your life.” I smile so you know I'm joking.

It's my way of dealing with pain. Look for escape routes and escape routes.

He assesses me. He pulls a smile from the corner of his mouth and says:

“You always look bad, Melissa Fontana.” I tap your shoulder. “ You started it. he justifies, smiling condescendingly at some inside joke in his head.”

"Take that beard off when we get home."

“You've been very bossy, dear.” He warns me without taking his eyes off the traffic.

“This is nothing new.” I speak and earn a smile, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the palm.

“Thanks.” He murmurs.

I don't ask why, as I know it relates to all of our recent conversation and my attempt to try to get things back to normal. I put my head on his shoulder and we follow that position all the way home.

“ Go ask Olga to make you something to eat.” He says, as soon as we get out of the car.

“Is that you?” question.

“I'm not hungry.” He speaks, avoiding my face when he presses the button for our floor in the elevator.

When we cross the apartment door it's as if all the evolution of minutes ago has disappeared, he goes in silence to the office and I to the kitchen, I meet Olga, our housekeeper, halfway there and I do as he instructed, then I go straight shower, because unlike him, I'm not willing to give up and for that I need to rest.