My eyes landed on the four words on the sheet paper.Per il mio figlio.
He had to write it in Italian, of course, to prove a point. It wasn’t hard to translate, though.For my son.
As simple as the words were, they carried a lot of meaning behind them, heavy and deep. My curiosity was over the top. I wanted to know more. Furore’s story wasn’t about an outlaw who had gotten into a fight, hurt a man and went to prison for it. There was much more to it, and despite my fear, I wanted to know every detail.
Why was he in my class, studying Creative Writing for his son?
Why when the tip of Furore’s finger caught the side of my knuckle did a burning jolt of heat shoot deep into the pit of my stomach?
Why did I not reprimand him for touching me in the first place?
Why did I know, if the situation had repeated itself, I still wouldn’t have told him to stop?
I shook my head, shoving the piece of paper back into my purse. “You can’t do this. Not again. Never again.”
More reason to leave. Now. Before it was too late.
But what about Ty? What if he came back and didn’t find me?
He left you. He’s never coming back. He’s never coming back to you.
That inner voice nagged at me, but my mind refused to believe he’d just leave without even saying goodbye. Part of me was still wishing for his return, even if we should have never been together, even if we would never be again.
No. He had to come back eventually, even if it wasn’t for me, and I’d wait. Running away now would only incite more suspicions, if there were any in Furore’s head, anyway. I had to stay put and pretend nothing had happened, at least, until I knew for sure the vague threats behind his words were empty.
Lying back in bed, I sighed against the pillow. Would my life ever get easier?
I begged for sleep to swallow me. Suddenly, the nightmares felt like the lesser evil tonight. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Ty’s face. I couldn’t bring myself to blink it away. I didn’t have any pictures of him or us together to go to when missing him was too much to bear; it was too risky. My memories were the only proof of his existence and the time we’d had together. Those I vowed never to forget. I’d forever cherish them even if they were wrong or never meant to be.
“Hush, baby. I’m here. It’s safe,” he’d have said.
“But you’re not here anymore.”
Just close your eyes and dream of me.
My wet lashes drooped and let the dark surround me. I filled my nostrils with his smell I conjured from memory and wrapped my arms around myself, pretending it was him enfolding me. “Can you sing it?”
Anything for you, Miss Meneceo.
I chuckled. He loved to call me Miss Meneceo, especially in bed. God, it was hot.
But if you laugh at my accent again…
“You know I will.”
Well, laugh all you want, Miss Meneceo. You know what you’re up for if you do.
“No, I don’t.” I lied. I knew exactly what he’d have done. “Just sing.”
Over in Killarney
Many years ago
Me mother sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low
Just a simple little ditty
