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“I’ll give you a bonus,” he adds as if this should be the motivating factor for me.
It’s not about the money, I write. What you’re asking . . . that’s not the way relationships work.
He grimaces at that word, and I can’t understand why. “You can fix it. I know you are capable. You have won him over.”
Yes, but it’s not for me to win him over on your behalf. It has to be you who does that.
He shakes his head like it’s impossible. “That won’t work.”
I get the sense that what he’s really saying is he doesn’t know how. He has tried and failed, and now he wants a magic fix. What he’s asking goes against every instinct I have, but that human part of me feels empathy for him on some level. He wants a bond with Nino, as any father figure would. But I’m not entirely sure that’s the best thing for Nino. What kind of influence will Alessio have on his life? Does he plan to raise him with the expectation that men can’t have or express their emotions? Will he raise him to be a killer too? The thought of it twists my stomach. Regardless, his plans don’t really matter, do they? I don’t even know why I’m taking them into consideration when I know he won’t be here to fulfill them.
I don’t know what his goals are with Nino, but I have to remember to look at this situation through the lens as he sees it. He is Nino’s guardian, and I am nothing more than a nanny. My opinions on his job or his affiliations outside of this house have nothing to do with me. I am here to provide a service, and right now, he is asking me to do just that. The added benefit is that as long as he’s talking to me about this, he isn’t focused on my scars, and I’m not thinking about him ending my life. Still, I can’t force Nino to adapt his emotions to suit Alessio. If he wants that, he has to earn it.
You need to spend more time with him, and it can’t just be on your terms. If you want him to like you, find something he enjoys, and do that activity with him. Teach him something. Talk to him without expectations. Allow him a chance to express himself without fear of disappointing you or saying the wrong thing.
I pause for a few moments to let the heat erase the message before I continue.
Praise him. Show him affection. You will find it’s not as difficult as you imagine. There is no magic formula. The most valuable thing you can give him is your time.
Alessio watches the words dissipate and then turns his gaze to me. “You say it is simple, but it’s not.”
Something in me softens at the sadness in his eyes. The irony of this situation is that he’s a man who exists in a perpetual fog of dissociation. Now, he is tasked with the job of teaching a child to self-regulate. From the outside looking in, he seems to be in control of everything, always. But I know this isn’t the case. When uncomfortable situations threaten him, he actively avoids them. He detaches from everyone around him, shutting himself off as a defense mechanism. I recognize these behaviors because I’ve used them myself. This is why survivors of trauma often find a bond with each other. Like attracts like. We are both dysfunctional in our own ways. I want to believe that’s the simplest explanation for me warming to this man. I don’t have to know his history to understand the pain he hides behind those stark eyes. I can feel it every time I look at him.
I will help you, I write reluctantly. But you have to do the work.
He nods, and I’m hoping that concludes our meeting so I can slip away into the privacy of my room and cloak myself in the safety of my bed. But Alessio is nothing if not an efficient man. He got the thing he wanted out of the way first, so he could tackle the thing he knows I will resist.
“Why are you wearing this?” His fingers reach up to tug slightly on the tail of my wet neck scarf.
Instinct drives me to stop him. I’m not thinking clearly when I slap my hand over his and freeze.
His eyes lock with mine, and the intensity of that connection makes me sway slightly.
“Show me,” he says gruffly. “I want to see what you’re hiding there.”
I shake my head, pleading silently, and I’m relieved to find he doesn’t push me like I thought he might.
“One day, you will show me.” His eyes move to the arm that’s still holding his hand hostage. “And then you will tell me the truth about these scars.”
