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Falynn
PLAYLIST: ? CRANES IN THE SKY - SOLANGE ?
“Wealthy businessman Giovanni Sorrentinowas on vacation in Portofino, Italy when he was involved in a fatal bomb attack. His boat exploded on the water, with Sorrentino and his crew on board. There were no survivors of the attack, though remains were found in the hours following the explosion. Italian investigators and American officials have yet to determine any suspects.”
Footage from the day of the attack shows up on the screen. An aerial view of the flaming wreckage on the water plays with the anchorwoman’s voiceover. A second later, it cuts to an old recording of Giovanni on the evening the Vittoria Casino opened for business. He stands in his tailored suit, his dark scruff framing his handsome, masculine face. As he speaks to the crowd about the Vittoria’s grand opening, his electric blue eyes spark.
My heart aches. It’s so deep and painful, I can’t breathe. I fumble for the remote and smash my finger on the ‘OFF’ button.
The TV goes blank, the only light in the room gone. I’m left sitting in darkness, curled up under sheets in bed, my eyes already familiar with the heavy shadows.
For the last two weeks, I’ve done nothing but lie in bed. I’ve slept entire days away. I can’t remember my last meal. Or the last time I breathed fresh air. My hair’s a limp mess and I’ve run out of tears.
But the heartache remains the same. Piercing and deep. The kind of pain that feels unending.
I’ve never lost someone I care about before. When I was nine, I came home from school one day, and Mom sat me down to tell me the man who called himself my father had died. She expected tears, but I couldn’t bring myself to shed any. Even as a child, I’d felt an emptiness at the news.
I hadn’t seen him since I was three. The few memories I’d had of him were colored by his angry outbursts and abuses. He’d walked out on us and never returned. I hadn’t missed him, though Mom’s other boyfriends through the years were no better.
Anyone else hadn’t meant anything either. Mom kicked me out as a teenager, basically telling me to never speak to her again. I’d accused her boyfriend of forcing himself on me, and that truth was too inconvenient for her relationship with him. She’s been dead to me ever since.
Another loss that stung, but ultimately meant nothing.
Losing Gio is different.
As pitiful as it sounds, he’s the first person I’ve lost who loved me. I’ve been alone many times before, but this is incomparable. It’s soul-wrenching and devastating, leaving me in a constant fog of grief and pain.
I can’t deal.
I don’t know how to process any of what’s happened. My coping mechanism is to close my eyes and disappear into dreamless sleep.
Sometimes, I can even feel him in my sleep. His touch becomes real again as if he’s visiting me from the afterlife in the deadest hours of the night.
Other times, I wake up, and I’m already crying. Silent, slow tears wet my cheeks, and a panicky sense of helplessness clenches in my chest.
He’s gone and I never got to say goodbye.
A piece of me exploded on that boat alongside him. Only fragments of my heart remain. It won’t be whole again. That I do know.
My lungs struggle inhaling another breath. More tears leak from my eyes. Sitting in the absolute dark and silence, I don’t bother moping them away.
A fist bangs on the penthouse door, interrupting the evening silence. I’ve been so out of it, I haven’t had the energy to pay attention to what’s going on with Giancarlo and Gio’s crew.
All I know is that Giancarlo is now taking over Giovanni’s operation in Vegas. He arrived a few days ago, and there’s been some talk about how to move forward. Whenever any of the guys come and visit, trying to bring me food, or check on my wellbeing, I don’t answer. Not even for Louis.
I’ve avoided thinking about what’s going to happen to me. Without Gio, I have no place in this family. No protection. They could do whatever they want, and get away with it. Funny I can’t even bring myself to care.
My grief over Gio runs that deep.
The lock in the penthouse door clicks and the door whooshes open. Footsteps pad into the other room and whoever it is flicks on a light. I know because underneath my bedroom door, it glows.
“Miss Falynn?” calls an uncertain voice.
It’s Louis.
I try to speak, but my throat’s croaky from lack of use. “In here,” I reply weakly.
The door slides open, Louis framed in light as he surveys the doom and gloom bedroom. The curtains are drawn. The bed hasn’t been made in weeks. I haven’t so much as gotten up to walk five footsteps in hours. I don’t need a mirror to know I look like shit.
