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I have only a split second of sanity, but it’s enough. I rip myself away from him and run downstairs. I need a cold drink. Maybe a swim. Something to clear my mind.
There are male voices in the lounge, and I realize that my uncles have come over. In order to get to the kitchen or the pool, I’ll have to pass by them, and I’m terrified that one look at me, and they’ll see shame painted thickly over my body.
“... being so difficult over the party. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her.”
That’s Mom’s voice. I freeze halfway.
“Difficult?” scoffs Marzio. “That girl was born a problem.”
I cross my arms and hug myself, wishing I knew what to do to make my uncles forgive me for being born. I’ve always been nice to them. Polite to them. Tried to stay out of their ways and not draw attention to myself. It’s never enough.
“Have her married off as soon as possible. Get her out of this house.”
“Maybe,” Mom replies, but she sounds uncertain. I feel a flood of gratitude that she’s not talking about me like I’m the problem child. “But who would take her?”
My heart plummets.
“We told you nineteen years ago what to do about that child, but you wouldn’t listen to us,” grumbles Uncle Tomaso, and someone else mutters his agreement.
“I thought she would fit into the family eventually,” Mom replies. I can’t see her, but she sounds tired and frustrated.
“All she does is cause trouble and bring shame down on our heads.”
“You must regret not following our advice, Giulia.”
What advice? What are they talking about? What happened nineteen years ago that—
Oh.
Oh.
My insides freeze in horror.
Don’t say it, Mom.
Don’t say it.
Please, I’m begging you.
“It’s too late for an abortion now.” Mom laughs lightly. “I’ll handle Mia. She has her little moments of rebellion, but she’ll do as she’s told. She always does.”
Feeling like you’re not wanted is one thing. It plays on your mind in the dark, but you can shake off the misery when the sun rises.
Knowing you’re not wanted?
Self-hatred and shame deluge my body and soul so fast that I gasp and run for the stairs. I made myself so small for my family, so quiet, so they could pretend I didn’t exist. It was never going to be enough because they didn’t want me to exist in the first place.
I blindly try to find my bedroom, and run up against a tall, broad figure in black.
Laz clutches my arms. “Bambi? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
I can’t speak I’m crying so hard. I open my mouth, but a sick feeling crawls up my throat so fast and I know I don’t have time to explain. I push past Laz and dive for the bathroom door, shoving it open and scrambling to reach the toilet.
Uncontrollable retching racks my body. My stomach feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out as I throw up.
“Ah, my little Mia,” he murmurs, gathering my hair in his hands and then gently rubbing my back. “Are you sick?”
I wish he’d leave. It’s disgusting for him to see me like this.
