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Even in my wallowing state, I find my laughter breaking out of me. I guess there are things I will never get tired of seeing or witnessing, and it will be the two of them and their constant back and forth over the same topic.
“Let’s get out of here,” Orazio throws his hand over my shoulder, “I have you for the night,” he winks at me.
Why is everything showing at once that what we have is over? Or is it that I’m looking at the wrong things? Because no matter how tired Benedetto is, he always replies to Orazio. Orazio just made a joke around me that usually would have Benedetto telling him he would kill him or even telling him to take his hands off me, but instead, Benedetto says nothing.
I sigh disappointedly and turn in the direction of the exit with Orazio still holding me to his side.
“See you,” I call out as we both start to walk toward the exit.
“Orazio,” Benedetto calls after us, and I get excited until he adds, “Take care of her.”
I’m all nags right now.
I am confused and sad and infuriated and rejected. I don’t even feel like doing anything. Going home or staying here feels too damn hurtful. I feel non-existent.
This is how heartbreak feels. This feeling of prickling pain and consuming sadness that moves from the crown of your head to your toes. Literally, I can just feel it coursing through me. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach dying one at a time and others alive wanting to claw their way out through my throat before they all die.
“You good, Rosa?” Orazio smiles at me and I nod.
“Perfect,” I lie and he nods.
“I love the sound of that,” he puffs, “Things are about to change around here,” he chuckles, “How about we get wasted to that effect?”
“You are rolling.”
“How many rounds can you go?”
“Try me.”
It’s what I need. I need to forget and keep forgetting till I eventually forget if that’s ever possible.
A small part of my mind wants to whisper that this is how addicts are born.
I'm an addict.
Chapter Thirty
ROSE
Things feel different around here.
The air feels cleaner to breathe in, unlike before, when it was always felt like I was breathing in shrapnel and it was only a matter of time before I choked to death.
Taking Claudio out is purging and I immediately feel the lightness in the air.
My brother left me a note saying he had left and I know I will never be seeing his face again.
I love him and I always will. But what he did to our father is unforgivable and I am relieved he has taken the cue to disappear because there is no place here for him. He is a traitor and words are out already.
I yawn and stretch on my bed.
Even with the cleaner oxygen, I have bricks stuck in my throat that are constantly dropping to my stomach every time I swallow or breathe in.
I wince, and squint, mentally cursing the sun for being so angry this morning.
I gasp, taking my index fingers to my temple to massage gently, wishing it could send a signal of calm to my slithering brain from a hangover and excessive weed.
Orazio made good on his promise. He was ready to turn me into a chimney. I didn't have the stamina he had, and heaven forbid I have that kind of stamina. And thanks to his mission to get me wasted, I now know that is not the route to take to my situation with Benedetto. Especially after I threw up last night and was scared my lungs would tear open or I would find my intestines in the pool of my puke. It's not something I want to experience again.
