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I had no choice. None of the decisions I made during the years of my life when I was able to decide anything was based on myself. It was always about my family and its three members, only one of them gave me anything in return: my youngest sister. Maybe I shouldn't expect anything in return, I pretended to myself that I didn't expect it, that I didn't want it, but damn, I did want it!
I deserved to receive something for giving so much of myself, day after day, that in the end there was nothing left. This was just one of the things that living with Vittorio taught me, I deserve more. Raquel deserved it too and, sooner or later, the rest of the soul I had would no longer be enough for either of us, neither me nor her. I had nothing left to offer, and it is this truth that feeds the selfish feeling, easing my chest now, even though Iforce myself to look at the image before me, day after day, with no other intention than to test it.
The guilt I expected to feel would destroy me, because there were many good things that had happened in my life since I was forced to leave my sister behind, and at no point did I allow myself to think freely about how much I would like to share them with her.
I do this now, I keep looking again and again at every new thing in my life and planting Raquel in places and times she has never been until my mind becomes incapable of distinguishing what is memory from what is fantasy, and that hurts, but not nearly as much as I think it should, because in the profusion of responsibilities swirling around in my chest, a long-hidden certainty begins to reveal itself: none of them belong to me.
It's not my fault that Raquel isn't here, and I just don't know how to deal with this feeling. I admit it, for the first time, today. It's part of my crazy therapy. Every day I need to admit something to myself and forgive myself for something else, because at the end of the day, I discovered that no one but me has that power.
Vittorio may have my life in his hands, but this, what I'm doing now, not even he can do, and this certainty shakes my shoulders in a cry that I didn't know I was capable of. The sound that rips through my throat is inconsolable, it destroys me in a completely different way than I thought the box breaking would do, because as much as not having to choose, its feeling is one of freedom, not prison.
It's not my fault.
Nothing was ever my fault.
Not hunger, not cold, not pain, not abandonment, not fear. Nothing. Has. Ever. Been. My. Fault.
Alone, sitting in a room full of stories, I hug my knees as my entire body is convulsed by the self-discovery of yet another chapter of mine.
***
“Are you giving me my own phone as a gift? Again?” I ask Vittorio during dinner, seconds after he places the device in front of my eyes.
It's been a few weeks since he started sitting at the table with me eventually. When he first showed up, I asked if his family weren't waiting for him downstairs, and he said yes, but continued to help himself, and I supposed that was all I would get out of him.
We are a long way from those days when I accused Vittorio of being terrible company because he barely spoke in our conversations. But just as much as back then, he's not always willing to tell me why, and I've learned to deal with that.
“Unlock the device, Gabriella,” he orders, and I let out a long sigh, but I obey.
The photo on the screen is a quote from one of the books I read recently, but secretly, I have a screensaver of a clandestine photo I took of the Don. I look up at him. Did Vittorio find out during the day he spent with my phone?
He asked me for the device this morning, and I handed it over without worrying about getting rid of the proof of my crime, I completely forgot about it. Looking at him gives me no sign of a feeling other than impatience.
When I look down, I discover that the device's screen has turned off while I've been distracted by the Don's face instead of continuing to follow the step-by-step instructions, he seems ready to give me. I unlock it again.
“Done.”
“Now open the browser,” he advises, and I tap the icon that is now highlighted, in the middle of the screen, unlike this morning when it was just one of the standard apps forgotten in the app library, because I never used it. The device Vittorio gave me doesn't have Internet access, so a browser is literally useless.
Tonight, however, when the app tab opens, it loads a survey site, and I tilt my head, blinking at the phone's screen before letting my eyes search for the top bar on the screen where only then do I notice the 5G and Wi-Fi network signal.
“You're giving me access to the internet,” I whisper, in disbelief, before looking up at Vittorio.
“I'm giving you a little more than that,Bella mia,” he says, and I don't need him to explain himself. Trust, Vittorio means he's trusting me, and my heart races in completely uncontrolled beats.
“Why?” The question escapes my mouth with the same inevitability as a laugh leaves Vittorio's throat. His hand lifts, reaching for my chin, and he brushes his thumb there.
“Of all the questions, is this the one you choose to ask,bambina?”
“Is this another reward for being useful?” Again, the words come out of my mouth without me having time to stop them. It's been happening a lot lately, and I don't know how or if I want to change it.
“No. It's a gift.”
“A gift,” I repeat, and, in an automatic gesture, my hand rises, touching the choker tied around my neck. Vittorio's eyes flash in recognition of the mark, and his thumb slides down my chin until it reaches my throat and brushes the red stones there.
“Yes.”
“Thanks?” He laughs again and,per la Madonna! I love the sound.
