“I think, perhaps, I was a bit harsh.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I will admit that you struck a nerve. I take Nino’s care seriously, despite what it may look like. I have done the best I could with the skills I have, but I can see that I have failed him in some ways. Your blunt observations did not sit well with me, because they were so accurate.”
The turmoil in his eyes triggers an overwhelming sense of guilt in me. I know he’s being honest and sincere. He cares about Nino, and I think that somehow makes it both better and worse. It would be easier if he didn’t, but it’s better for Nino’s sake that he does.
My delivery was not what it should have been, I write. I’m sorry, Alessio. I know you have taken great measures to protect and care for Nino. I allowed my feelings to cloud my judgment, and I lashed out at you for it.
“What do you mean your feelings?” His voice betrays his concern.
I stare at the keypad, wondering if this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be so honest with him, but I think at this point, it can’t hurt.
You said what happened with me was a mistake, and admittedly, it struck a nerve with me too. I should not have allowed my feelings about that to interfere with our professional relationship, but I did.
His eyes soften. “I didn’t realize you’d heard that.”
It was hard not to, I reply. It might be a little white lie, but the truth is, I probably would have heard it no matter what.
“Things with Gwen are complicated,” he says. “Sometimes, it’s easier to tell her what she wants to hear.”
He’s not denying that he meant it, and I can’t tell if he did. More than anything, it feels like Gwen is an excuse not to divulge his feelings on the matter. The truth is, he’s locking his door for a reason, and I know it’s to keep me out.
We stand there, staring at each other, uncertainty lingering between us. I’m not going to make myself vulnerable again, but it’s hard to deny that I can see he still wants me, no matter what he might say. Every time he’s near me, I can feel it. This energy between us has a mind of its own.
“I suppose I should let you get some sleep,” he tells me.
Goodnight, Alessio.
“Goodnight.” He utters the word back to me but doesn’t go. He’s standing there like he can’t move, like he doesn’t want to.
I don’t know what to say. Clearly, he doesn’t either. When he struggles to pull himself away at times like this, it makes me feel like I’m not crazy for imagining there could be more. For a second, just a split second, I wonder if it would ever be safe to reveal my truth to him.
“Alright.” He turns abruptly and leaves without another word.
I release a deep breath and wander into the bathroom to begin my evening ritual of brushing my teeth and washing my face. I strip out of my clothes and change into a tank and shorts, and then I find myself staring at my reflection in the mirror. The scars that litter my body have left me with a permanent reminder of the worst day of my life. For so long, I have cringed when I see them. I have avoided looking at myself out of disgust, and I can’t help wondering if Alessio feels conflicted about them too.
I lift my shirt, fingers moving over the deep red mutilations scattered across my torso. When I touch them, I still feel the pain as if it were yesterday. I’m dead inside all over again. I close my eyes and my shoulders shake with emotion. I hate that it still has power over me. I have done so much work to overcome, rise above it, and still, it is not enough.
A warm hand settles over mine, and I blink in surprise, horrified to find Alessio standing behind me. Our gazes lock in the mirror, and my first instinct is to hide the evidence, wipe away the moisture at the edges of my eyes, but he’s already seen it, and he stills my hand when I try.
“They are only scars,” he murmurs against my hair as his fingers move over one of the raised red lines. “Wear them like a badge of honor. Show the world you are a survivor. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
I shiver beneath his touch, his body pressed so close to mine. I don’t know why he came back, or how long he must have been standing there, observing my self-flagellation. Part of me thinks I should care, but the tenderness of his touch steals that rational thought. I feel safe in his arms right now, and it’s unexpected. Terrifying even. Still, I take refuge against him, allowing him to shelter me from my storm.