Cry Until You Bleed

56- Epilogue

It has been 426 days since I have attempted suicide.

I scribble it down in my journal before flipping it closed and leaving it on my bedside table when I hear the toaster popping with my golden toast in the kitchen. Abandoning my little bedroom, I hurry down the hallway of the apartment and go into the kitchen to get my toast from the toaster to butter it before I pour a cup of coffee that has already been made by somebody else and then I join the tan Italian boy at the small round kitchen table with my buttered toast and hot coffee that I assume he made.

"Non posso parlare italiano," I say with a stubborn frown. If I'm correct, that's Italian for 'I can't speak Italian' but I'm not completely sure because, as I just think that I said, I can't speak Italian. I've been trying to learn but it's difficult.

"L'hai appena fatto," He says with a pearly white grin, looking up from the book that he's reading. He has a small white coffee cup in front of him too.

"I have no idea what you just said," I tell him with a long sigh. "I'm telling you, I'm a lost cause."

"You're doing very well," He assures me in English this time but his Italian accent is still pretty thick. Marco speaks English because he had spent his high school years at a boarding school in Portland so his English is really good and he's been helping me a lot with learning my Italian. We've been here in Italy for a while now though, so I'm learning a lot but there's still so much that I don't know. I guess that makes since, you obviously can't just learn a language in a few weeks or months, it takes time. I guess I'm just not so patient. "And good morning to you too."

"Buongiorno," I say with a grin because I actually know how to say 'good morning' and that makes me feel a little bit better. "Avete dormito bene?" Which translates to 'did you sleep well?' and that's one of the first phrases that I learned, so I've got it down solid.

"Bene," He begins, which means 'good' so I listen carefully so that I can understand what he's about to say next. "Ho sognato le stelle."

I think for a minute and decide that what he said was 'I dreamed about the stars' which makes sense because Marco is just such the romantic. Leaning forward on the table, I put my elbow on the hard wood and rest my chin in my palm. "Oh, you Italians and you're poetry. You're melting my heart here."

And then there's another one of his bright grins. Marco is incredibly handsome in the male model type of way. Incredibly tan and muscular with a grin that could seize wars right on the spot and create world peace. Right now, early in the morning and in the kitchen drinking coffee, he's very comfortable in our apartment and that is why he doesn't have a shirt on, so I can clearly see his well-sculpted tan abs and they're impressive to say the least. He's a gorgeous specimen, really. The dangerous thing is that he knows it and he abuses the power to the furthest extent of the law.

"Hitting on my boyfriend again?" I hear Renée's tired voice as she emerges from the hallway, probably just waking up and smelling the coffee from her room.

"I would argue that it was the other way around," I say jokingly because I know that Renée was also joking. I'd never actually hit on Marco because he's really not my type and he's dating my best friend so that'd just be terrible of me. He is one of my best friends here though so we joke around a lot.

"Well, I'll just get out of your way then, I just came for the coffee," Renée tells us as she walks over to the table, only wearing a large t-shirt and boxers. She pecks Marco on the lips before going over to the kitchen counter and pouring herself a cup of the coffee.

"Come sit, cara," Marco suggests, kicking a chair out for her with his right foot.

"I can't right now," She says apologetically before running her fingers through her shoulder-length blonde hair. "I have to take a shower before we go out today, my hair feels kind of gross."