Chiara Rose

dodici

tw - rape, abuse, sexual assault, self harm, suicide, depression and anxiety attacks

Chiara's POV

"You can turn around"

At that moment, I start to thank my genius brain for making me lie down. Because based on the obscene curses that fall from Carlo and Gi's mouth, their facial expressions could only be worse. A hand quickly wraps around mine and squeezes, I don't know whose it is, but it makes that small lump in the back of my throat triple in size.

"I'm just going to move your arms so I can have a better look, okay?" Gi says quietly. I loosen my grip around my torso, and let my arms fall to my side. And just like that, I've let out one of the secrets I swore I'd take to my grave. Now people are certain about the treatment I received at home, and it's not just some secret I have to keep.

"I know Carlo said we could do no questions, but I think I'm going to have to ask a few. You don't have to give verbal answers, you don't have to answer at all. Just answer what you can, how you can, okay?" Gi asks quietly, to which I just nod in response.

"Sono ferite da taglio?" I hear Carlo ask from above me, which they are. They are stab wounds, from whenever John felt like it. Or even the people John sold me off to.

(Are those stab wounds?)

"Sembra così." Gi responds so quietly, I can barely hear them. The fact that they're talking in Italian around me makes me emotional, I don't even know why. It just does. I suppose I'd just rather them talk about me in English, then I don't have to use that little bit of extra effort to translate what they're talking about.

(Looks like it)

"Sono ferite da taglio. Sono guariti bene però, nessuna infezione." I mumble in response, answering their question whilst simultaneously letting them know I can understand what they're saying. I turn my attention to the side this time, now focusing on my ensuite door instead of the boring ceiling.

(They are stab wounds. They healed fine though, no infections.)

That doesn't last long though, because soon Carlo flops down on my bed so he's facing me. And he looks, not right. I've only known him for a few days, but I can easily tell that his smile isn't his normal smile. It's a smile to convince me that everything's okay. It's a sympathetic smile.

"You speak Italian?" Carlo asks quietly, a slight crack in his voice. Coincidentally, it's also the time Gi starts gently pressing around my stomach. More so focusing on the older scars and smaller bruises. He's trying to distract me, and it's something I'm actually happy about.

"Yeah, I'd say I'm close to fluent." I say, scrunching my nose when Gi hits a particularly sore spot. Carlo's eyes light up slightly at the statement, and it makes me more relaxed knowing he's not sad or stressed right now.

"No way, we're all fluent in it too. Did you learn it at school or did Rosalia teach you?" Carlo asks excitedly. I'm more focused on distracting myself from the pain, so I don't pay attention to how he called Mum by her first name.

"Mum enrolled me in Italian school when I was around 4, and I did it every day after school until I was 13." I explain softly, choosing not to focus on how painful my entire fucking body feels. I also try to drown out Gi's choked breathing, like looking at my body is physically paining him.

"That's so cool. Do you speak any other languages?" Carlo asks, briefly looking down at Gi. Within a second he's refocused on me, but now he looks like he's going to be sick. it's just lovely knowing he's feeling like that because of my body.

"I can speak Spanish and a teeny bit of French." I respond, and Carlo's eyes light up again.

"That's a lot, how'd you even learn all of them?" Carlo asks, scrunching his nose in confusion.