𝙏𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙊 𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙀
+ everything and nothing
"They sat on the ground, in the heat of the greenhouse, talking about everything and nothing. They talked about their families, their lovers, their lives. They gave each other their names. Monica...
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MONICA WAS LOOKING AT THE TINY velvet box in her hands with the most confused face she could ever fathom. Hidden in Emmanuela's nightstand, a beautiful ring shined inside of it. She could feel the blonde's eyes on her, and it took so much to stop the tears from bursting out of her eyes.
"Tell me it's not true, Emmi. Please."
Her efforts were worthless and in mere seconds she could feel hot tears pouring down her face. Her chest started to genuinely hurt, and she had to keep grasping for air not to choke, while Emmanuela stood still on the other side of the room.
"What did you think was going to happen?"
Monica, who usually wouldn't stop talking, was now mute.
"I-..."
"You haven't thought about it. Of course not," Emmanuela said with an ironic laugh. "You never think about the future, Monica. Never! You think — you think everyone will be there forever for you, they will always cater to your every need."
"What have I done but care for you, Emmanuela?"
"You come here every summer, and you expect me to be here for you! Am I supposed to believe that while you are in England you don't take other lovers?"
At that, Monica suddenly felt rage. She got up from the bed so fast that Emmanuela flinched. "And you don't? What about Martin, and Luisa, and Ander? Why do you act like you're a saint, Emmi?"
"When you return I'm all yours, Monica, and I show you. Pray tell, how many times have I confessed my love only to be met with silence?"
Monica was now looking blankly at a the beige wall in front of her. Oh, if only she would know! If only she knew that every second she wasn't with her, Emmanuela was on her mind, corrupting her mind and soul. She saw her face in everything, in the coy son, in the yellow roses that grew in the garden, in everything that brought her happiness, Emmanuela was there. She wanted to tell her how much she loved her, how she would burn down the world for her. How unfortunate that at seventeen, the thought of spilling her soul meant nothing but inevitable heart ache.
Emmanuela sat down next to her lover, who had calmed down into a slump of numbness. "Loving you is exhausting, Monica."
Ah! she thought. But imagine being me!
•••
As the Shelby car pulled up, the air was filled with swift jazz and the intoxicating smell of alcohol. Upstairs, in Monica's old room, she stood in front of a mirror. The girl wore an elegant green dress that Matteo had bought her as a birthday gift, paired with a wonderful set of pearls also from him. Touching them made her fingers ache. Only to think that her fingers, who were soon to be covered by white silky gloves, were carving initials into a man's face only a week prior.
