Stand By Me - Pierre Gasly

UN/CARMELLA/

I've always loved physics. It is almost unbelievable to think that this science is responsible for every single thing that exists and everything can be explained with it. The space things are particularly attracted, perhaps this is due to the fact that I worked through the last two years of high school, and every euro earned carefully placed it in my bank account, saying it will come in handy then. After a long search, I even found the university program that was closest to me, the space technology engineering program, and from there there was nothing left but to work with steam power to achieve my goal.

I can't say I have an easy life, but in thought, no one has. I grew up without a mother because she died unexpectedly when I was one, so I didn't even have a chance to get to know her.

My very first memory since I was a child was when my father was fired from his job as a car mechanic and I remember when he picked me up from kindergarten, he took me home silent silence then at home he began to rage with noble simplicity, to break and crush. We had a beautiful life together until then, but maybe that was the moment when everything changed.

Instead of looking after another job, he continued all his grief into alcohol, but at first I could only hear him drunk singing or just shouting in the evenings.

Then, in time, we got there that he forgot to come for me, and for the first time, crying, trembling with fear, I walked home through the suburban streets of Milan, but after a while I was forced to get used to it.

In elementary school, the situation started to get more serious when I was eight years old with a completely empty stomach because there was hardly any food at home, almost dizzy trying to find something edible in the kitchen and I  accidentally dropped a plate. Dad was exceptionally at home and, hearing the rattling sound, propped his drunken body into the room, then, seeing the shattered pieces of the plate on the floor, shoved my tiny creature in anger, which ended up right in the shards.

I felt several pieces drill into my side and I started to cry bitterly. Dad, of course, left immediately, and upon hearing the front door slammed, I realized I was only referring to myself. Eventually, I got up with great difficulty and treated my wounds carefully, hissing up and up in pain.

From then on, he hurt me in some form on a daily basis, mostly verbally, but on his worse days he also raised his hand at me, usually hitting my face and back, but it was that he kicked me in my ankles as well.

And so, pretty slowly, we got to the day that left its mark on my life forever, ruining it. My own father raped me. There's nothing to beautify about it, he just burst into my room pulling a stinky cloud of alcohol after him, pushed me to the bed, and did the thing I just put up with crying, letting the sharp pain flood my body.

I wasn't an ugly girl, I could even call myself pretty. My green eyes were surrounded by my long lashes, and my dark brown, almost black hair usually collapsed on my back with my legs released. In high school, perhaps, thanks to that, quite a few boys became interested in me, regardless of whether I was the geek, the quiet eccentric, but I pushed them all away from me. I didn't want anyone to see into my life to see the scars my father had caused me, to touch me where my father's dirty hand had already touched me, reliving the memories in me.

After graduating, I wanted to get away from my father as far away as possible, so I finally chose to move to France. It was essentially advantageous as I had to pay a quarter of the tuition fees at the universities as in my home country, so I was able to save money on my own rent, so right after my graduation, I didn't say a word about it to my father I go to start an independent life.

And so I got to the picturesque little town of Rouen, where my life turned upside down.

I just loved this place. Narrow, ancient streets, with more beautiful churches, buildings, and then I didn't even mention the divine southern fruits, coffee, pastries, and of course the infamous hospitality of the French.

French culture also had a good effect on my dress, seeing the more fashionable girls on the street every day, I also got the urge for a little change of style, so I replaced my worn-out pieces, usually hunted for free clothes, with a couple of brand new clothes, all for my saved money.

I didn't want a roommate, so I rented a tiny, downtown apartment that was just a pleasant walk from the university. Since I moved there in June, I was forced to find a job quickly so I could meet my basic needs. Unfortunately, I didn't have much luck in this case, because due to my fear of people, job interviews never succeeded, if I have to put it nicely.

Eventually, I had a hard time finding a job in an old-fashioned, but all the more adorable tea shop where I was hired as a waitress. In my final desperation, I only undertook this job, because connecting with people is not my genre at all, but I needed the money. And money is a lord, isn't it?

Slowly I got used to the new life, sometimes I even talked to the guests, but at the end of the day I usually always continued to grieve.

Maybe because of the many traumas, maybe because of loneliness, maybe because of the nightmares that tormented me, which every night evoked certain points and pains of my childhood.

I often spent the night in one of the nearby parks, loving to stare at the stars. I knew that one of them the mother, and probably proudly looking down on me from above, for having dared to leave my father there, and got into the university.

The summer flew slowly, and by the time I woke up, I had already collected the various papers for my university enrollment, and by handing them over on campus, I had officially entered college life.

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