Chapter Twenty-nine
Vida
C iro gently lays me on the bed, his movements so careful, almost like he thinks I’m made of glass, and I can’t help but wonder who the man in front of me is. This isn’t the Ciro I know, but this is a Ciro I can’t bring myself to hate.
“What do you need me to get?” he asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I blink at him, almost wanting to touch his hands, smile at him, or just maybe, hug him? But I can’t, so I nod.
“I need my meds and . . .” I pause. The only men who have ever touched my pads are my dad and Adam. With my dad, it was understandable, and it took Adam years before we got to that part. Now, am I really going to ask the one person I can’t stand to help me get my pads?
“Pad? Tampons? Sanitary towels? I’ve heard it has many names,” Ciro says, interrupting my thoughts, leaving me speechless with my eyes wide in shock.
Why am I surprised? Wasn’t this supposed to be an embarrassing moment? But on second thought, this man just watched blood trail down my legs from my vagina, there really isn’t anything to be embarrassed about when it comes to this and him.
“Pads,” I chuckle lightly. “I use pads.”
“Meds and pads then,” he says with a nod, getting up quickly and heading to get what I need.
“Looks like you know where they are?” I ask with a raised brow, watching him head to my room without asking where he can find them.
“Was waiting for you to tell me that, little chaos,” he smirks at me over his shoulder as he stops in the doorway that separates our two rooms.
I can feel something flutter inside me as I watch his lips spread slightly across his face. But the idea that maybe he knew where they were only makes me wonder if he’s been in my room before without me. Would it matter to me if he had?
“Where are they?” he asks.
“Top drawer on the right,” I reply, wondering if this is really happening. Is Ciro Ballera really getting me a pad right now?
“Got it,” he murmurs before opening the door to my room and disappearing into it.
I adjust myself carefully, trying to keep my blood from staining the bed. I’m not a super heavy bleeder on my first day, but I’m not about to take any chances, especially when I’m lying down on his bed.
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. The second I close them, a memory from when I was in that place floods back to me, replaying in my head. A mole. Who exactly it is, I’m not sure, but there’s this feeling in my gut that tells me I may have met them and just forgotten where. I need to tell Ciro and Carmela, but how? I don’t know if I’d even heard things right. I was in and out of consciousness, so I could have missed something. I don’t want to tell them if it’s just a stupid speculation, but how can I find out for sure?
“Little chaos.” The name drags me back to reality, and I turn to the door to find Ciro staring at me with one of my pads in his hand.
“You could’ve just brought the pack,” I laugh.
“Thought I’d help you, but apparently Carmela didn’t teach me everything,” he shrugs, walking towards me.
“Carmela taught you things about pads?” I ask, collecting the pad and the meds from his hands.
“Against my will, but yes. She gets more annoying than usual every month and when I lashed out, she gave me a class on it instead,” he explains, watching me carefully put the pad on the blue cotton underwear that he’d picked out.
Ciro
Watching her plac e a pad in those sweet smelling panties is something I didn’t think I’d be doing today. Did I smell said pair of underwear before I brought it in here? Yes. I will never admit that to her though. I’ve tried to tell myself not to, but I can’t resist the caramel scent that all of her clothes have, especially her underwear, which somehow seem to smell even better, those thongs she carefully put in the bottom left drawer included.
“Lucky you,” she says, getting my attention. I’d watched her do it, yet I couldn’t tell what she did, so I just nod and take the underwear from her when she’s done.
“What are you . . .” she tries to protest, her eyes wide in shock.
“What do you think?” I ask, arching a brow at her.
“You want to wear them?” she asks, clearly trying to make a joke. “Isn’t that against the rules though?”
“I’ll break all rules for you, little chaos, don’t you know this yet?” I reply, my expression neutral to show how much I mean them, which only seems to make her tense up a little. My words hold so much power that they don’t give her room to doubt me.
“I’ll help you put it on. Can you stand?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything, breaking the crackling intensity in the room.
“I can,” she smiles at me, slowly getting out of bed.
I kneel beside her, carefully helping her into the fresh pair. The intimacy of the moment strikes as she slowly slips her legs into the holes. The way she’s careful, gentle, and ever so patient, trusting me to be here in this vulnerable space with her, feels strangely comforting. It’s a feeling I’ve never imagined we’d have together, especially after how things with us started.
“Thank you,” Vida says, and I notice her cheeks turning a little pink as I look up at her after I finish.
“I’ll go get you something to eat,” I say, instantly standing and turning to leave.
“Ciro,” she calls, my name sliding off of her tongue like butter.
I turn and face her, watching her lips part to say something, but she closes them immediately. I want her to say something, to ask me to stay, but I know better. That’s not something we do. So after watching her for a few seconds, I turn again to leave. One step away from the door I hear her clear her throat.
“Stay with me,” she says, stopping me. Letting out a sigh, I turn to look at her, finding vulnerability in her eyes.
“Okay,” I reply, walking towards her and settling back onto the edge of the bed, my posture more relaxed than she’s likely ever seen it.
A comfortable silence envelopes us, one that feels new and unfamiliar, yet comfortable enough to be in. After a few moments, I finally break the silence, “What’s your favorite thing?”
She looks at me, but my eyes stay fixed on the dresser ahead of me, wondering where the hell that question came from and if she thinks I sound like an idiot. She giggles a little, the sound telling me she likely does, before she lets herself relax fully against the pillows behind her.
“I have a lot of favorite things.”
“Like?” I continue, still not turning to look at her.
“Food, movies, heels, animals, insects, clothes, and people . . . the usual,” she shrugs.
“Food, movies, heels, animals, insects, clothes and people. We can start with those,” I repeat, slowly turning to face her and readjusting as I wait for her to keep talking.
“Okay?” she smiles. “Food.”
She pulls the blanket over herself, getting comfortable before she continues.
“I can’t think of a particular food, but every time I get sick, like really, really sick, my mom makes this soup filled with chicken and all sorts of leaves. The moment when I taste the first spoonful, it’s the best thing in the entire world,” she admits with a slightly sad smile, the thought of it clearly making her miss home.
“What’s it called?” I ask, watching her smile so purely as she talks.
“No one knows,” she says, laughing lightly. “Not even Mom knows. She said her grandma taught her mom and her mom taught her and none of them knew what it was called.”
“I see. So, movies?” I ask.
“Well, I’m giving it to Avatar: The Last Airbender. There are so many, but I’ve seen Avatar twenty-seven times and I will see it again without getting bored, so yes!” she smiles, her excitement in her voice and all over her face.
“I haven’t seen it,” I reply, not able to take my eyes off of her when she’s like this.
“What? We should de . . .” she pauses, her face falling slightly, and I wish I could read her mind to know why she stopped.
“Heels? What’s up with that? Then animals and insects?” I ask, wanting to keep her talking, and sticking to the order she’d listed them off.
“For heels, I just love them all, especially those ones with straps that go slightly above your ankles. Then animals, I love penguins,” she laughs. “I don’t know why, I just do.”
“Then insects . . .” she pauses, her hand grazing the back of her neck where her tattoo sits. I remember her mentioning to Carmela that she’d envisioned her first tattoo being a book or a butterfly. I’m sure the scorpion wasn’t her first choice and the way her smile fades a little just makes me think I’m right.
“A butterfly,” she says, looking away from me.
“Why?” I ask.
“The irony it carries. It reminds us of life, the evolution of life. Of change and rebirth, a symbol of freedom and the power to grow out of the darkest of places. Yet, a butterfly’s life span is so short. But my favorite thing about it is the lesson,” she smiles, her eyes finding mine again.
“Which is?”
“Life is hard, it changes, and that hurts too. But there is a freedom in choosing what to do, a freedom to evolve, heal and live,” she says, her smile soft, and her brown eyes piercing into mine.
Her words wash over me, and I watch it ignite something inside of her. Something that looks a lot like hope. I can see it in her gaze and feel it in the way my body relaxes and my shoulders fall.
Something has shifted and I don’t think I can be mad about it.
As my mind processes what she’s said, memories from a fight we had flood my mind and guilt starts to eat away at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words coming out in barely more than a whisper.
“What for?” she asks as turns to look at me, surprised.
I am too, shocked that those words have left me, but somehow, my whole being wants to seek her forgiveness, even if she can’t remember my offence.
“Easy to put an end to,” I repeat my words, words I am now very sorry I had stupidly said to her that day. “I said those words to you when I called you butterfly. For that, I am very sorry, little chaos.”
“Ciro,” she calls, her hand stretching towards me before she gently places it on mine. I can see the glint of what looks like tears, but why would she cry? She won’t, right? “When did you even . . .”
“The night of your initiation, after you . . .”
“Oh!” she says as she remembers now, but she doesn’t say anything else, and I wonder if I should’ve kept it hidden in only my memory.
“Thank you, for remembering and apologizing. Thank you.” Her eyes lock with mine, and for all the seconds that linger around and between us, I can only think of rubbing my thumb on her smooth, almost-dry lips.
A glint of something shows in her eyes but before I can ask her what else she’s thinking, the emotion is gone and she tilts her head slightly as she looks at me. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Can I say pizza?” I ask, watching her smile grow.
“That’s so Italian,” she laughs. “But sure, you can. And your favorite toppings?”
“Can’t tell you,” I say, looking away from her, hoping she’ll drop it, though I know she likely won’t.
“What? That’s not fair, you have to tell me. It can’t be that bad, well, except if it’s pineapple,” she says, her gaze hot on the side of my face.
Silence.
“Oh my god! It’s pineapple, isn’t it?!” she asks, laughing so hard she has to wipe tears from her cheeks.
I stay quiet, just listening to her laugh. The realization hits me that, for the first time, she is laughing and almost happy, and I’m the reason for it!
“I can’t help it! It’s really good,” I defend after her laughter fades. I wish it didn’t have to.
“It’s an abomination, that’s what it is,” she replies, wiping more tears from her cheeks.
“My mother always said it was the greatest sin,” I chuckle, remembering the way Mother would scrunch up her nose dramatically whenever she watched me eat it.
“She was right!” she replies, making me shake my head.
“You’ve made that clear. I have a question,” I start, my eyes finding hers again.
“Yeah?”
“Your books, I tried to read one and it was porn,” I say casually, watching as her cheeks heat and the laughter leaves her eyes.
I’ve seen her naked, bleed, and wear a pad, but seeing her books? That gets a completely different reaction out of her, one that makes me think she’s horrified and wants to run away.
“You sound like Isabella,” she mutters after a moment of silence, smiling weirdly as she clearly tries to escape the conversation.
“So we’re right,” I say, trying hard not to smirk as her cheeks get a little more red and she looks down at her hands so she won’t have to look at me.
“Not really. They’re more than just sex, they’re an escape,” she tries to explain.
“To a world full of sex?” I tease, watching her roll her eyes at me.
“That can be part of it,” she chuckles. “But it’s different for every reader. For some, they can be who they want, and loved how they like by the people they love. For others, they are on an adventure, a quest. For some, it’s also a place they can be accepted, seen, and embraced. The book might look like porn to you, but it’s everything else too.”
“I think I get it,” I reply after letting her words sink in, my words seeming to shock her.
“Wait, you do?” she asks, arching a brow at me.
“Yes, I think. It’s a sanctuary where you can be your realest self and you get to meet characters who would accept you. Even if there’s porn, it’s the kind that you crave and fantasize about. It’s who you are . . . sometimes,” I say as she watches me in awe, like she doesn’t quite recognize me. And honestly, a part of me doesn’t either.
“Yes, that’s basically it,” she smiles. It’s the smile I’ve come to notice comes out when she’s with others and is genuinely happy. Her body visually relaxes, like she’s happy I understand her.
“But . . .” I start, slowly moving towards her, the mood shifting with me, becoming something more than just light and fun like it had been.
“What?” she stutters, taken by surprise by my movements.
“Don’t you think . . .?” I start, putting my hands on either side of her as I close the distance between us.
“Think what?” she asks, her voice shaking slightly. My gaze drops to her neck, watching the way her pulse races as I get closer to her. I stop just inches away from her face, my eyes locking with hers.
“That the things you crave in books can be given to you in this reality,” I say, my words coming out confident and seductive as my eyes trail from her lips down towards her chest.
“I didn’t say . . .”
“You can have so much more than what you read about, you know that . . . right?” I ask, swiping a strand of damp hair away from her face.
“I . . . do,” she tries to say, her body stilling as I touch her. By the way her body betrays her, leaning into my touch ever so slightly, I know she feels whatever this is between us.
As I run my tongue over my bottom lip, her eyes dart to them, and I can tell by the way her lips part that she wants to know what they feel like and how they taste, but she’s fighting it.
“Vida!” Carmela calls as she barges into the room, freezing as she takes us in. “Oh!”
“Can’t I be with my wife in fucking peace?” I ask, my eyes still on Vida, who doesn’t say a word.
“Well, your wife needs some company, one that won’t try to dry hump her when she’s in pain,” Carmela retorts, folding her arms across her chest.
I watch as Vida begins to sink into herself a little again and hate that our moment is now gone thanks to my sister.
“Let’s finish this later, little chaos,” I whisper, my breath grazing her lips as I bring my face closer to hers so her attention is back on me, before finally getting up and walking towards the wall to lean on.
“Franchesco is outside and we’re going to have a good time. We will help you get your mind off the craziness of this life,” Carmela says, walking towards the bed and sitting close to Vida.
“I’d love to take my mind off it,” Vida says, smiling at her.
“There are many ways I could help with that,” I murmur, just loud enough to be heard.
“Your wife is awake, shouldn’t you go attend to the people waiting for you? Or are you going to cancel more meetings to babysit?” Carmela sasses me before looking at my laughing wife. “No offense, Vee.”
Shaking my head at my twin, I keep my eyes on Vida while I talk to my sister. “I’ll be down in two minutes. Go tell them that.”
“I’ll be right back,” she whispers to Vida before getting up and leaving.
“You cancelled meetings?” Vida asks, her eyes on me as I lean against the wall.
“You come first,” I tell her, meaning it more than she seems to believe.
“You didn’t have to,” she continues.
“Little chaos, you come first,” I repeat. “I’ll be busy, but you should have fun with Carmela.”
“I’ll try,” she says, smiling at me.
“Good girl,” I say, walking towards the door and leaving before I change my mind and stay.