Chapter 50 Allegra #4
The door of the stall opens with a click, and she comes to the sink to wash her hands. I watch from the corner of my eye as she seems so unbothered, so blasé while her child has been wrestling between life and death for the last few years.
How is she a mother?
She makes to leave, and I finally speak.
"You didn't recognize me, mamma?" I imitate Chiara's high-pitched voice.
"Oh dear God, you scared me." She turns around, assessing me. She narrows her eyes at me before breaking into a smile. "Now that is a costume. I couldn't tell it was you at all," she comes over, her hand moving over my face affectionately.
She's never once touched me so tenderly before.
I'm motionless as I watch her display such care for the first time. She's still oblivious to my identity, her fingers moving around my body as she tries to right my clothes.
Like a mother should.
"Who did you sleep with now?" she asks, her eyes trailing down my legs where the grass is still imprinted on my knees.
"I told you to tone it down. We don't want people to doubt Luca's paternity when we finally get rid of Enzo," she says, her voice mildly chastising but mostly full of doting indulgence.
"I was thinking about my sister tonight," I veer the subject into uncomfortable territory, needing to see her reaction. Her features change immediately, and her previous loving smile is now full of malice.
"Don't!" Her tone is sharp. "Remember, you never had a sister to begin with," she continues, her twisted words paining me even more.
"Maybe she didn't have to die," I continue to probe, wanting her ugliness to come out.
"Chiara!" she exclaims, taking a step back, her expression outraged.
"What's gotten into you? She was never part of the family!
She was just someone we could use and discard.
Let that sink into your head. She was a means to an end.
" She laughs. "It certainly gave us all this," she waves her hand around.
"Sorry, mamma, I'm a little introspective tonight. We're identical twins… I was thinking it could have easily been me who was the outcast and she your beloved child."
Her hands grab my shoulders, and her gaze meets mine. I see determination and an unwavering conviction.
"Don't, dear. She could have never taken your place.
I knew from the moment you both came into the world that my heart could only love one child.
You were so precious…" She sighs. "You took to me immediately, hugging me and offering your unconditional love.
Your sister," her nostrils flare, her eyes narrowing, "besides the fact that she almost caused me to bleed out, she also had the audacity to cry whenever I tried to touch her.
She hated me from the first. My nonna had warned me that she was bad luck, and I started seeing just how bad she was. "
"You're everything a parent could have wanted, my darling Chiara," she says, taking me into her arms and giving me my first-ever parental hug.
I'm uncharacteristically uncaring as I realize the thing I'd longed for the most was nothing but an illusion.
Why did I ever crave the affection of this woman?
I look down at her and I almost feel ashamed that I would have done anything to gain her approval—including giving myself as a sacrificial lamb to Franzè.
At least now I'll have a clean conscience.
"Thank you, Mamma," I say, letting her have one moment to soak in this interaction before bursting her bubble.
She turns to the mirror to arrange her hair, all the while talking about some fashion nonsense. Moving behind her, my hands are already gloved and my little pouch has all the tools I need to make this an unforgettable experience.
Placing my hand on the back of her head, I simply apply enough pressure that one second she's sitting upright and staring in the mirror, and the next her face makes contact with the edge of the counter.
The music is loud, blasting throughout the house. But even so, the noise of bone against marble makes a resounding thud.
"What…" she stammers.
"Oh, Mother dear, but I forgot to tell you one detail. I'm not Chiara," I whisper in her hair, and I watch the mirror for the change in her expression—self-assuredness turning into fear.
"You can't… you're dead," she keeps repeating, her eyes wild.
"I feel very much alive," I say with a shrug, proving my point by banging her head against the marble again.
"How… how could you…" Her voice is already broken and filled with pain. I know all too well because I, too, had my face smashed against a hard surface. "I'm your mother!" she yells.
"My mother?" I snort, my fingers tightening in her hair. "The title of 'mother' isn't by birth alone," I snicker at her, a violent storm brewing inside me. "It has to be earned. What did you ever do for me to call you that? Sell me? Kill me?"
She whimpers, her hands moving wildly by her side, trying to grasp at me.
Changing tactics, I drag her to one of the stalls, still holding her by the hair. Her face is bleeding slightly, but this is just the beginning.
Pushing her head deep into the toilet bowl, I revel in the sounds of her choking, lifting her only to see the terrified expression on her face.
"Thank you for clarifying what I always wanted to know," I add, kicking her in the ribs as she starts to move around.
"But it's still not enough. How do you think a child feels when the people who should have loved her most ended up hating her most?
Have you ever spared me a thought? No, I see on your face that you have not.
You just despised me so much that you immediately signed off on my death.
For what? Money? Fame? To give the limelight to Chiara? "
I submerge her in the water until bubbles erupt on the surface, her heaving telling me she's already suffocating.
Grabbing her by the nape, I prop her up against the wall, studying her.
"You… you're a monster," she yells at me, pure terror in her gaze.
"Come now, don't be a hypocrite!" I roll my eyes at her. "You can't create the monster and then complain when it's set loose."
Removing a small knife from my pouch, I drag it across her face.
"Do you even know what your darling daughter did to me?" I ask, and she gulps, swallowing hard. "She disfigured me. Can you imagine what it feels like to have the flesh of your face dangling, the pain so astounding you can barely move?"
My words wake her, and she starts struggling again. One hand gripping her throat, I hold the knife tightly with the other and carefully slice a contour all around her face. She screeches in pain, her legs kicking under me.
Applying more pressure, I continue to cut under the skin, taking off flaps of flesh and detaching them from the muscle. Her expression is stuck in a perpetual scream, her mouth jammed in the shape of an O.
She must have passed out from the pain.
Feeling for a shallow pulse with my hand, I return to cutting at the flesh until the entire layer of skin is separated from her face.
Mutilated like this, she almost looks human. I'm not even disgusted as I take in the redness of her muscles and flesh, the blood slowly pooling down her face.
The ugliness inside is now the ugliness outside.
Taking the flimsy flesh, I place it in her right hand. Then I wrap her other hand around the blade, slowly bringing it up to her throat. Squeezing her fingers on the knife, I jab the sharp point into her skin. Trickles of blood start to slowly pour out of the wound.
I take a step back, wanting to avoid the spurts of blood once the pressure on the wound gives way.
"Another one down," I mutter to myself, taking a moment to enjoy my revenge.