Chapter 3
III. DOLL
Present day, La Maddalena
Sophie and I walked slowly down Razzoli Street. It was autumn already, and as my feet pressed against the ground, the dry leaves cracked beneath me like brittle memories. I remembered that a year ago, just a few days from now, I saw him for the first time.
I was holding sunflowers on my way to visit my mother’s grave for her birthday.
Time passes so quickly, yet when you miss someone, every second feels endless. It cuts through you, soft at first, then deeper, until you start to bleed again. And somehow, I wanted that pain. It reminded me that I still remembered. That I still loved.
Because memories fade. They change, like everything else does.
People change. You try to hold on to what was real, but even that slips.
Faces stay the same, but you forget the sound of a laugh, the warmth of a touch, the way their scent felt against your skin.
You start to wonder if you ever really knew it, or if your mind just rewrote it to keep you from breaking.
You can’t live it again. The past doesn’t open its doors for anyone.
And I lost that chance with him.
When you lose someone you love, it’s not just them you bury. It’s the parts of yourself that only existed because they saw them. I lost myself with him. Whoever I used to be is gone. Maybe that was always meant to happen. Maybe I was supposed to become someone new.
But who? Who am I without him?
I used to be his Ace of Hearts. Now I’m just another card in a forgotten deck, one no one plays with anymore.
I sit there, collecting dust, waiting for someone to pick me up, maybe use me, maybe not.
That’s what people do, isn’t it? They see something good in you, something they can use, until there’s nothing left. Just so they can feel like something.
Sophie hadn’t said a word since we left the house.
She wanted me in that red dress, the one that used to make me look alive.
Instead, I chose jeans and a white shirt.
My black leather jacket hung loosely from my shoulders, and my old black Converse scraped the ground with every step.
My hair was tied in a messy bun. The makeup on my face was just enough to make me look less like a ghost walking among the living.
“You know I’m worried about you,” she said finally. “Ever since you found out what happened…” She exhaled, then added quietly, “It’s been a year.”
A year. As if grief runs on a timer. As if hearts come with expiration dates.
I looked at her, rolled my eyes. “No need to worry, Sophie. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be just fine,” I repeated, though my eyes had already moved down the road. Between the trees, I saw someone move. A face I knew as well as my own.
My heart started to beat faster.
“It’s him.” I turned to Sophie, breathless. “It’s him, Sophie.”
A smile broke across my face before I could stop it. Then I was running. The cold air burned my lungs as my shoes hit the ground faster and faster. Sophie’s voice followed me.
“Chiara, wait!”
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I ran toward the trees, branches scratching at my jacket, until the graveyard opened up in front of me. Rows of stone. Silence.
And then… nothing.
No one. Only wind. Only the echo of footsteps that weren’t there.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I looked toward the gate of the graveyard. The streetlight flickered, and my eyes blurred with tears. Soon, it was all coming back to me.
That night.
Suddenly, I was there again, lost in my own memory.
A year ago, I remember I had been lying in bed for two, maybe three days.
I don’t quite remember, but I do remember feeling so tired, drifting in and out of sleep, with Rocco being the only one by my side.
Every time I asked about Rio, he told me Rio was working a job in Rome, that he had something else to deal with.
There was always something else. But this time, he finally decided it was time for the truth.
He told me Rio was trapped in a dream, and that we had lost him.
At first, I didn’t understand what that meant.
We lost him in a dream. I couldn’t remember much, but I remembered that he came after me.
I remembered the meadow and his last kiss.
I thought maybe I was still lost in a dream with him, and I kept trying to dream about it again and again.
But it was never the same. It was never real.
Then Rocco said it clearly. Rio had died, and we would never see him again. And that broke me.
My dreams lost all meaning after that. They turned into nothing, or into nightmares that haunted me until I started drinking to forget. I thought if I pushed myself just a little harder, I might end up with him somewhere else. But it never helped.
I felt Sophie’s hands on me, pulling me into a tight hug.“Oh, babe,” she whispered. “I know. I know.”
“I hate this feeling,” I murmured into her neck. “I hate being here without him.”
“Don’t say that.” She pulled me closer, her hands cradling my head.
“I hate that sometimes the people we need most are the ones we lose so fast. I hate that the people we want most are the ones we never get. The ones we love the most are always the furthest away. I hate…” My voice broke as I cried.
She said nothing. There was only silence between us until we heard laughter behind us. People were coming from the graveyard, drinking near the cliffs and the old chapel.
Sophie gently pushed me, wiped the tears from my face, and said, “Let’s drink, and make tonight about us. No memories, just us, okay?”
I nodded, wiping my tears with my palm and smearing whatever was left of my makeup.
“I don’t feel like it,” I said, taking a step back and turning to walk home. But she caught my hand and pulled me toward the graveyard entrance.
“You have to,” she said, tugging me further inside.
I inhaled deeply because at this point, I didn’t even have the strength to argue. So I just followed her. The tears came again when I saw all the graves around us. I never knew which one was his. And I never will.
“You know, you’re a terrible friend for bringing me here,” I said, wiping more tears from my cheeks. “Surrounding me with dead people.”
Sophie stopped and turned toward me. “Look,” she said, “the first step is acceptance.”
I raised a brow at her.
“And then you have to grieve, and finally, you have to let all that grief go.”
I exhaled, still watching her.
“I’m just saying,” she shrugged, “you’ve done the first two steps. Now it’s time to let go and have some fun.” She winked. “Maybe get some Italian cock tonight.”
I gasped. “Sophie!”
“What?” she laughed. “I know it sounds terrible, but you know what they say—‘the only way to forget some is to get some.’”
“Never heard that before,” I said.
“Well, me neither,” she laughed. “It just sounded good.”
I gently pushed her. “Whatever, Sophie.”
We kept walking toward the chapel, and the place was getting more crowded.
People were sitting on graves with cups in their hands, looking out toward the cliffs.
Some were jumping, others were trying to break into the chapel that the local priest had locked.
A few were lying on the ground, and some were around the pine trees, kissing.
I noticed Christian was there too, with Amber and Tristan. They were laughing and talking about the people around them. When they saw Sophie and me, they waved for us to come closer.
As I took a step forward, Tristan looked down at the ground.
There was something I hadn’t told Sophie.
For the past month, I had been seeing Tristan, trying to do exactly what she always said, to forget by moving on.
But it didn’t work. It never does. It just didn’t feel right, and we both knew it.
That’s why he couldn’t look me in the eye. And that’s why I couldn’t say a word.
But just as I parted my lips to speak, Christian stepped in front of me.
“What the fuck are those freaks doing here?” he said.
I turned around.
A few clowns were drinking near one of the graves.
With them stood a man whose face was painted like a skull.
His hair was black as coal, his eyes pale and icy blue.
He was tall, wearing black jeans and a black shirt, with a leather jacket thrown over his shoulders.
The House of Clowns logo was painted across the back.
His hands were tattooed to look like bones.
When his eyes met mine, something inside me stopped.
I knew those eyes.
For a moment, I thought it was Rio. But it wasn’t him. There was nothing warm in this man. The air around him felt colder. So I stayed by Christian’s side and stared back at him.
“Freaks,” Christian said.
The skull-faced man stepped forward, looking Christian up and down. Then he laughed quietly.
“I don’t see any freaks here,” he said, turning toward the clowns. “Just clowns.”
The clowns laughed with him.
Christian’s jaw tightened. “Clowns are freaks, you painted idiot.”
The man rubbed his jaw, still smiling. “Oh, I didn’t know that,” he said. “I thought boys like you didn’t even know what the word idiot means.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Christian turned to me, his finger stabbing the air. “You. Shut up.”
Sophie pulled me back by the arm, but it was already too late.
Christian lunged, swinging for the man. The skull-faced man moved faster. His fist connected with Christian’s face, and the sound cracked through the gasps behind them. Christian stumbled back, blinking in shock.
The man grinned, the white of his teeth shining through the black paint. “Want more?”
The clowns got up. One of them broke a glass bottle and held it toward Christian, standing behind the man like a wall. Tristan rushed forward, grabbing Christian. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling him away.
As they started walking off, Sophie tugged on my arm to follow. Something inside me wanted to stay, but I went with her, moving slowly by her side.
Christian turned on me, shoving my shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“With me?” I laughed. “You attacked them for no reason.”
He grabbed me by the jaw, yanking me closer. Tristan tried to step in, but Christian pushed him away. “You know Dad got locked up because of them,” he shouted.
“Dad got locked up because he beat Carlo and me,” I said through clenched lips, his grip crushing my face.
“You’re just making shit up.” He let me go and said, “You’ll regret it.”
He still didn’t believe me. He blamed me for everything. He even made Carlo believe it, even though Carlo had seen every single blow, had been there to hand me bandages and ice while I bled.
Sophie came to me, wrapping her arms around me. She led me aside and sat me on the low wall near the chapel.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded faintly.
“He still hasn’t accepted it, huh?” she said softly.
I shook my head.
“You know, when my parents died, I blamed Tristan too,” she said after a moment.
“But later I realized that no matter how hard we blame someone, it never brings anyone back. It doesn’t fix anything.
It just pushes people away.” She sighed.
“He’s pushing you away because it’s easier than facing the truth. ”
“It’s not that simple,” I said, exhaling as I wiped my tears. “Anyway…” I stood up. “I should head home.”
“Chiara,” she said, standing with me. “You can talk to me. Whatever happened in the House of Clowns, you can tell me.”
I turned away. I couldn’t face her. I needed to be alone. “That’s the thing, Sophie,” I said quietly. “It’s not my story to tell. It’s only mine to keep.”
“Can I at least walk with you?”
“I really need some time by myself,” I said, taking a few steps forward. “Go be with your brother and Christian. I’ll be okay.” I tilted my head slightly. “I promise.”
I said the words even though I didn’t know if I could keep them. Then I started to walk away.