8. Antonio
8
Antonio
D ear Antonio,
Life after rehab isn’t exactly what I expected it to be. To be honest, I do not know what I expected. Not like I did it before. This is all new to me. I mean, I’m literally writing a letter to myself…
The scratch of pen on paper sounds like a battlefield drumbeat in the sterile silence of the living room. The grandfather clock in the corner chimes once, a solemn reminder of another minute wasted.
I stare at the almost blank page, the weight of Dr. Sharma's "therapeutic exercise" like a lead ball on my chest. “ Write a letter to yourself ,” she said. “ Unpack the mess .” Easier said than done.
I remember my days in rehab, the white walls that mocked me with their sterility, and the mattress that felt like a punishment for crimes I didn’t remember committing.
…I thought rehab was supposed to feel like a fresh start. Instead, it felt more and more like solitary confinement. I hated every second. Especially getting clean. The worst part was getting clean, and every day there, I wan quit. Looks like I underestimated my ability to see something through. I bet you would be proud of me…
I look up from my scribbling, taking in the massive, lonely house. Seemed so long since anyone lived here. Seems so long since Leo and I ran through the corridors. How is this any different from solitary confinement? This house is as dead as a cemetery, kind of how I feel on bad days.
…I’m back home in Shadow’s Bend too, and I can’t believe how little things have changed. Almost like the town got stuck in time, refusing to move on with the rest of the world.
Somehow, it makes this homecoming even better for me. Thefamiliar sights, the crumbling walls. It feels safe. The road to recovery is so hard, and while I’m still struggling, I’m gettingused to life without the internet, forced to facemy thoughts without distractions…
I glance at the dusty box of old video games sitting beside the television. Well, some distractions are needed. I’ve been so bored, I had to dig out the old games Leo and I used to play as teenagers, although I haven’t gotten around to hooking it up yet.
…Oh, one more thing. I ran into Colette, Henry’s sister.She’s here too, and she looks almost as bad as me. What arethe chances, right?She still looks smashing, though. Seeing hertoday… I felt something. I can’t explain it, but she’s been onmy mind ever since. Oh well, I guess I will tell you about itsometime.
PS: This wasn’t all that bad.
I set down my pen and smile at the letter. I still think it’s a silly idea. I was an addict, not a crazy person, although these days it’s hard to see the difference.
My mind drifts to Colette again. It’s been doing that a lot. I hate the pity I saw in her eyes though. I don’t look that bad… do I?
A loud ringing erupts from the coffee table. My damn phone. What does Leo want? Or Gabi? They want to make sure I haven’t died yet from boredom. I take my time walking to the phone, lacking any enthusiasm to speak to my brother. I pick it up and see Henry's name flashing on the screen. My thumb hovers over the answer button - I’m not feeling very chatty, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely.
"Antonio?" Henry's voice sounds hopeful on the other end, but laced with caution.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough from disuse.
"Hey, listen, I just talked to Colette," Henry starts, then trails off. There's a pause, thick with unspoken words. I can feel the question hanging in the air: What happened to you? The anger flares, hot and sudden, and pressure builds in my chest. I know it's irrational, but...
"What about her?" I snap, the words sharper than I intended.
"She…well, she just wanted to know," Henry stammers, surprise tinged with hurt in his voice. "She asked what happened to you, and I was hesitant to tell her. She was really insistent, though. I don’t know… Is it okay if I tell her?"
I ball my free hand into a fist and grit my teeth, anger boiling inside me like an overfull cauldron. I do not know why I’m so mad, but I just feel frustrated, and I can’t breathe.
"Tell her what?" I spit back, the words tumbling out before I can restrain them. "Why are you acting so damn touchy about the subject? For fuck’s sake, Henry, it's not a big deal!"
There's a long silence from the other end. When Henry speaks, his voice is weary.
"I know you guys haven't been best buds, Antonio. But I didn't think it would be this bad."
"It's not bad!" I yell, the pressure in my chest threatening to burst, a vein bulging in my temple. "Besides, it’s none of her damned business, okay?"
“Antonio… buddy,” Henry says.
I don’t let him finish, and I slam the phone shut, the sound echoing in the empty sitting room. Shame washes over me, but I’m too angry to care. I didn't mean to snap at Henry. But the question, so innocent on the surface, has ripped open a chasm of raw emotions within me.
I don't want Colette's pity. I don't want her concern. Without thinking, I stride straight out of the house, round the fence, and march straight to Colette’s door. I can still feel my anger simmering inside me like a pot of broth. I knock a little too loudly than is necessary.
A few moments later, the click of the deadbolt echoes through the night, and the door creaks open a sliver. Colette stands there, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of something else–fear? Maybe. It ignites another flash of anger in me.
"Antonio?" she says, stepping back to open the door.
“You wanted to know what the fuck happened to me, so I’m here to tell you.” My tone sting Colette, and she flinches. I don’t care. “I’m back in town because I’m a fuckup who OD’d and almost died. I had to go away to rehab for a while, and I’ve struggled with creativity ever since. Are you happy now? At least, the next time you want to know something about me, you don’t have to go asking around.”
I turn around and stride down the porch, leaving Colette stunned. I shut the door behind me and settle into a couch before it hits me how dumb and stupid I was to blow up the way I did.
I groan, feeling ashamed and covering my face with my hands. Why did I get so angry at her? All she did was care. What’s wrong with me? One moment I can’t stop thinking about her, the next, I’m shouting her head off.
The doorbell chimes softly, invading my thoughts. I consider ignoring whoever it is, but they are persistent and just keep pressing the bell until I go to the door.
It’s Colette, and she has a box in her hand. She opens it and reveals a month watering red velvet cake. I look up at her in confusion, and she shifts from foot to foot, embarrassed by my scrutiny.
“Umm…I’m sorry,” she says. “I know you can’t drink, so I brought you some cake instead.”
Cake? I don't want cake. I want to understand why she cares.
I nod slowly. “You didn’t have to.”
“But I did,” she says. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I say after a brief hesitation. “Sure, you can.”
The air is heavy between us when I shut the door behind her. We both stay quiet, the tension palpable. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, maybe sympathy, maybe something more–that makes me look away.
She steps close. “Antonio. I’m so sorry for pushing the matter about what happened to you, and the conditions that brought you back here to Shadow’s Bend. It was not my place to ask, and I see that now.”
I can feel my anger bleeding away just listening to her. “You don’t have to…”
“I do. I can’t imagine what the last few years have been like for you. How difficult this must be. So, I came here, bearing cake as a peace offering, asking for your forgiveness.”
I smile, a genuine one that soothes my soul. “Apology accepted, and thanks for the cake.” I accept the cake from her and take it to the kitchen. I return to the living room with two slices of cake and hand one to her. She accepts it and nods over her shoulder.
"I saw the box," she says softly, breaking the silence. "The one with the games."
I glance towards the TV, where the dusty box sits on the floor beside it. "Yeah," I mumble, feeling a wave of self-consciousness. "Desperate times, desperate measures."
She walks over to the box and picks it up, a faint smile playing on her lips. "We used to fight over who got to be Mario all the time."
A genuine laugh escapes my lips, the first in what feels like weeks. "Yeah, you were terrible."
"Hey!" she feigns offense, a playful glint in her eyes. "At least I didn't keep getting lost in the warp pipes like a certain someone."
The easy banter feels strange…familiar, yet uncomfortable. It reminds me of a time before the pills, before the darkness, before I pushed everyone away.
"Look," I say, my voice softening. "I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did. You really were just looking out for me."
Colette sets the box down and turns back to me. "I understand," she breathes. "It's been a tough time for you."
The way she says it, without judgment, makes my throat tighten. I don't deserve her kindness, not after everything I've done.
"It's not your problem," I mutter, pushing the words out with difficulty.
"Maybe not," she replies, taking a step closer. "But that doesn't mean I can't offer my support, right?"
Her eyes meet mine, and the air crackles with an unspoken energy. "Actually," I say, surprising even myself. "I was wondering…"
Colette raises an eyebrow, a question lurking in her eyes. "Wondering what?"
"Do you still want to fight over Mario?" I ask, a hint of a smile playing on my lips.
She hesitates for a moment, then a grin erupts on her face. "Bring it on, loser."
The tension dissipates, replaced by a spark of something new. She takes her place on the couch, excited like a teenage girl, and I set up the console, hoping the game still works after being so long abandoned in the attic, gathering dust and cobwebs.
The familiar blue glow of the old console flickers to life, casting dancing shadows on the living room wall. We both stare at the pixelated Mario bouncing across the screen. Colette claps excitedly, and the action makes me smile.
"Remember the time you swore the clouds moved faster on player two?" I ask, grabbing the second controller.
Colette chuckles, her smile warm. "Of course I do. You were always such a sore loser."
"Says the one who used to hide behind the princess to avoid getting hit."
We argue as we select characters; the years melting away as we fall back into the peaceful rhythm of competition. The tension that had hung between us earlier has evaporated, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie.
The first few rounds are a blur of laughter and playful taunts. However, as the difficulty ramps up, the playful banter quiets down. We are both competitive, and a determined glint has replaced the amusement in Colette's eyes.my character teeters on the edge of a bottomless pit, a single misstep away from oblivion.
"Looks like you're about to lose again, Antonio," Colette says, a hint of triumph in her voice.
I narrow my eyes, focusing on the screen. "Not so fast," I mutter, navigating Mario through a treacherous maze of pipes with surprising dexterity. With a well-timed jump and a triumphant flourish, I land on the other side, securing the princess and the win.
Colette groans, throwing her head back in mock-frustration. "Ugh, you got lucky again!"
"Pure skill, my dear," I tease, a grin spreading across my face.
The playful banter dissolves into laughter, a genuine, carefree sound that fills the room. As we continue playing, a comfortable silence settles between us, punctuated only by the rhythmic bleeps and bloops of the game.
At some point, I realize a shift in the atmosphere. The air is charged with something more than friendly competition. While playing the game, every time our arms brush together as we lean this way and that, a jolt of electricity seems to run through me.
During one challenging level, I lean closer, my focus on the screen. But then, I realize Colette's presence near me, the warmth of her body radiating a silent invitation.
My gaze flickers from the screen to her face. She is biting her lip, her eyes locked on the game but radiating a level of sexiness I can't ignore. In that moment, something snaps. All the unspoken words, the pent-up emotions, coalesce into a single, overwhelming desire.
Before I can think, I reach out, my fingers brushing against hers. The feel of her sends a shiver down my spine. She doesn't pull away. Instead, she looks up at me, her eyes wide and searching.
The world seems to shrink. Time slows, the familiar bleeps and bloops of the game fading into the background. There is a question in her gaze, a mixture of curiosity and a hint of fear.
Does she welcome this sudden shift? Am I misreading the signals?
My hand hovers over hers, a single touch separating hesitant curiosity from a leap of faith. The weight of everything feels too heavy - my recovery, her unspoken concerns, the mess I've made of things. But in that moment, all I crave is this connection, this spark that has ignited in the quiet space between us.
"Colette," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. The name tumbles out, a plea, a question, an admission, all at once.
She holds my gaze, her lips slightly parted. "Antonio," she breathes, her voice barely a whisper.
The vulnerability in her voice, the raw emotion and hunger I hear, undo me. It isn't just the fear I'd seen earlier, but a depth of feeling I hadn't expected. In that instant, the need to confess, to explain the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me, recedes. For now, words seem unnecessary.
With a gentle breath, I close the gap between us. My touch is hesitant at first, a brush of my thumb against her cheek, toying with a stray lock of hair. The feel of her skin gives me a warmth that spreads outwards, chasing away the lingering chill of isolation.
Her eyes flutter shut as she leans into my touch, a silent surrender. The tension in her body eases, and a soft sigh escapes her lips. Following the path my fingers have paved, I lean in further. The space between our lips is a mere whisper away. Anticipation crackles in the air.
Then, with a tenderness that surprises even me, I meet her lips in a kiss. It’s soft, exploratory, a hesitant dance of shared breaths and unspoken questions.
The taste of cake lingers on her tongue, a sweet counterpoint to the raw emotions coursing through me. It’s a kiss that holds the weight of regret, the promise of an end to loneliness, and perhaps something more.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and she allows me, her chest pressed against mine as my hand cups the slender curve of her waist. I lose myself in the breathlessness of that kiss, soothing old and new scars alike, if only for a few moments, stretching out into what feels like eternity.