20. Antonio
20
Antonio
A s Colette excuses herself from our conversation, going into the kitchen, I can't help but feel a surge of relief flooding through me. Henry. My best friend. The one person who has always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it.
I can't believe we're talking again after everything that's happened. Knowing that I still have someone in my corner, someone who knows me better than anyone else, feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I draw in a steadying breath, gathering my thoughts before plunging ahead. "Colette has been helping me through everything, Henry."
"It's clear that she's had a profound impact on you, Antonio," Henry says, his voice softening with understanding. "I've never seen you like this before."
I nod, even though I know Henry can't see me. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I continue, the words tumbling out in a rush.
There's a pregnant pause on the other end of the line as Henry considers his response.
"How serious are you about her, Antonio? I mean, really?" he asks at last, his voice firm.
"I'm serious, Henry," I say with as much sincerity as I can muster. "More serious than I've ever been about anyone else."
"Good," he replies, and I heave a sigh of relief. "Because she deserves someone who's willing to give her their all. And if you're not willing to do that, then you don't deserve her."
Now he is her defender?
There's a soft chuckle on the other end of the line, the sound warm and familiar that lets me know he is half joking.
"Thanks, Henry," I say, my tone filled with genuine appreciation. "I needed to hear that."
"That doesn't mean I won't be an overprotective brother," Henry continues. "I was stupid in the past, and I will never make that mistake again."
I chuckle. "No worries. I get it. How have you been?"
There's a brief pause on the other end before Henry responds. "I've been okay. Just trying to keep everything together, you know?"
"Yeah, I hear you," I reply, feeling a pang of guilt for not being there for him during this time. "Listen, Henry, I'm really sorry for everything. For shutting you out, for pushing you away. I didn't mean to."
Henry's tone softens. "It's okay, Antonio. I understand. I am sorry for what I did as well. But I'm just glad you're here now, talking to me."
I feel a lump form in my throat at his words. Henry has always been the one person who understands me, who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. I should be able to accept him for his flaws as well.
"I’m just glad we can move past this now," I admit, my voice above a whisper. "I've missed my best friend."
There's a warmth in Henry's voice as he responds, "I've missed you too, buddy. But hey, we're here now, right? And that's all that matters."
And in that moment, as I hear the sincerity in Henry's voice, I feel a sense of hope wash over me. "Yeah, you're right. We're here now."
Henry chuckles, the sound reassuring. "So, how's everything been going on your end? Colette mentioned you've been staying at the old mansion."
I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express everything that's been going on. "It's been... rough, to say the least. But I'm trying to take it one day at a time. Leo's been helping a lot."
"That's good to hear," Henry says, genuine relief clear in his voice. "And Colette? How's she doing?"
"She's..." I pause, unsure of how much I should reveal. "She's been through a lot. But she's strong. She's been painting again, finding solace in her art."
Henry's tone carries a softness as he responds, "That sounds like her."
"Yeah," I agree, a small smile forming on my lips. "She's quite remarkable."
We fall into a comfortable silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. It's strange how easy it is to talk to Henry, to open up about things I've kept hidden for so long.
"So," Henry begins, breaking the silence. "What are your plans now? Are you going to stay in town for a while?"
I hesitate, unsure of what the future holds. "I'm not sure yet. Leo wants me to focus on my recovery, but... I don't know if I can stay cooped up here forever."
"It's important to take things one step at a time," Henry advises. "Don't rush into anything. Just focus on getting better. "
His words resonate with me, reminding me to be patient with myself. "Thanks, Henry. You always know what to say. ”
"Anytime, buddy," he replies, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, no matter what."
I hang up the phone with Henry, feeling a renewed sense of strength coursing through me. But as I set the phone down on the couch, another sensation creeps in—an insidious temptation, whispering in the recesses of my mind.
I can know what’s going on out there!
With a phone that has internet access right in front of me, the allure of the digital world beckons. I know I'm not supposed to use it, that Leo's strict rules are in place for a reason. But in this moment, the pull of curiosity is too strong to resist.
I glance around the room, my heart pounding with anticipation and guilt. But despite my best intentions, my fingers move of their own accord, unlocking the phone and launching the web browser. The screen illuminates with a cascade of information, and I quickly type in a search query, my pulse quickening with each keystroke. I'm not sure what I'm expecting to find, but what I see shocks me to the core.
Every headline, every article is filled with mentions of bullying and suicide. My stomach churns as I scroll through the results, each one a stark reminder of the harsh realities that exist beyond the confines of my temporary sanctuary.
I want to call out to Colette, to seek comfort in her presence, but the urge to delve deeper into the digital abyss is too strong to ignore. With trembling hands, I type my name into the search bar, a sense of foreboding gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.
What I find sends a shiver down my spine. Page after page of search results, each one a damning indictment of my past struggles. Articles detailing my battle with addiction, rumors of past trauma, and accusations of being a victim of abuse—all laid bare for the world to see.
Where is Antonio Amato? Is he still alive?
The story of Amato: Rockstar turned junkie!
I feel as though the ground beneath me is shifting, the familiar walls of my reality crumbling around me. The judgment from the posts suffocates me, and I struggle against the negativity that threatens to drown me.
I click on one link, my heart pounding in my chest as I brace myself for what I might find. The words blur together as I read, each sentence a dagger to the heart, tearing apart the constructed facade I've built around myself.
I want to look away, to shut off the screen and retreat into the safety of oblivion. But something compels me to keep scrolling, to keep searching for answers in a world that seems determined to tear me apart.
The vultures!
Minutes pass in a blur as I lose myself in the endless stream of information, my mind racing with thoughts and fears that I can't seem to shake. The screen's glow casts eerie shadows across the room, as though painting a picture of what lies inside my head.
The cursor blinks on the screen as I stare at the search results, feeling a surge of frustration and despair welling up inside me. This isn't what I expected to find when I dared to venture into the depths of the internet. I want to tear myself away from the screen, to escape from the relentless onslaught of information, but I can't. I'm trapped, caught in a web of my making.
My hands tremble as I navigate to the Twitter app. Maybe there's some shred of truth buried amidst the chaos, some glimmer of understanding that I've overlooked. And then I see it, a tweet that sends shockwaves through me. My ex-girlfriend, Cassie, she's dead. She killed herself.
Oh shit. Is this my fault?
The accusations fly, blame shifting like sand in the wind. Cassie is being vilified by the very people who once idolized her. My fans seem to be the ringleaders, but her fans are on the train as well. They accuse her of abusing me, of driving me to drugs, of being the reason for my downfall.
‘Fuck you for what you did to Antonio, Cassie,’ @Antonio_wife writes.
‘The witch didn’t deserve to walk among humans after what she did to Antonio,’ @CassieH8er1 adds.
‘I hope you rot in hell, bitch. Your songs were shit anyway,’ another quip.
My mind reels and I can’t see the usernames anymore as my vision blurs, struggling to process the flood of emotions crashing over me. Anger, guilt, sorrow. They swirl together in a chaotic dance, threatening to consume me whole.
Did I drive her to this?
I read the messages with a mounting sense of horror, my stomach churning with nausea at the venomous words that spill forth from the screen. How could people be so cruel, so quick to judge and condemn without knowing the full story?
‘I always knew she was bad for Antonio,’ another fan wrote.
‘Did you see she lied about having a kid and losing it? Hell has a new resident, I am sure!’
‘I just hope Antonio is safe and alive in all this. Good riddance to the spawn of Satan. She deserves to die!’
I want to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but I know it won't change anything. The damage has been done, the narrative set in stone. All I can do is bear witness to the fallout, to the wreckage of lives torn apart by hatred and misunderstanding.
I come across a Twitter page organized by one of Cassie’s friends where well-wishes and commiserations were supposed to be posted in her memory. However, the comment section is filled with more hate.
' Well wishes for this bitch? Hell no, she got what she deserved! ’
‘Only good thing she did was kill herself!’
‘Fuck you and your friend. Maybe you should join her.’
I feel a sense of helplessness washing over me, a profound despair that threatens to drag me down into the abyss. I'm overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation, the sheer magnitude of the forces arrayed against me.
As I set the phone aside and take a moment to collect myself, I close my eyes to shut off the pain that I feel. My mind races with a thousand thoughts and fears, each one more terrifying than the last. I'm overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the emotions.
Colette's face flashes before my eyes, her blue eyes filled with concern. She doesn't deserve to be dragged into this mess.
I should protect her from this. I need to get away from her.
I feel the panic rising within me, a primal instinct urging me to flee from the overwhelming onslaught of pain and despair. I know I should stay and face the storm, but I can't. I can't bear the weight of it any longer.
With a sudden surge of adrenaline, I leap to my feet, the urge to escape overwhelming my senses. I don't stop to think, to rationalize or analyze—I just act. My hands tremble with every step as I stumble towards the door. I'm consumed by a single-minded determination to find some respite from the relentless onslaught of pain.
As I step out into the sunny afternoon, I feel a strange sense of liberation — a fleeting moment of relief amidst the chaos that surrounds me. But it's short-lived. The streets are empty and silent; the wind rolling a few leaves across the lawn. I feel like I'm walking through a nightmare, each step a struggle against the weight of the world bearing down on me with its relentless force.
I don't know where I'm going or what I hope to find—I just know that I can't stay here.
I need to be alone right now to process all the voices that torment me. I just know that I have to get away from Colette before I infect her. The thought consumes me, driving me forward with an urgency that borders on madness.
I know it's wrong to leave her with no explanation, but I can't stop myself. With each passing moment, I continue to see the hateful comments in my mind’s eye until it's all I can think about.
Even as I make my way away from the house, I can’t stop thinking of Colette. I can still go back and return to her arms. Despite the positive thoughts, my legs continue to take me further and further away from the woman who has become my home.