21. Colette
21
Colette
I step out of the shower with a white towel around my waist as my head is occupied with thoughts of Antonio and how life has been taking a beautiful turn in my favor. In both our favors.
The fight with Henry had been a tremendous concern to me, even though I had seen it coming the moment he called to say he was returning. However, it is quite relieving and refreshing to have them both on the same page once again.
I halt before my mirror, my gaze fixed on the woman looking back at me. I'm loving the reflection of myself as I notice just how far I've come in my healing process since Antonio and I started shagging. The vibrancy in my eyes seems a little dim, faint. But it's better than before. The woman in the mirror isn't a shadow of herself anymore. She's healing. And like a flower under direct sunlight, my petals bloom, revealing its beauty.
This is all because of Antonio and, just as his name crosses my mind, I blush, smiling from ear to ear. I look out the window, throwing my sight toward the Amato mansion.
Loosening the folds of my towel, it falls to the floor, welling around my feet as I take some time to appreciate the shape my body is taking. Sex with Antonio has been superb therapy for me, A few minutes later, I finish and decide to go check on Antonio, already used to having him around me. I find his company quite refreshing, and I'm longing for us to spend some time again today, especially now that things were good between him and my brother.
Mrs. Paddington's dog is barking as I leave my place and head over to Antonio’s. I’d let myself out and hadn’t bothered to lock the door since I planned to be back, so I push the door open and step in.
The first thing I notice is the quiet. “Antonio? Are you done with the call?” I call out as I go up the stairs.
No response. I get up there to find the room empty. He’s not in the bathroom either. I notice my phone on the floor and go to pick it up. It’s dead.
I click my tongue and slip it into my back pocket, resolving to plug it in later.
Where did Antonio go, though?
I think to myself that he might have gone to the store or something because I don't see his truck. I decide to wait at least an hour. Maybe he'll be back by then. He'd given me a spare key to his place so I can lock up if I have to leave. I'll wait first. He just got caught up where he was. He'll be back.
Mrs. Paddington’s dog was pissing me off with its barks. I keep my temper in check and return to my place, locking the door behind me.
I sit in my living room, my mind filled with the good times we have shared in this short period, appreciating the irony of how we both used to hate each other's guts. It looks like something from a movie or a romance novel, but it is my reality.
Time seems to crawl, and a minute feels like an entire hour. My only consolation is the images playing in my head. I turn on the TV but don't watch it, I'm more interested in what's on my mind… Antonio.
The test of my patience is daunting, but an hour goes by, and I head back out.
On my way to his place, I think I see his truck approaching, and I smile.
Finally!
But that smile soon vanishes as the truck moves past his house. As the driver looks in my direction while passing by my place, my shoulders drop at the realization that it isn't him. It's just a truck that looks like his.
I go back inside'm having a weird feeling about this, and I don't like how troubled my heart is at the moment. He didn't go to the store; he'd have been back by now. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. I can't prove it, but I can sense it, that dreadful emotion gnawing at me.
Maybe I should call him… Oh right, my phone died. I plug my phone in as I sit on the bed and lay there for a moment. My mind floods with countless thoughts overlapping themselves all at once.
The room feels so empty of life. Maybe this feeling of something being off is just my normal paranoia and nothing is out of place. Shutting my eyes, I exhale, trying to let go of all that negative energy.
“Positivity, Colette. Think positive. Purge your mind of negativity. It's not healthy,” I whisper to myself. The more I try to convince myself that everything is fine, the more the feeling that everything isn't keeping attacking my mind.
I'm so confused and helpless because it's like my hands are tied, and there's nothing I can do at this point but wait. I get out of bed and pace around, chewing on my fingers. My phone chimes from the bedside table, turning itself on as it gets some charge in. I'm not expecting to see anything particular; the gesture is just a means of getting distracted by anything; relevant or irrelevant.
As I unlock it, my screen gets flooded with notifications.I open the first message I see, and my eyes widen in fear, my heart dropping into my stomach.
Images of Antonio’s deceased ex, Cassie, are splashed across social media, graphic and horrifying. Tweets range from calls to take the images down to those reposting them. Each image is a punch to my gut, triggering a chain reaction of panic.
Her lifeless body, bloodied and broken, is displayed for the world to see, and rather disturbing. With my knees quaking, unable to carry my weight, I reach for the bed and sit on it with a hand over my mouth. I'm breathing, knowing this is bad, this is terrible.
Looks like I wasn't just paranoid. It’s in times like this that I wish my gut feeling is wrong. He’d seen this, hadn’t he? Common sense tells me he saw it.
I do not know how he will react if he has indeed seen this, especially since he’s still volatile and not yet ready for such news. Now, I'm worried sick, and I don't even know where he is, nor can I reach him.
Where do I start?
My hands tremble as I scroll through the feed, each post more horrifying than the last, and I can't believe my eyes. I'm praying that it is a dream — a nightmare that I'll soon wake up from.
My mind is racing as I read through some comments of people, some of whom seem to be fans of Antonio.
“The bitch deserved to die after all she'd done to Antonio,” a user had commented.
“Yeah, it's her fault he turned to drugs.”
“I wish she rots in hell.”
“Someone took her own life and y'all are here trolling her. That's just sad.”
“Why is this still up?” one person tweets.
“This is sick. Take it down! Another tweet reads, RIP, Cassie. This is too much,” accompanied by the graphic image that makes my stomach churn.
“Who would do this to her?” asks another, while someone replies.
“No one did anything to her. She took her own life. The bitch abused him and sent him down on a path which almost led to his death.”
From what I can tell, both Cassie's fans and Antonio's seemed to have turned on her, blaming her for Antonio's addiction to drugs. The news says that she had taken her own life after the accusations started.
I can breathe as I continue to scroll, unable to stop reading, unable to look away from my screen. My eyes are burning, and I can feel the sting of my tear glands charging up as those images that I have tried to suppress come rushing back into my head.
My lips are trembling and my hands are shaking, but I'm still glued to the screen, feeding my eyes with those horrifying images of Cassie's dead body and the comments that follow it.
It seems like for every one that gets taken down, another appears. Some users are sympathetic, but others are heartless, reposting the photos with morbid comments and speculation.
“Why did Antonio stay with her for so long? She was clearly troubled,” one cruel comment says and my mind drifts to my case with Ricardo.
I used to ask myself the same question and now, seeing all of this just makes everything worse. My demons are resurfacing, stronger than before, triggered by the familiar images that my brain had registered.
I'm struggling to fight back the flashes in my head, but it is a losing battle. I've triggered my trauma by reading these posts, and now I have to deal with these relentless demons that are determined to drown me with depression.
“This happens when you don’t get help,” another person adds, as if they have any right to judge her or her struggles.
I rise to my feet in a state of discombobulation, both hands reach my head, combing my hair backwards as I pace around, with heavy breaths.
“No, no, no, no…” I murmur, almost shedding tears as the images of Ricardo's lifeless body flash in my head. “Not now, please, not now.”
It's official, I'm having a panic attack.
My vision blurs as tears well up in my eyes. I can still see his face, the look in his eyes, the gun in his hand. I can hear the deafening crack of the gunshot, see his body crumpling to the floor, blood pooling around him. The helplessness, the guilt, the horror—it all comes flooding back, overwhelming me and making me want to scream.
‘You will live out the rest of your days in misery, Colette! I promise you that.’ His voice resounds in my head, accompanied by the sound of a gunshot after he had pulled the trigger. I can still smell his blood on the floor, still see the creepy look on his face before he pulled that trigger.
I'm trying to block out the image haunting me, but it's next to impossible to do so.
I drop to my knees, my phone slipping out of my hold. I'm on the ground, struggling to breathe, with my heart pounding hard in my chest. I'm gasping for air, drowning in a memory that I had tried to lock away. My breath is ceasing, the room is spinning, and I'm lying here helpless. My mind is about to take me on a ride to the night that plagued me with darkness and unleashed these demons into my soul. I don't want to take this trip down memory lane; I don't want to recall the incident of that fateful night, but the more I resist, the more painful it becomes.
“Please, I don't want to go there. I don't want to remember,” I weep, getting overpowered by the force by which these images are hitting me by the second.
I throw my hands to my head as I roll over the floor to curb the intensity of my pain. The temptation to scream and ask for help is knocking on the door of my mind, but I won't do that. I face an ultimatum: to give in to the temptation of screaming out, or to give in to the memory of that night.
My head is aching, and I can feel the veins over my skull straining. I ball up a fist and slam it into the ground, but the memories are still pushing, forcing themselves into my mind. The walls that I built to keep the demons out are becoming weaker by the second and now they're breaching the walls.
It’s only a matter of time before they take over and force me to relive that night. I've fought them for as long as I can, but I can't fight them anymore. It's time I faced it. It's time I hold on tightly to my pain until it hurts no more.
“It's just a memory, Col… It's just a memory,” I reassure myself and shut my eyes, drawing in a deep breath as I finally take that trip down memory lane.
“Fuck you, Colette!” Ricardo yelled, his voice blending with the thunderclap outside.
It’s raining cats and dogs that night with frightening streaks of lightning flashing in the sky. He's come home drunk and has tried to beat me up with his belt. However, tonight, I put up a fight and kick him in the groin before running downstairs. He chases after me, pissed, calling me many hurtful names.
“Get back here, you cheap slut!” He emerges at the entrance to the kitchen.
I quickly grab a knife from the counter and flash it at him.
“Stay back!” I declare with trembling hands. “Don't take one step closer, or I swear to God, I'll…”
“You'll what?!” He steps into the kitchen, his voice thundering loudly.
I cringe in absolute fear, knowing that with the way things were going, one of us might die tonight.
“You don't even know how to use that,” he mocks me.
“Don't be so sure about that,” I say to him, trying to be as strong as I can. My hold over the hilt of the knife is quite firm, and I am ready to use it.
“You don't have the balls to kill me, Colette,” he replies. “Do you know who does?” He is being rhetorical. “Your fucking brother.”
I squint at him at this point but am still on guard.
He laughs wickedly.
“Did you know the bastard is attacking my business as subtly as he can?” Ricardo asks me, furious. “Of course, he's being very careful, so I can't trace it back to him, but I know what I know. I've lost a lot because of him…because he played hero and meddle with my affairs.”
“You're a coward!” I declare. “Why can't you face him like a man and leave me be?” I add amidst tears.
“Oh, but where's the fun in that?” He takes some gentle steps forward.
“Stay back, Ricardo, I'm warning you.” I swallow in fear.
“Henry is the reason I lost millions of dollars because of his accusations against me. He hid his identity, but I know it's him.” He scoffs and yells, “That bastard ruined me!”
I shudder at the sudden exclamation, but I don’t lose my guard.
“Because of him, I lost the clients that would bring a revolutionary change to my business because they don't want to be associated with someone who's going to jail.” He laughs like a madman.
I am overwhelmed by fear, and the man standing before me is a crueler version of the already cruel man I forced to marry.
“Henry's case against me is strong, and I might end up in prison, but I have a better plan.” He pulls out a gun.
My breath ceases as my body stiffens at the sight of the gun being pointed at me.
“Ricardo…” I call out. “Please put the gun down.”
“It's over for me, Colette, I'm done!”
“Please, let's talk about this.” I set the knife aside, raising my hands in surrender.
“I can’t go to jail — I won't go to jail!” He holds on tighter to the gun. “You will live out the rest of your days in misery, Colette. I promise you that.”
I don’t understand what he means, given that I am the one who has a gun pointed at her.
He reveals an evil smirk and aims the gun at his temple.
“What are you doing?”
“Killing myself will haunt you forever! It's the punishment you deserve!”
“You're not making any sense. You're drunk. Put the gun down, and let's talk,” I plead with him.
I thought I wanted him dead, but now, seeing that he was about to take his own life as a way of punishing me, just makes me sick to my stomach.
“Don't do this, Ricardo. It's not worth it.”
“It is, because I know that you'll suffer.”
I can see in his eyes he is ready to die.
“See you in hell, Colette.”
“No!”
He pulls the trigger at the same time as there is a thunderclap outside.
I gasp as my mind returns to the present.the demons leave me as though they have served their purpose.
My thoughts turn to Antonio, and I wonder where he is and how he must be feeling right now. Antonio needs me, and I have to find him. With trembling hands, I pick up my phone and dial Henry’s number. The ringing seems to stretch on forever, each second amplifying my anxiety. Henry’s voice comes through.