26.Alin #3
Tears start to flood my eyes, my chest feels like it’s on fire.
“Why?” The only question I can force out of my mouth.
As soon as it escapes my lips, my sobs intensify, and I fall to my knees on the sand.
“Did you do this on purpose? Made me believe you wanted me to stay, that you cared about me, just to break me into pieces? Are you that horrified by me?” I hurl all the thoughts racing through my mind at him.
But I won’t let him see me break. I take a deep breath, tears streaming down my face, I wipe them away and stand.
“Take me to the apartment,” I order. I turn my gaze from his eyes, not waiting for an answer.
And even during the entire long, painful, and silent ride back, the answer never comes.
The moment we arrive at the familiar building I had begun to call home, I rush to my room in Luca’s apartment, not waiting for him to follow.
I lock the door behind me quickly, and the quiet of the room surrounds me.
I lean my back against the door, slowly sliding down until I collapse onto the floor, reality hitting me once more.
Alin, you knew this would happen, now deal with it.
You shouldn’t have allowed yourself all this.
You should have run away yesterday after saving them.
Why did you fall for his words? I should have trusted my instincts, sworn to my heart, not to the mafia.
Tears stream down my face as my thoughts become chaotic.
I need to pack my few belongings and leave.
I get up from the floor hesitantly, taking a step toward the bathroom when I hear something fall to the ground. I look down and see the pendant I found at the bottom of the sea. I look at it again, running my finger over the name ‘Luca’, another tear escaping.
The storm in my head calms for a moment as my curiosity takes over.
I wipe the dried saltwater from it with the fabric of my dress and struggle a bit with the clasp.
It seems like it had been underwater for a long time.
Suddenly, I hear a click and it opens, revealing an old, slightly faded photo.
The picture shows a small boy with a charming smile that looks very familiar.
On the left side of the pendant, there’s another photo, much more worn.
It appears to be of a woman. I can’t make out much from it.
Why does this boy look so familiar? The realization hits me like a wave.
Without thinking twice, I unlock the door and run to Luca’s room, stopping at the entrance, Luca is there.
I see him sitting on the edge of his bed, his head tilted back in frustration.
I stand in the doorway, my eyes following his movements, my legs betraying me as I remain rooted to the spot.
He notices me, and this time, all I see on his face is sadness.
I look down at the floor, avoiding eye contact.
“I just want to check one thing before I leave,” I say, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper, revealing the emotion I didn’t want him to know about.
I move toward the nightstand by his bed, feeling his eyes tracking my every step in silence.
When I spot what I’m looking for at the edge of the nightstand, I quickly reach out and grab the white picture frame.
I was right, it’s really Luca. But why was the pendant there?
Who is this woman? Given the age in the photo, could it be his mother?
Questions start to flood my mind, and I silence them all in an instant.
This is no longer my story, and it’s no longer my place to investigate. I’ll hand him the pendant and move on with my life. I can’t survive any more disappointment from him.
I turn to him, seeing him trying to decipher my actions. It’s as if he wants to say something but is stopping himself. I take a deep breath, holding back the tears, and try to maintain a neutral expression.
I grasp his hand, gently opening the strong fist he’s clenching.
He doesn’t resist and lets my touch loosen his grip.
I place the pendant in his now open palm and whisper in his ear for the last time, “Goodbye, Luca.” A tear, defying my efforts to show maturity and emotional detachment, escapes once again.
Before I can pull away, he wipes it away with his finger, and it seems as though his body, like mine, is burning up inside.
But I prefer to believe that this fire only comes from within me, that I am the only one burning, because if I let myself hope even a little, I might reach a breaking point from which I couldn’t recover.
Already, I feel like I won’t be able to get my life back on track.
I step away from him, standing at the entrance to his room, watching as he looks at the pendant. His face hardens, and it seems like his tanned complexion is turning pale. I panic, and instead of running toward the exit, I rush back to him.
“Luca, what is it?” I ask. He turns his gaze to me, and the only thing he says is, “It’s my mother’s.”