8. Seven
Seven
Fabrizio
“ Y ou can retreat to your room now,” I say, my voice laced with a sharp edge as I straighten my spine, gripping the kitchen counter so tightly that my knuckles turn white. The atmosphere between us, which had been civil and almost relaxed moments ago, turns icy in an instant.
Sienna doesn’t utter a word, but I hear her moving behind me. The sound of a glass being forcefully put down on the kitchen counter reverberates through the silence, feeling like the final punctuation mark of our conversation.
Seconds later, the way she stomps out of the kitchen suggests a storm of emotions raging within her. I brace myself for the inevitable slam of her bedroom door, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the silence stretches on, heavy and oppressive.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat. Each inhale and exhale is a conscious effort to regain control, to steady the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside me. Not a minute goes by without me thinking about her—Lexi. Yet, I rarely speak about her, especially not with strangers. Strangers who possess perfect doe eyes and full lips, silky hair, and a deliciously voluptuous body. Strangers who seem to push all my buttons effortlessly, igniting a fire within me that I struggle to contain.
I grab my glass and throw back its contents in one big gulp. Without hesitation, I refill the glass, seeking temporary refuge at the bottom of it.
It doesn’t take me long to finish off the rest of the bottle, and as the last drop slides down my throat, I come to the conclusion that I won’t get any more work done tonight. Resigned to the inevitable, I decide to turn in early.
The house is shrouded in silence and darkness as I ascend the stairs, each step creaking softly underfoot.
Suddenly, the quiet is pierced by faint whimpering sounds, growing more pronounced with each step I take toward my daughter’s room. The cries are interspersed with a soothing hum, “Sh. Sh. Sh. It’s just a bad dream, little one.” Sienna’s whispered reassurances barely reach my ears over Maddy’s distressed whines.
The door to her room stands ajar, revealing a tender scene within. Sienna is crouched beside Maddy’s bed, her hand gently caressing my daughter’s hair in a comforting gesture. The room is bathed in a soft, dim glow from the tiny nightlight on Maddy’s nightstand, casting long shadows that dance quietly across the walls. Despite the low light, I can clearly see Sienna’s delicate, silky pajamas glimmering faintly. That sight alone holds me in place, watching the tender scene unfold before me from the shadows of the hallway.
“It’s okay; it was just a bad dream,” Sienna whispers soothingly, her voice a gentle balm to my daughter’s frayed nerves.
“It was so scary,” my daughter responds, her voice slightly trembling.
“I know, sweetheart,” Sienna reassures her, brushing a stray lock of hair from my daughter’s forehead.
“I don’t want to sleep again,” she sniffs, clutching her blanket tightly as if it could shield her from the remnants of her frightful slumber.
“It was just a dream, and it’s over now,” Sienna says, her tone firm yet comforting.
“Can you come cuddle with me?” Maddy asks, her eyes wide and pleading. Without hesitation, Sienna slides into the bed. My daughter immediately wraps her tiny arms around her teacher, holding on as if Sienna is a lifeline.
“Is that better?” Sienna asks softly, her hand gently rubbing Maddy’s back.
“Mhm,” comes the muffled reply, her face buried in Sienna’s shoulder.
“Would you like me to tell you a story?” Sienna offers.
“Please,” my daughter responds eagerly, her grip loosening slightly.
“Once upon a time, there was an incredibly rich and beautiful princess,” Sienna begins, her voice weaving the magic of the tale.
“I love princesses,” Maddy chimes in, her voice filled with wonder and excitement, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and I can’t help but smile, too.
“Tired of all the suitors who were only interested in her wealth, she proclaimed that she would marry whoever managed to present her with the most valuable gift of all, and soon the palace was filled with gifts of every kind. Among all these gifts, she found a simple pebble. She demanded to see whoever had gifted it, and a young man was brought before her to explain the meaning of his gift.”
Sienna continues to rub Maddy’s back as she recites the little tale, her voice soothing and melodic. “He said, ‘This pebble represents the most vital thing one can give—it is my heart. It is yet to be yours; hence it is as hard as a stone. Only when it fills with love will it soften.’ The princess took the little pebble with her wherever she went, and for months she regaled the young man with gifts and attention. But his heart remained as hard as the stone in her hands. Frustrated that she couldn’t win the young man’s heart, the princess threw the pebble into a fire. In the heat of the fire, the sand crumbled from around it, and from out of that rough stone, the most beautiful gemstone emerged.”
Before Sienna even finishes her story, Maddy drifts off to sleep once more, a smile gracing her lips. Sienna disentangles herself from the little girl’s grasp, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber, and climbs out of bed. She moves towards the door, her footsteps light as whispers on the carpeted floor, and suddenly she tenses, a small sound escaping her throat. Her eyes dart around the room, and when her gaze finally lands on me, lurking in the dim light, a frown creases on her forehead.
Wordlessly she brushes past me with a cool indifference, slipping into her room and closing the door behind her. The door barely clicks shut before I push it open again, following her into the room. She stands in the middle, her back to me, the black silk shorts she wears clinging to her firm figure in a way that’s hard to ignore. The silence between us is thick, almost palpable, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
I know I should say something to break this uncomfortable silence. Perhaps an apology for my earlier outburst?
That’s what anyone with even a shred of decency would do. Too bad decency has never been my strong suit, and I remain silent, the apology dying on my lips before it ever has a chance to form.