20. Nineteen
Nineteen
Fabrizio
D enial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The five stages of grief.
Three years, five months, and twenty-five days.
An agonizingly long span of time, yet some days, it feels as if it was just yesterday. For three years, five months, and twenty-five relentless, unforgiving days, I have found myself hopelessly, permanently stuck in the second stage: anger.
A seething, almost uncontrollable rage consumes me every waking moment, making any reminder of the life I once led utterly intolerable. The only exception to this unending fury is my children. They are the fragile thread that keeps me tethered to some semblance of sanity, the sole reason I manage to keep functioning in this bleak existence. For three years and nearly six excruciatingly long months, I have denied myself the indulgence of self-pity. I have suppressed every memory, extinguished every spark of emotion, and numbed myself to the world around me. Everything that had happened before my wife’s death simply ceased to matter. It had all been erased from existence.
And then, I met her . The woman with the most expressive eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them, full lips that whispered promises of forbidden pleasures, and a voluptuous body that now lies naked beside me, perfectly molded against mine. Her presence is a stark contrast to the void that has consumed my life. I hadn’t planned on taking her, let alone keeping her in my home and, for god’s sake, bringing her here of all places.
To the one place where memories of my wife still linger like ghosts. But circumstances left me with no other choice. Now, every glance at her, every touch of her skin, reminds me of the positive aspects of life I had long since shut myself off from—passion, joy, comfort, and love.
These emotions, which once seemed so vital, had become irrelevant in the wake of my loss. In another life, I had experienced them all and decided that none of them mattered anymore.
Yet here she is, lying beside me in bed, challenging every decision I’ve made and rekindling parts of my soul I had long believed were lost forever. Her presence is a living paradox, simultaneously reminding me of all I’ve lost while igniting the ridiculous hope of what might still be possible. This morning did not resemble any other. Waking up felt profoundly different, almost surreal. It has been so long since I’ve shared my bed with a woman that I had nearly forgotten the exquisite sensation of warm, soft skin pressed gently against mine as my mind slowly transitions from the realm of unpleasant dreams to the edge of wakefulness. Her touch is almost overwhelming, a catalyst that awakens a dormant physical desire within me, intertwined with an entirely different kind of longing—a yearning to be close to her, to share the intimate and mundane aspects of life. The desire to create a bubble where only we exist, shutting out the chaos of the outside world, even if just for a fleeting moment, is irresistibly tempting.
Absentmindedly, I let my finger glide up and down her upper arm, feeling the smoothness of her skin beneath my touch. A soft mewling sound escapes Sienna’s lips as she shifts slightly in her sleep, a gentle reminder of her presence beside me. I adjust my position to hers, carefully pulling her closer to my chest. In that intimate embrace, I allow myself to shut out the rest of the world for a moment, savoring the short moment of peace and closeness. When she moves again, it is with a slow, deliberate turn. Her arm slides around my waist, and she nestles her head against my chest, finding a comfortable position in her state of half-sleep. My eyes trace the outline of her frame, her body clinging to mine as if we were two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. Her long brown curls cascade over the pillows, a tangled mass of silky strands that catch the morning light.
I take a strand of her hair, rolling it between my fingers, marveling at its softness and the way it feels like liquid silk. As she actively begins to wake, her fingers start to move, caressing my skin with delicate, almost reverent strokes. She draws soft lines along my torso, each touch sending a delicious shiver down my spine. The way even the tiniest bit of physical contact makes me feel more alive than I had in years is intoxicating, a heady mix of passion and tenderness that fills me with longing. I brush the hair out of her face, revealing her serene features as she stretches sleepily in my arms.
“Good morning,” she murmurs with her eyes still closed. The sound of her voice, soft and melodic, wraps around me like a warm blanket, grounding me in this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
As Sienna gradually opens her eyes, a myriad of emotions plays across her delicate features. Shock and surprise are the most prominent, their intensity palpable, but they soon give way to a softer, more tender expression. Leaning forward with a deliberate slowness, I press my lips against hers. This kiss carries a wave of desire that is profoundly different from anything I’ve felt before. It dawns on me that perhaps this overwhelming need to keep her close transcends mere physical longing; it is a deeper, more profound yearning that I can scarcely comprehend. Her thumb glides gently across my cheek, and a low, instinctive growl escapes my lips, reverberating with an intensity that surprises even me. The way she effortlessly and willingly melts into my embrace is both astonishing and delightful. My heartbeat pounds furiously in my chest, each thud echoing in my ears like a drumbeat, but not loud enough to drown out the soft, rhythmic pitter-patter of tiny feet drawing nearer and nearer, heralding the approach of another presence.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I leap out of bed, my heart now pounding even harder in my chest. The room is a chaotic mess, and I frantically scan the floor for something—anything—to wear. My eyes land on a pair of boxers lying in a crumpled heap, and I quickly snatch them up, pulling them over my evident morning arousal. My hands fumble in the dim light, blindly reaching for the first shirt-like object within my grasp. I manage to tug on the wrinkled t-shirt I discarded mindlessly last night and throw it at the naked woman in my bed.
As she wraps her body with the piece of fabric, the door to the bedroom suddenly bursts open with a bang, and my children come charging in, their laughter filling the room like a burst of sunshine. Maddy and Flynn, in their usual whirlwind of energy, launch themselves onto the bed, their giggles echoing off the walls. I can’t help but break into a wide smile as they tumble and roll, their limbs tangling in a playful mess. Watching them, my heart swells with a mix of love and amusement.
Maddy’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she tackles Flynn, who responds with an equally enthusiastic squeal of delight. The two of them, wrapped up in their own little world of fun, suddenly turn their attention to Sienna. With boundless energy, they clamber over to her, their laughter intensifying as they pull her into their game of tickles and laughing. Sienna, ever the patient and loving teacher-turned-nanny, embraces their exuberance with a warm smile. Her eyes meet mine, and in that moment, we share a silent understanding. Her joyful laugh resonates through every fiber of my being, sending ripples of warmth and vitality to places that had long been cold and dormant. I had spent countless days and nights in solitude, convincing myself that caring about anyone was a luxury I couldn’t afford, a vulnerability too dangerous to entertain. But that was before. Before the woman in my bed, tenderly cradling my giggling son, captured a part of me that was never meant to see the light of day again.
She has unearthed a part of me that I had buried deep, ignited a spark within me that I thought had been extinguished forever. Damn it. Damn her. Unwillingly, unintentionally, I had opened myself up to this woman, someone I have no business to care about. And now the consequences of my reckless behavior loom large, the potential for unforeseen repercussions hangs over me like a storm cloud. Yet, amidst the turmoil of my thoughts, one persistent question lingers, haunting my every waking moment: Could I actually embrace and enjoy a life completely different from the one I had resigned myself to? If I let myself, could I find fulfillment and happiness in this unexpected turn of events?