Claire
Chapter Thirty-Three
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the window of my hotel room, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, reminding me of the night that had just passed.
The blood and destruction from the chaos were gone, cleaned away as if they never existed, but the memories clung to me, heavier than the fresh bedding I lay beneath.
I was awake, my mind racing, even though every fiber of my body ached for rest. The IV fluids Sam administered this morning dripped slowly, the only sound in the room besides the occasional rustle as I shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know what happened, Sam,” I began, my voice trembling with a mix of shame and confusion. “I guess I was hopeful…that he was wrong, that I could stop him.”
The words felt pathetic, even as I said them, and I couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. My stare fixed on the untouched plate of food on my tray, the lump in my throat making it impossible to eat. Sam nodded, his presence a quiet reassurance, but I could tell he didn’t have the answers I desperately sought.
“I understand,” he said patiently.
“I feel stupid,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I was ashamed of how naive I’d been, thinking I could handle this on my own.
“I don’t really blame him…but I cannot get over how quickly everything changed.
His face…how it twisted into something monstrous.
He had me in the air, pressed against the door like I was nothing.
I thought I was going to die, Sam. I cannot forget that.
I’m covered in bruises and stitches, and every time I look at myself, I see him. ”
Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. I looked to Sam, desperate for some kind of comfort, some validation that I wasn’t entirely broken. “I can’t forget that,” I repeated, my voice cracking.
Sam’s response was the same—another nod, another gentle, “I understand.”
But did he? Could he? The terror I had felt was not something I could easily put into words, and his calm demeanor felt like a stark contrast to the storm still raging inside me.
After a moment, Sam stood, breaking the silence. He reached into his medical bag and handed me a large orange envelope as his hands trembled. “I have these for you,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.
I took the envelope, my hands shaking slightly as I opened it. Inside was the sharp white box of a new phone.
“I am sorry, we cannot set it up for you here. You will have to do that when you get back home.” He hesitated before adding, “There is a plane ticket in there too. First class. And you will have a private car to take you back to Naples. No bus this time.”
I pulled out the plane ticket, the weight of it in my hands feeling surreal. My fingers traced the letters, trying to process what it all meant. “He’s letting me leave?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Sam looked down at his feet, his arms crossed as if to shield himself from the gravity of the situation. “He said he won’t make you stay if you don’t want to,” Sam replied, his tone heavy with unspoken emotion.
“He was pretty messed up after what happened. I have not seen him since.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away, not wanting Sam to see. “I guess that’s that, then,” I said, trying to sound resolute, but my voice betrayed me.
Part of me was relieved to be free, while another part of me did not understand why he was making me leave.
Sam nodded and began to pack my things while I sat silently, tears quietly streaming down my face.
Relief and heartbreak warred within me, each emotion as strong as the other.
Part of me was glad it was over, but the other part…
the other part felt like something inside me had shattered beyond repair.
I had tried so hard to steel my resolve and escape him, only to fall in love with him during the process.
As Sam helped me navigate the hotel, every step felt heavier than the last. We walked through the garden, down the corridor, and toward the back road intended for departures. But as we approached the main lobby entrance, I stopped dead in my tracks. It felt like I had seen a ghost.
The reality of leaving, of never seeing him again, hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I stood there, frozen, my heart breaking all over again as I realized what I was leaving behind, and yet…what choice did I have?
I took three steps back, my eyes widening as I turned to Sam, my heart pounding in my chest. My gaze locked onto a large painting of Arik hanging in the corridor, his expression regal, almost otherworldly.
“Sam, what is this?” I asked, my voice trembling as I pointed to the portrait, unable to reconcile the man I had known with the image before me.
Sam chuckled softly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Ah, I see he did not tell you everything.”
“Wait.” I pulled my attention away, my eyes drawn to a plaque beneath the painting.
The centuries-old golden inscription was worn, but I could make out enough to feel the ground beneath me shift.
“What does this say?” I asked, my voice barely audible as I looked at Sam, the weight of history pressing down on me.
His smile faded as he glanced at the plaque, a hint of reverence in his voice. “Well, Arik’s family used to rule this region. Arik was…kind of a king after his father died.”
He paused, watching my reaction carefully.
“Italy has not had royalty in a very long time, but technically, he still is. More of a governor or something like that. Who knows? The people around here still see him that way. Especially considering all that has been done for them. It is more honorary at this point.”
I stared at him, trying to process the implications of what he was saying. “Are you telling me everyone here knows about him?” My voice quivered with the enormity of it all.
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “God, no. People speculate, sure. It is unusual. Most of the older folks hush the younger ones, telling them to be appreciative of what they have and not to gossip about him.”
He sighed, the weight of centuries of secrecy evident in his tone. “Arik just re-emerges as the next in line every thirty years or so. He ‘dies,’ the people mourn, and then he assumes his post again. It is worked for hundreds of years, from what I have been told.”
I felt numb as Sam continued, his words blurring together as I stared at the painting in disbelief.
Everything felt surreal, like I had stepped into a world where nothing made sense.
Arik, the man who had held me in his arms, who had turned into something terrifying before my very eyes, was some kind of eternal ruler of a land I had only just begun to understand.
What in the fuck.
Sam gently nudged me toward the door, and I followed, my mind still reeling from everything I had learned.
As we walked through the hotel, every step felt like it was taking me further away from the reality I thought I knew.
The garden, the corridor, the lobby—each space felt more distant, more foreign, as if I were leaving behind a part of myself.
We reached the back road where the SUV awaited, and I turned for one last look at the hotel and winery, trying to etch every detail into my memory.
This place, this strange, beautiful, terrifying place, would forever be a part of me.
The flight back to New York was a blur. My first time in first class, and I spent it crying in the dark cabin, staring out the window at the world passing me by, and disassociating.
As the plane began its descent into JFK, I stared out the window at the glittering skyline, the city welcoming me back with its familiar embrace.
The buildings shone like diamonds, a stark contrast to the ancient world I had just left behind.
Yet, despite the city’s allure, I felt a deep emptiness inside, a hollowness that no amount of lights or noise could fill.
As the wheels touched down on the runway, I closed my eyes, willing myself to forget the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. But the images came unbidden—the deep, haunting pools of Arik’s brown eyes, the electric thrill of his touch, the terror of that night.
I carried those thoughts with me as I exited the plane, walked through the bustling airport, and slid into the back seat of an awaiting taxi as the driver loaded my bags into the trunk.
Upon entering, the driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his curiosity evident.
“Where to, Miss?” he asked, his voice pulling me back to the present.
“81st and York, please,” I replied, my voice steady even as my heart ached.
The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb, the city rushing past in a blur of lights and shadows. I rolled down the window, letting the warm night air wash over me, hoping it might ease the tightness in my chest.
“Long flight?” the driver asked, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the mirror.
“Extremely. Nine hours.” I sighed, leaning back into the seat, the exhaustion finally catching up with me.
“Wow. Where’d you go?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
“Italy,” I answered, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at my lips, though my eyes betrayed the sadness I felt.
“That is amazing. You going to go back again?” he asked, his tone light, as if the idea of a return trip was something simple, something easy.
I hesitated, my thoughts drifting back to Arik, to the world I had just left behind. “I don’t know,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.
But even as I said the words, I knew the truth.
I wasn’t sure if I could ever go back, if I could face that world again, or if I could face him again.
The pain of leaving was too fresh, too raw.
And yet, a part of me longed to return, to see him one more time, to understand what had happened between us.
As the city’s lights danced around me, I felt the tears I had been holding back begin to fall, silent and unrelenting. I didn’t bother to wipe them away this time. They were the only connection I had left to the world I had just lost.
As the taxi neared Manhattan, I stared out the window, watching the city lights flicker and dance as rain began to fall.
The world outside moved so fast—yet inside, I felt like everything was slowing down, pulling me deeper into the weight of my thoughts.
My eyes dropped to the bandage wrapped tightly around my arm.
A heavy sigh escaping me as I tried to close my eyes, hoping that shutting them would somehow shut out the storm of memories that was raging inside me.
When the taxi finally pulled up to my apartment building, the rain was coming down in sheets.
It was the kind of downpour that would usually make me want to curl up with a book or listen to the rhythm of the drops against the window.
But tonight, it only felt like another barrier between me and the world I was trying to understand.
I swiped my card, grabbed my luggage with mumbled “thanks” to the driver, and dashed under the metal scaffolding that wrapped around my building like a protective shell.
I paused under the cover, taking a moment to catch my breath.
The air was thick with the scent of rain on warm concrete—a smell I usually found comforting.
But tonight, it felt oppressive as the city was pressing on me from all sides.
I looked around, trying to find something familiar, something to ground me.
The street was deserted, no strollers, no dogs, not even a lone smoker huddled under awnings to escape the downpour.
It was as if the city had emptied itself out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I stood there for a moment, my keys digging into my palm, waiting for something to happen.
But there was no Arik. No Sam. Just me, utterly and completely alone.
The reality of it hit me harder than I expected, the silence around me echoing the emptiness I felt inside.
Pushing through the double doors of the building’s vestibule, I shuffled past the mailboxes and the stack of packages that lined the wall below them.
I climbed the shallow steps to my apartment, every step heavier than the last. When I finally reached the door, I fumbled with the key, the familiar squeak of the hinges greeting me as I pushed it open.
The air inside was warm, the scent of home wrapping around me, but it offered little comfort.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I made my way to the bedroom, mechanically going through the motions of changing out of my clothes and into my old, oversized NYU T-shirt.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting on my knees as I stared blankly at my reflection on the dark screen of the television.
It was as if I were looking at someone else, someone who had lived a life I couldn’t quite remember.
After a few moments, I pushed myself up and walked to the kitchen.
I grabbed the roll of cling wrap from its spot above the microwave, carefully wrapping my bandaged arm before heading into the bathroom.
The shower was a weak stream of lukewarm water, but it didn’t matter.
I just stood there, letting the water wash over me, hoping it would take some of the weight and despair with it.
But all I could think about was Arik. The way he had looked at me, the way his touch had made my skin tingle with something I couldn’t name. And then, the way his face had twisted into something unrecognizable, something terrifying.
I started to cry once more, the tears mixing with the water as it cascaded down my body.
It felt like he was being washed away from me, slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
I cried until the water turned cold, until I could not tell where the tears ended and the water began.
Making my way back to the bedroom, I sat at the edge of the bed, facing the window.
The city was waking up, but I felt so far removed from it, as if I were looking in from the outside.
I wanted so badly to see Arik standing there, to feel his presence, to know that he was nearby.
But every time I opened my eyes, there was nothing there.
All I was met with was the empty street below, the fire escapes, and the rooftops, all devoid of life.
Disappointed and exhausted, I finally lay back, curling up beneath a light blanket.
The tears came again, quietly this time, as I cried myself to sleep.