3. Sofia #3
That memory hits me so hard, I have to sit down on the edge of the bed for a second to catch my breath.
It’s unbearably unfair that I have to leave all of this behind. For how long, I’m unsure. Days? Weeks? Months? Possibly forever. My throat tightens at that last speculation. There is a very real chance I will never come back here again.
I hate that I won’t be able to explain anything to them, let alone tell them what’s going on. The ugly helplessness of knowing that two people who care about me are about to be left with nothing but questions chokes me up.
Even back at the cafe, I wasn’t allowed to do something as simple as gather my things and tell them I had to leave myself.
I’d been forced to watch as the second soldier grabbed my things for me, barely acknowledging Giulia pushing back from the table and Matteo half-rising from his seat.
I can’t even imagine what they must have been thinking in that moment when I’d been escorted away and into a blacked out SUV.
I wanted one minute, just one, to walk back over there and explain enough to them that they wouldn’t think I’d simply vanished come tomorrow morning.
But I wasn’t even given that. I knew resistance would not end well with me storming over there dramatically.
It would only encourage these men to become less subtle and would quickly turn this horrible situation ugly in front of the two people I wanted to protect most from it.
I press the heel of my hand against my sternum and force myself to breathe slower.
By the time I force myself to stand, my entire body feels numb.
My fingers move carefully as if they belong to someone else and tuck the shells into my bag, nestling them between the soft folds of one of my sweaters so they won’t crack on the flight.
It feels ridiculous to care about something so fragile right now.
I glance around the room one last time, not letting myself linger too long on anything in particular, before pulling the strap of my shoulder bag over my arm and grabbing the handles on the other two.
Both men straighten almost imperceptibly when I step out into the hallway. Neither of them says anything when they offer me their hands. It should feel gentlemanly, a small courtesy extended in the midst of upheaval. But all it feels like is surrender to the inevitable.
The taller one takes both bigger bags without comment, shifting my suitcase down onto the floor before pulling the handle up to lock it into place. I keep my shoulder bag tight against my side. Maybe because it holds the shells and the last few scraps of myself I still want close.
I fall into step between them. The walk down the dorm corridor feels surreal.
At one doorway, two girls I vaguely recognize from my floor pause mid-conversation to watch us pass.
Their eyes flick from me to the luggage and back again, curiosity morphing into confusion when their eyes drift to the two men on either side of me.
By the time we reach the blacked out SUV, my hands have started trembling again.
It takes a little over thirty minutes to drive from campus to the private tarmac.
A private jet waits for us when we get there.
I stare through the tinted window at the aircraft’s narrow body and the small cluster of ground crew standing off to one side of the stairs leading up into the cabin, my stomach tightening slowly.
It feels obscene to be whisked away so easily. The fact that not one person here will be asking for my name or checking a ticket to make sure I’m getting on the right flight because they already know exactly who I am makes all of this feel even more so.
One of my uncle’s men comes around to open my door for me.
I don’t bother waiting for my luggage and climb the stairs without speaking.
Inside, the cabin is dimly lit and absurdly elegant.
I sit alone in one of the wide seats by the window, ignoring the crystal glass nested in the holder next to my arm.
A bowl of fresh fruit is placed on the console across from me by one of the flight attendants, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Neither man joins me.
Instead, one takes position near the front of the cabin while the other stays toward the rear, close to the narrow galley and the emergency rear exit.
The engines whine to life when we’re finally boarded, a rising mechanical hum that vibrates through the floor and up into my legs.
The sound fills the cabin, swallowing any chance of conversation before it begins.
Outside the window, runway lights blur into long, molten streaks as the plane begins to taxi.
My fingers tighten around the armrest without meaning to.
This is really happening.
The acceleration presses me into the seat. The runway lights stream past as the engine noise swells into a violent roar. For one suspended heartbeat, everything feels impossibly heavy, pinned to the earth by force.
Then the weight shifts as the jet lifts.
And Italy falls away beneath us.