Chapter Forty
Elio
I might have overdosed again.
In all honesty, I could not be certain, but from the moment my heavy eyelids opened, I knew I had been benumbed for a long time, a day or maybe two. It was all murky. The last thing I remembered was telling Zahra I needed to rest and that I’d call her.
The quietness around me was disturbing, and the room was dimly lit, the windows closed; the air conditioner worked at an average level, not too cold, not too hot. The covers were drawn up to my mid-stomach, and the curtains were closed.
Angelo has been here.
I could discern that from the lit lamps around the room. I never turned them on before I filled myself with pills and passed out. I also didn’t close the curtains and windows or use the duvet.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes, ignoring how lightheaded I felt, how tight my muscles were, and how tired I was for no reason.
I had a transcendent urge to fall back against the bed and never get up until I exigently had to. But doing that was equivalent to signing myself up for a depressive episode that I would be very willing to let overcome me.
I didn’t have the time to be reposed. There was work to do—a painting to find.
I stretched my neck from left to right while removing the thick covers and dragging myself out of bed.
My stomach ached with pangs of hunger, supplying me the substantiation that I had been out for hours on end, forcing rest when I should be out there doing something worthwhile.
I headed straight for the bathroom, catching my reflection in the mirror. The instant burn of irritation I felt in my chest was not erasable. My eyes were sunken, white, and lifeless, my skin pale, hair a mess—
I held both sides of the sink, my grip hard as I tried to fight off the unnecessary self-disappointment weighing on my shoulders like ancient rocks.
I shook my head and proceeded to brush my teeth and then shower.
Taking my time, I scrubbed my skin with the primary aim of washing myself off myself. But like the many times I’d tried, it was impossible; my gaze kept shifting to the bathtub, and it took every bit of my willpower to stop myself from approaching it and using it for all the wrong purposes.
I shook my head yet again and made haste: finished showering, moisturized my skin, and put on a fresh loose black T-shirt and black slacks, even though I really wanted to wear sweatpants, which were more comfortable.
But I was home and it was nighttime, and the T-shirt was already a stretch out of what I knew to be my comfort zone.
I quickly brushed my hair and exited the bathroom like I was being chased out. Many items in there were triggering, and I was physically, emotionally, and mentally incapable of dealing with the aftermath of my weakness.
All I needed now was a book, a cigar, food—if I had enough zeal to even stomach anything—and some peace and quiet outside …
maybe at the rooftop, which I could no longer go to without thinking of the one woman who had plastered herself in my mind before I lost all sense of consciousness the last time I was awake.
Right now, I couldn’t afford to have my train of thought directed back to her. It would most definitely bring back the mind-numbing conflict I had been battling with myself since I caught every bit of the lies she had woven into truths.
She confused me—yet, she didn’t.
Zahra was playing a game, one that I couldn’t decipher or break down on my own.
Her dishonesty was disappointing. I had shared my baggage, opened up to her so she could feel free to do the same without having to walk a path where she’d openly betray me, and I’d have no choice but to kill her for it.
But apparently, like me, she treated trust like a possession too hard to let go of.
I wasn’t sure if she had anything to do with Casmiro’s situation.
I didn’t want to jump to conclusions and make a mistake based on the way I felt—she made me doubt it; for the first time in my life, I doubted myself, just because Zahra had looked at me some kind of way, just because she had shut me up by letting me have her in a way that had made me ache for more since our time in that car.
Never in a million years did I think a woman would be why I temporarily lost my senses or broke a rule I had put in place with the intent to follow it.
Caring for Zahra Faizan was not on my agenda, and as much as I would love to deny it till I believed the lie, the thought of her would never let me.
I could be fucking the enemy, and the only thought in my mind—the only thought that had been in my mind that night was the fact that I longed for the next time I got to experience being that close to her again.
The heat, the obscene connection that had me wanting to tear off my outrageous affirmation and kiss her back into arousal, the burning need still lingering in me even after I’d had the most mind-altering sex in all my thirty-three years of living.
I’d had orgasms with the few women I’d been with, but I never thought it could feel like that … I never thought the feeling could soften every nerve ending in a human body and make them feel content with just the sight of the person who had caused it.
If she had been my first, I would have waved it off as the normal way it should feel, but she wasn’t my first. She wasn’t the first woman I’d desired, but she was the first to elicit such emotions from me.
I was craving a forbidden fruit that might very well drag me to the darkest pits of hell—but this was also where my gut feeling kicked in; if she had been trying to harm me in any way, I would have picked it up by now, but I had a feeling that whatever game she was playing had nothing to do with me.
She was only using my name and the protection and connections I had to offer.
I wouldn’t have cared. Zahra wasn’t the first to use me or the power my name held.
I had no desire to stop whatever she was doing; as long as it didn’t alter my goal, she was free to use me however she pleased.
Maybe she would open up later on … or perhaps I was just delusional, and my gut feelings were broken, and she was indeed after something that could alter my goals and stop me from burning this hell to the ground; maybe I should kill her, kill her before I fell deeper into this obvious hole I had been conveniently ignoring …
Maybe, I don’t know … maybe I was finally losing my mind. Maybe I should stop thinking about—
A sharp beeping sound, followed by a vibration, had my attention turned to the lit-up phone screen by the bedside table.
It was connected to a charger I didn’t remember putting there.
Angelo, with his creepy behavior, was beginning to crawl his way up my nerves. I made a mental note to have a lengthy discussion with him about the importance of my privacy … again.
I settled on the side of the bed, unplugged the phone, and unlocked it.
There were four messages from Gemma, nine from Zahra, and one from Angelo.
I opened Angelo’s first.
Today
Angelo Mancini (Ex-consigliere):
Casmiro’s awake and doing all right. I didn’t want to call because I knew you were on your pills. I stopped by yesterday afternoon to check on you. I’m about to call again, if you don’t pick up, call me whenever you get this message, or I’ll stop by again.
1 min ago
In the next minute, he was calling. I picked up on the first ring.
“Finally. I was about to stop by with a doctor.”
“How is he?” I asked, ignoring his remark.
“Looking good. He’s resting now.”
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, reveling in the relief that flooded through me. “Did he ask for me?”
“Yes. I told him you weren’t in the compound. He thinks you’re out there with soldiers actively looking for the people who did this. He also chewed me a new one for not going with you.”
“Tell him I’m back and will come to see him soon. Thanks for covering for me.”
Casmiro could not find out about this. About my mental health problems. He was better off not knowing—one less person to worry about.
“Will you ever tell him? About your—”
“Thank you for the information, Angelo. Do not text me next time unless it is for a significant emergency. The keyword there is significant. Am I clear?”
I heard him sigh from the other end of the line.
“Okay, Marino.”
“In addition, I think it is very weird for you to walk into my bedroom and change its setting to make me feel comfortable. While it is very much appreciated, I would not like it to happen again.”
“What—”
“Goodbye.” I ended the call, exiting his message box to click on Gemma’s.
Yesterday
Gemma (blonde car highway):
Hi, my love! I’m thinking of getting a tattoo; which do you think suits me best? An eagle or a dove?
1:34 P.M.
Gemma (blonde car highway):
I think I’m going to go with a dove; it’s more fitting. I’m gonna have it under my left boob. I’ll send a picture when it’s done!
2:01 P.M.
Gemma (blonde car highway):
It’s done! Omg, it’s gorge!
(Sent a photo)
You like????
5:55 P.M.
The dove drawing was really beautiful, larger than I imagined, and it suited her skin complexion.
I was impressed.
Today
Gemma (blonde car highway):
Are you okay? You didn’t read this or respond. Did your victims finally fight back and kill you? Omg! Do I need to call 112??? Fuck, I don’t even know your address.
Hope you’re okay. TEXT ME BACK SO I DON’T DIE WITH WORRY!
11:28 A.M.
I shook my head. It was good, the kind of friendship we shared.
She texted every day, and I responded whenever I wasn’t too busy.
Gemma was a free-spirited woman who reminded me so much of my sister.
While their personalities might differ in several ways, I shared a closeness with this stranger that had me adding her to the list of people I had to make sure were okay before I reached my end goal.
But first I had to figure out why I was drawn to her.
Me:
Hello.
Me:
I apologize for the delay in response. I had a rough week.
Me:
The dove tattoo looks perfect. I like it. The artist did a good job.
Me: