It was Saturday morning.

Laying in my bed with the curtains drawn, I couldn't seem to find the strength or will to properly stand up and see what was the time, so I decided to give myself a treat and stay in the comfort of my bed just a little more.

A strand of sunlight was filtrating through the curtains and created a beautifully sun-kissed, cozy atmosphere in the room.

I turned inside the warmth of my blanket, hugging my pillow.

I was having a dream before that, a dream that I just couldn't remember in that moment.

"What was that, a man… a blue eyed man, with blonde… no… black hair and…and it had like beautiful, beautiful eyes…" I thought as things came back to memory.

"I was dreaming about Matteo." I realized eventually.

Matteo was my "boyfriend" with all the possible question marks and uncertainty of this world. We were friends, we were close friends, we were even more than friends, but yet not still ready or sure enough to be in a defined boyfriend-girlfriend relationship.

We loved each other because we were so nicely united halfway through our personalities that we never had trouble communicating.

We'd met during that same summer, on June eighth, the day before his birthday.

He was at a party with some friends and I was there with one friend that would rather eventually leave me alone drinking at the bar so that she could throw herself into some ugly as hell guy's arms that just happened to look welcoming enough on that particular night. I was feeling pretty depressed and I was looking at the empty glass in front of me with a sad expression. Moreover, the bartender would plague me with inappropriate questions about my sexual tastes while I tried avoiding answering them by asking more drinks whenever I felt a little bit too exposed.

Needless to say, I got drunk.

As I was already feeling pretty low, my mind slipped into a downhill of sadness and a sense of regret started evolving in me; now the loud, banging music sounded almost like in slow motion, the black and white chess floor tiles beneath my chair were intensely waving and the whole surroundings quickly became blurry.

After my first ten minutes of mind numbing depression, I finally realized that I had to go out to recover from this dangerous sense of inebriation, hoping the chilling air of the night would bring me back to sobriety, so, with all the strength and concentration I was able to rustle up, I put my hands on the deck of the bar and slowly and carefully laid my feet on the ground one at a time, trying to avoid tripping on my beautifully uncomfortable high-heeled shoes.

When I was finally standing between the deck and my chair I thought about moving:

"Okay, now I just need to go to the door, it's not far from here, and the floor is still, it's just my imagination, alright? But I need to look fine, so no slouching allowed. I can do this."

So, with this motivational hymn in my head, I grabbed my bag and stepped towards the door.

As soon as I was outside I let out a sigh, happy about the fact that I didn't knock out anything in the process. I opened my bag and started raging my hand inside of it in need of a cigarette. I found the white package in a corner, sliding out a cigarette. Kissing my death, I suddenly realized I didn't have a lighter with me:

"Fuck." I said out loud.

"Do you need one of these?" I heard.

I swung my head to my right side and I noticed someone who wasn't there a moment before.

I found his feet first; he was wearing a pair of black Vans and his shoes looked freakishly long compared to his stick-thin legs. Slowly looking up I watched his black jeans, when his shirt actually hit my eye: it was a bright blood red shirt made from some weird, flowing material that hung over his wide, yet skinny shoulders like it was on a coat hanger. After scanning his entire body I decided to look directly at his face, which was, conveniently, not too high up above from mine. The guy had a dimple on his chin, with a pair of incredibly thin lips; his nose was long and weirdly shaped and the whole face wasn't complete without a pair of big, dark blue eyes that had me frozen for a second.

After my first moment of startling he repeated:

"Here, take this."

So I eventually could notice that he was in fact handing me a red lighter.

I don't know why (or maybe I do, as I was drunk), but I took the lighter and with no hesitation I lit up the cigarette, letting my lungs fill up with smoke. Only then, I gave him his lighter back and had the courage to speak to him for the first time.

Smoking always gave me confidence.

"Thank you, I was in need." I almost whispered

He took out a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt, so bright it hurt my eyes, and ignited it, covering the flame with his left hand. I looked at his freakishly long fingers and then got another draft from my fag, moving my sight away from him, then I heard his voice again:

"Well, I am in need too. I'm pretty depressed tonight."

"Why?" I bluntly asked, the alcohol speaking for me.

"I was supposed to celebrate my birthday at midnight, but all my friends abandoned me to get chicks… and I'm alone as fuck." He breathed out faintly.

"I'm sorry for you, but I can tell you, the same thing just happened to me, so I decided to embrace the comfort of the two last legal drugs." I responded, rising up my left hand that was holding the cigarette.

He laughed, his voice contracting in a strange, exaggerated tone and his mouth discovering a set of crooked teeth. It was contagious.

"So you've been drinking alone this whole time?" He asked, turning down his newly acquired tone.

"Yes sir" I admitted briefly.

"If you'd asked, I would have gladly joined you." He said with a reassuring smile.

"But I don't even know your name! A lady needs to be introduced to their guests before having a cup of tea with them" I said, jokingly, immediately regretting it - I'm still cringing at that sentence to this day.

So he responded:

"Well, my lady, my name is Matteo, but now you gotta tell me yours."

"Inevitably." I added. "I'm Chiara."

And so it all started.

Matteo quickly became my best friend, my confident, my lover.

We would spend so much time together, he would play guitar for me and I'd sing old country songs, we would always go out at night, our favorite time of the day; he would drive me places only he knew, we'd sleep on the grass, on the floor of abandoned places, in fields or in his car. When we went to clubs with our friends we would always manage to sneak out and find something more interesting, more pleasing to us to do. We would have sex whenever and wherever we wanted to, we were so mutually aroused. Looking into each other's eyes was enough to light our fire.

We used to be like happy, reckless children, we would never fight or discuss over something, because we were each other's compromise. Yet, we chose to never define our relationship, we didn't want to put ourselves in a box, because we thought we'd loose our magic.

And that was what kept us together.

But then I wasn't so sure to love him anymore.

It always happened to me, to end my relationships because I had the scary thought in my mind that I wasn't free enough as long as I was n a relationship and I thought I would've changed thanks to him, because he was the wildest, freest person I'd ever met. But, turns out, it had just lasted a little longer this time.

Anyway, Matteo and I wouldn't want to let go of each other and we ended up being something in between the lines of "friends with love and benefits".

The memory of his bright, cobalt blue eyes in my dream made me question my subconscious thoughts. Was I missing him? We hadn't seen each other in a week or so.

Although I didn't want to leave the warm, gentle hug of my blanket, I threw it away from me, revealing my naked body to the slight chill of the early morning that was pervading the room.

I approached my phone over the bedside table, reaching to it with my fingers; pressing the home button, the device lit up violently, shrinking my pupils so fast I could feel the pain.

The display announced the time: 8:09.

It was a good time to have my first cigarette of the new life.

I unlocked my phone and opened the application with all my music.

As I was holding the lighter, the notes of "Feeling Good" started playing.

Draft after draft I sang:

"…stars when you shine… you know how I feel…"

-Draft-

"… scent of the pine …"

-Draft-

"… yeah FREEDOM IS MINEEE AND YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL! IT'S A NEW DAWN, IT'S A NEW DAY, IT'S A NEW LIFE FOR MEEEEEE- "

The door squeaked.

I threw my cigarette out of the window and quickly grabbed a t-shirt, throwing it on inside out -obviously. Then, I nonchalantly laid my back to the closet, crossing my arms, looking outside the window, while the music kept playing in background.

My parents invaded the room like it was a battlefield, screwing up the whole concept of privacy.

"Happy birthday!" They happily exclaimed in unison.

Mom was holding a tray with a cup of cappuccino and three chocolate biscuits. Other than that, there was a red, chubby candle, covered in handwritten "happy b-day"s and "18"s all over.

I kissed them both on the cheeks and thanked them.

"Today we'll do whatever you want to do." Said dad.

"Can we go visit Rome?" I asked.

"Sure!" He confirmed. "But if we want to, we'd better start getting ready. Come on, hurry up!"

I could not imagine that desire would have been the starting point of the downfall of that day.

—

Around ten I got a message from Rudy:

"Happy birthday!

Today you're finally 18 and I can't be happier for you.

You're one of the best people I know and I wish you to have a great day as well as a great future.

I'm so glad I had the fortune to meet you in my life and I love you so much because you're always there for me. Happy birthday Cihara, you deserve it."

I smiled at the screen and my mind started analyzing every word, remembering me I wasn't that much of a great person as he described, but eventually, I started thinking about a nice reply for him.

Sending the message I was reminded I had to get dressed for the day, so I got a flowery skirt and a crop top out of my closet and I put them on. While I was lacing up my shoes, I heard my parents arguing:

"But why do we have to go to Rome today? She should stay at home, members of the family may come and visit her!" Mom seemed furious.

"It's her birthday, we'll do what she wants to do." Responded dad, with an altered tone.

"I don't… well you know what? Fuck it, I'll come with you." She added, not actually resigned.

I knew where that was going and I didn't want to cause any kind of problem, especially on that day, so I walked into the kitchen, fully dressed and makeup'd to say:

"We don't have to go to Rome, it's alright if we stay at home, too."

They looked at me without actually understanding me:

"No, we'll go to Rome." stated dad.

Mom tried to convince me with worthless words:

"But, don't you want to stay here today? Like, if people come visit and… if they want to bring you some presents… or just spend it with the whole family, we could go buy some cake, or sweets ,or…"

"She said she wanted to go to the centre today! Do you understand?" interrupted dad.

They weren't even considering what I had to say, so I surrendered:

"Okay, you two decide, then let me know, I'll be downstairs."

And I left while they kept on discussing.

I threw myself downstairs, where my grandparents had just woken up and were having breakfast.

My grandpa, Pietro, was still recovering from a mysterious disease that had affected him during the winter of 2014.

Doctors had never been able to understand the cause of his illness, or, as mom believed, they didn't want to cure it in the first place. While he'd been in hospital I had to take care of my grandma, Livia, almost completely blind because of diabetes.

That period had been a black hole for the whole family, yet, we were slowly recovering.

As soon as they heard me coming down the stairs, chairs were moved in a rush; turning around the white, old, rusty kitchen door, I saw grandpa standing up quickly and smiling to me as he saw me. Grandma tried standing up to kiss me, but her knees weren't quite ready for the sudden move, so she had to sit back down on her wooden chair. I hugged them both between their "Auguri" (basically the Italian word for happy birthday), and responded with kisses and "thanks".

Grandpa then put a hand in his shirt's pocket and dragged out some cash. 300 euros.

It was a lot of money. I felt guilty accepting it afterwards.

"Alright, this is for your birthday. You can save it, you can spend it, do whatever you want to with it. And have fun today."

"Buy yourself a new pair of shoes! For winter!" added grandma.

I laughed:

"Thank you, you shouldn't have, but thanks. I love you" I kissed them both again on the cheeks.

"We love you too, we live for you" Said grandpa.

I smiled again, not knowing how to reply.

I would have never been happy without them in my life.

"I'm glad I have you." I said holding in my tears.

—

The day went on in a rush and by six p.m. I was coming back home with my parents with bags full of clothes and my head full of regret; mom and dad hadn't stopped arguing for a minute and they wouldn't say a word during the whole trip.

I was trying to concentrate on music.

I asked dad to turn up the volume of the car radio just a little more. The silence flew away painlessly like a feather, and I started singing the words from "Lithium" quietly. I loved that song, but, sadly, it was almost over.

Hoping to know the next song, so that I had an excuse to sing, rather than to talk, I waited patiently for the last notes to fade out into nothing, then the radio jingle played for a few seconds and , immediately after that, a new song came up.

The crippling noise at the beginning of "Time Is Running Out", so familiar to my ears, reassured me. I was incredibly pleased to be able to listen to that song. I deserved it on such a day.

Strangely enough, the "you will suck the life out of me" part of the lyrics sent my mind to a different place and as I was murmuring those words I thought about Mr. Cesec.

It hit me in a second, like an internal electric shock:

I don't know pretty much anything about Mr. Cesec. -

What a pointless thought. -

Why am I even thinking about this? -

Next month there's going to be a written test. I feel it. -

I wonder what he's doing right now. -

But my internal monologue was interrupted when I realized I was traveling on my house's street and my dad was pulling over through the gate: we were home.

I got out of the car dragging my bags and almost immediately retreated inside my grandparents' kitchen to 'show them what I'd got' and eventually avoid facing my parents in some sort of discussion.

"Heey, I'm back!" I exclaimed, opening the door with my elbow.

—

At eight p.m. I was in my room, changing for the dinner with my family.

I was slowly rolling a cigarette in my fingers, but my mind was far, far away from that.

In fact, my thoughts were still hovering over Mr. Cesec somehow.

Thinking about the day, I had nothing but a pile of new clothes to protect me from all the stupidity and the harms of my parents' fight. And it wasn't enough, I knew that. I knew that the days would have passed through silence only, because my parents wouldn't have wanted to talk to me.

Yet, I had only said how I felt like.

I was thinking about Mr. Cesec, I was thinking about his words; looking at him, looking in his eyes, you could only see emptiness, coldness, even loneliness at times, but whenever he did say something, the whole world could disappear inside a black hole, because he spoke the truth, he always spoke the truth.

He was just so sincere.

And I wished I was like him.