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TW: mention of self-harm
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Erik
Chapter 53
The Dragonfly
My wounds healed. The many scars and burns I'd self inflicted became thin white reminders of what my life had once been, but was no longer.
I had access to the kitchen. To the knives. Likely, no one would have stopped me should I have asked to borrow one. But those weeks after Giovanni made me promise to tell him when I cut my wrists, I couldn't do it. I'd have to tell him. I couldn't live with myself if I did it and didn't tell him. But I also couldn't live with myself if I did tell him. So with no clear answer, I simply resisted the urge.
And, eventually, I didn't need to resist at all.
Every so often, a flicker of desire to see my own blood, or to feel the searing heat on my skin, would rise. But it was easily brushed aside now.
Carmelo, over the following weeks, taught me how to throw my voice. We started small - close range, mouth open. Then we added distance. Then we closed the gap between my lips. Within a month, I'd mastered it - able to keep my mouth closed while speaking directly into the ear of someone across the room.
Giovanni's son, the day I was able to do that, simply demanded that I spend the evening with his "friends". Vincenzo. Luciana. When I heard their names, I balked, nearly refusing. But when he mentioned that Salvatore would be among them, I reconsidered. If Salvatore was there, I could at least ignore everyone else.
"Will Giovanni be there?" I asked.
"My father?" He twisted his face. "No."
I raised my brows, sitting on my bed as he sat upon a chair backwards, legs on either side of the chair's back. He was rocking back and forth - when he'd first begun coming to my room, sitting and rocking like this, I'd asked him to stop as his constant motion made me dizzy. He appeared momentarily sheepish, as if this was something he was berated for often, and ceased. But when he continued the next day, I decided that this may simply be his nature - and I felt, honestly, quite badly for trying to put an end to it.
He interrupted often. He fidgeted constantly. He sometimes forgot what he was talking about. He went through a thousand topics in minutes, or he couldn't stop focusing on one particular subject for hours on end. His mind was like a dragonfly - beautiful, large, and constantly buzzing. In some ways, I admired it. In a lot of ways, I resonated with it.
"You seem...perturbed by the idea of your father being there," I said softly.
"Well!" He leaped from the chair and turned his back to me. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so if he weren't a spoil-sport constantly." He whirled. "Don't tell him I said that."
"Why would I?"
"Because I know he visits you. You're the son he never had."
I froze. "You're his son."
He looked away. "Right." He paused, a flush entering his face, and then he shook his head. He threw his arms up and went to me. "Anyway! Will you be joining me or will you not?"
I stood. "I will." I sighed. "But if anyone says a word about-"
"Oh, no, don't worry. No one will be mentioning your ugly face." He hit me very lightly on the shoulder. When I didn't react, he tried again. "Your...beautiful face?" He hit me again, with much less conviction, and even more softly. "Your...normal face?" He hit me again, much slower and-
"Please stop," I said.
He nodded quickly and beelined for the door. He opened it wide and grinned back at me. "Shall we, then?"
"Oh, well, Luciana, that's because you're a girl."
We entered the cellar from the stairwell into, in my opinion, madness.
Luciana stood, hands on the table, glaring at a smirking Vincenzo across from her. Salvatore shuffled cards between them, shaking his head and smiling.
"Say that again to my face!" demanded Luciana, long brown hair tumbling down her back; in pants like I'd seen her that first day.
"All right." Vincenzo leaned back, making the front two legs of his chair lift off the ground. "Your father never sends you on missions because you are missing a crucial organ between your legs."
I balked. This was no way to speak in front of a lady-
Luciana pulled a knife from a sheath around her waist that I hadn't noticed before, pointing it at Vincenzo, who laughed. She reddened at the sound. "Then why don't I cut off yours and take it for myself?"
"Now, now!" Carmelo called, as I felt myself whiten behind the mask. He walked lazily into the room, and I followed. "You are both very beautiful girls."
They both glared at him, but Salvatore beamed. At Carmelo's comment, and at me. "Erik! You have come out of your cave!"
I smiled at him. The more I'd adjusted to Italian language, the more I noticed the accent in Salvatore's. An American accent, I guessed. "It seems I have."
"Good news. You will sit by me, then. Carmelo on my other side."
Carmelo went to sit between Salvatore and Vincenzo, which left me needing to sit between my friend and Luciana.
I cursed myself inwardly for agreeing to come at all. No doubt she'd be making awful comments, or worse, she'd avoid my gaze altogether, like I was some cur-
"I don't bite."
The words were soft, but directed at me, from her lips. She was watching me steadily, warily. I blinked. "I know."
She sheathed the knife and sat. "Then take a seat."
I did as was told, though felt entirely on edge.
For some unknown reason, just at the very presence of her, my heart was racing terribly. I didn't think I'd feel this way were I to sit next to Vincenzo, though both of them had turned stark ivory at the sight of me. So what was so different about her?
What was more, I had the terrible urge to look at her. Just look at her, for no other reason than to do so. But I didn't want to be stared at, and I doubted she did, either.
"My name is Luciana," she said then. Salvatore continued shuffling cards, and Vincenzo and Carmelo began into a conversation.
At that, I did look. And I nearly lost my words. She was so very pretty. I looked down again quickly. "Erik."
"I know."
"I know your name, too, Mademoiselle."
I peeked up again in time to see her looking at me strangely. "What did you call me?"
"It's French for..." I racked my brain for the right word. "Signorina."
She rolled her eyes. "Agh. No. Then just call me Luciana. 'Signorina' merely accentuates my gender, and I don't care for it." She paused. "I'm sorry for that night, by the way."
I was taken aback. "For...?"
"Looking at you like you were a ghost." She tilted her chin up. "It was unkind. I've been meaning to apologize, but..."
"It's all right," I whispered. "You're not the first."
A silence between us for a moment, then, "Well, I wish I was the last. Father tells me that you're a quick learner. So does Carmelo. Salvatore says you're kind. So I hope I will be the last."
As I looked at her, then, a warm emotion started in my core, mixed with a sudden, foreign desire. I was about to open my mouth again, to tell her my thanks, when:
"Erik."
I snapped my gaze to Vincenzo, who was still leaning back in his chair, shiny black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. "Yes?" I asked. Carmelo watched us, and so did Salvatore. I imagine that Luciana did as well.
"I have something I've been wanting to say since that night as well."
Everyone waited, me especially.
"I've been wanting to say," he continued, and laid the chair's feet flat on the floor, "that you're a damned idiot for stealing from us the way you did, out in the open, with the two of us - well-rested and well-fed, against your scrawny ass." The corner of his lip tilted upward.
I glanced at Carmelo. "Well, he's the one who flashed that money out in the open."
Salvatore grinned, continuing to shuffle. I think, really, by now the deck was sufficiently mixed, but he persisted.
Vincenzo's handsome face regarded me with interest. He leaned forward and spoke softly. "Are you trying to imply that Carmelo is the idiot, and not you?"
I crossed my arms. "I'm not implying anything."
"Then-"
"I'm saying it outright." I'd have to apologize to him later, but for now- "Carmelo is a moron."
Carmelo gaped. Luciana snorted. And Salvatore nodded approvingly, staring down at the deck. Really, I wanted to say, I think it's well shuffled by now.
Vincenzo's reaction was the one that caught me by surprise. He sat up straight, genuinely smiling, and looked at the offended boy beside him. "You know," he drawled, "I rather like him."
