It burns as I swallow. But I relish it. I pour myself some more and do the same with my second glass. I don’t know what I’m searching for at the bottom of this liquor. Amnesia? Comfort? Reprieve?
All I know is that I don’t want to feel the chaos currently roaring inside me.
I sit on the high chair and barely manage to settle myself. I pour my third glass, but this time I don’t down it. I pause.
‘If anything like this happens again—anything at all—I want you to call me immediately…I’ll come for you.’
His voice echoesin my head.
I rub a tired hand over my face, likely smudging more of my makeup. But I don’t care. I have no one to perform for in here.I am all alone. I can break if I want to, cry if I need to. But right now, I feel like throwing things against the wall and cursing the heavens for making this my fate.
Funny, isn’t it? I’m surrounded by everything I once thought I wanted—designer clothes, money, the glamorous future he painted for me… even the fashion job he once promised. And yet, I have never felt more confined, trapped, and sad.
Through all this misery, there have only been small pockets of light. And most of those pockets of light… all havehimin them.
I place my elbows on the marble and put my head in my hands. “Matteo.”
I speak his name into the stillness, as if I’m afraid he might appear out of the blue.
No matter how hard I try, he is a constant in the back of my mind. He is like a warm blanket on a cold winter day, shielding me from the harsh cold.
I think of the way his hands fit around my waist like they belonged there. The way his voice stayed steady when everything else was breaking. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t something to be owned but rather admired.
Like I wasn’t weak or small or… broken.
He made me feel like…like I could be powerful.
I lift my head and close my eyes, and the memory lifts and fades into something else.
The anger of my fiancé. His fury radiating off him in waves so hot they scorched the surface of my skin.
‘Don’t test me like that ever again.’
The words echo in my head, louder than when he first said them.
I push off the chair, my wine glass forgotten on the counter. I walk to the grand piano, where a fresh bouquet of roses rests on top. I pause when I catch a glimpse of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
My hair is all over the place. My lipstick is smudged, and so is my mascara. The highlight that had glittered on my cheeks has faded, and all that remains is the flicker of the perfection he tried to clothe me in.
I walk to the mirror, my steps slow and tentative, like I am approaching a stranger. My eyes stay glued to my reflection as I lift my hand and press my palm against the cool glass.
“This isn’t you, Bea.” My voice comes out so broken and riddled with pain I nearly crumble to the floor. “He is breaking you.”
The words I speak can’t be uttered around anyone. This is a secret I have to keep to myself.
“This can’t go on.” I nod to myself.
I turn from the mirror and make my way to my purse that I dropped by the door. I rummage through it until I find my phone, but as I pull it out, I also see his card.
Matteo.
I dig it out with shaking fingers and stare at the number printed clean and simple beneath his name.
Without thinking, and with tears trailing down my face, I punch his number into my phone and save it. I then go to my messages and type out three simple words—words I am scared to say out loud because doing so would solidify the truth.
‘I feel trapped.’
That’s it.
