Right and wrong; tennis balls swung back and forth in my head.
Settle or ruin.
Happy or sad.
Peace or chaos.
Build a heart or break one.
“Hey.” Gemma’s voice brought me out of my head. “On a serious note, I’m happy for you. First relationships are always tough, but they’re the most amazing; it all feels new, and the person looks like the sun when you see them.” She spoke like she remembered her experience. “But I know you’ll be great. She’s very lucky; you’re a really good guy.”
I turned my head to her again and gave an appreciative nod. “Thank you, Gemma.”
“Of course.” She grinned. “How do you feel now?”
“Good. A lot stronger than I did yesterday.”
Gemma had arrived after Zahra left, although she had texted to ensure the coast was clear first.
She’d been worried when I informed her via text to avoid my suite because I had company due to a fever. When she arrived, she told me she must have been on the phone with Luigi when I called.
And then she told me how Luigi had been sending her pictures of himself in a penthouse—to brag—according to her.
When she showed me the pictures, it was with a scowl on her face.
She and Luigi had a brother-sister relationship, constantly bickering and teasing. Apparently, just as Gran Louisa had named me a family member, she did the same with Luigi. Although I didn’t care and probably wouldn’t like to know aboutanything regarding Luigi or anyone else if I was being honest, I now had some obligation to listen.
My father would have hated this, me associating with people outside of the family and the business. But they made me feel almost normal; I would not change that for anything.
Being with Gemma and hearing Gran Louisa say,Bring girlfriend home, like I had every right to be there, warmed my chest and broke my heart—this was a helpless situation.
A situation where help was within reach, within grasp, where everyone wanted the same thing for me…
Get some help, Elio. See a doctor, Elio. Consult a specialist, Marino. I think you need a therapist. I think you need help.
Absolutely delightful. I knew I needed help; I knew I would get worse. This was how it started with my mother, the little mumblings, loud thoughts, hallucinations, lucid dreams, repetitive movements, repetitive words, self-harm… How she would claim to hear voices, how she lost interest in the things she loved doing, her lack of emotions—the total apathy, the fear—the same as I felt yesterday.
That fear had been small but so deep, so meaningful that it sent a chill down my spine, although I couldn’t be sure if it was the fever or if it was my body showing me symptoms—I honestly couldn’t be sure of anything these days.
It was even worse that I knew this—I knew I needed help, but that voice—those words…I am undeserving of it. I don’t need help.They kept playing in my head whenever I even dared to consider the idea.
I wanted it, but that want had never been strong enough to bring forth a need.
When Angelo pointed out that I might have been made to think I didn’t deserve the help, I began to look at things in a different light.
My father had been so against me getting professional and proper help. He didn’t want to hear it or think about it.
I had always been yelling at my father, telling him mymother needed help, and getting that for her was the right thing to do… but suddenly, I couldn’t apply that same rigorousness to myself.
I don’t know if I want to.
I don’t know what I want.
I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know why my thoughts are breaking up or why the urge to speak them out loud seems like the most relieving thing in the world—
“Marino!” Angelo’s voice from the entrance, and the door closing behind me, broke my thoughts and got Gemma’s attention. “I got your text; I brought in all your pills and—oh—” I turned to see Angelo standing a few feet away, a surprised frown on his face. “Uh… fuck, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but if you could give me a heads-up next time so I don’t barge in and interrupt you with… someone else?” Confusion dragged his brows down even farther.
