Page 56 of Valentino

I let Aldo kiss my hand because that's what you do. You smile. You're gracious. You don't make a scene.

And he took that as permission.

Be nice. Be sunshine. Be the fun one.

I did.

Look where it got me.

The washcloth goes over my mouth. My lips. Almost the inside, before I stop myself.

It won't come off.

I can make my skin burn.

I can’t make it feel like mine.

I want Vittoria. I want my best friend.

I want her sharp little face and her hands that never stop moving and the way she'd already be halfway to fixing it, asking questions before I could even explain. She'd hold me. She wouldn't ask me to be okay. She'd just be there, fierce and certain.

I bring my knees up to my chest. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub, and I press my face against them.

I want my mom.

I want her to know. I want to be able to call her and tell her something happened, that everything feels wrong, that I don't know what to do.

I want her to get on a plane.

And she won't.

Not because of the Basiles or the rules or the disappearing.

She'll never know. My father won't ask. My mother will keep texting like nothing happened, because to her, nothing did.

Because I won't tell her.

What would be the point?

That's when I break.

The sound that comes out of me doesn't even sound human. Then I'm bent over my knees, sobbing so hard my ribs hurt. My throat hurts. My face hurts.

I'm tired.

Worn down from constantly watching what I say and do. Exhausted by the fear that never really leaves. Sick of carrying this weight alone.

The water turns lukewarm.

Then cold.

I don't move.

I don't know how long it lasts. Long enough for my fingers to wrinkle. Long enough for the sobs to wear themselves down into small, miserable aftershocks.

By the time there’s nothing left in me, the bathroom feels too quiet, and I still don’t feel clean.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN