“Do not,” Giulio grits with flared nostrils. “Do not throw around a word like that.”
“What word, huh? Depression? Is that the word?” Tears form in my eyes as I swallow my pride and open a cupboard, raiding it until I find my small orange plastic bottle. I shove it into his dress shirt with a growl. “Here! Here you have it! I have a fucking right to say the word because that is what I am. Depressed.”
Loud thumps of anguish thud in my ears.
Time slows as he takes the bottle from me.
“I’m sorry, Valencia,” he whispers after a while, breaking the silence. “I didn’t know you started taking anti-depressants. I didn’t mean to cause any…What were you diagnosed with?”
“Clinical depression.”
Head still low, his eyes flicker from the label to me. “When?”
“Last month.”
“Why didn’t you tell me until now?”
I cross my hands over my chest and shrug. “I guess I was too busy catching false hope according to you. While you were out there forgetting, I was—”
“You know how much I loved Addilyn. How much I cared for her. How much I still do.”
“Then why don’t you believe me?”
“Valencia, please. Let’s not do this right now.”
“I need to know!” I beg him in a fit of hysteria. “There’s this pain inside me and it intensifies every time you shut me out. I needed you and you were never here. You are still never here. Why can’t you have faith? Why can’t you admit that there is a possibility she is still—”
“BECAUSE IT’S BEEN SIX MONTHS. HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE SHE’S ALIVE?” Giulio’s outburst has him slamming the pills against the kitchen counter. Orange plastic shatters and flies everywhere with pills scattering in every direction.
Oh my god.
My heart splits in two, all over again.
I know his actions were unintentional from the way his face crumbles. He was only blindly motioning his hands and didn’t expect this as a consequence. Yet it happened. Giulio’s heavy breaths intensify the anarchy between us. Regret is there, but his anger doesn’t subside. Neither does mine.
I’m numb by the sight against the kitchen tiles. At the sight of myself. At the sight of us.
We’re nothing but a distorted reality.
I can’t hear the television in the distance anymore. It only means one thing: the twins have heard us. We were too loud to even question it. I wouldn’t be surprised if a neighbor or the police soon knock on the door with their concerns.
This is what a missing child does to a family.
One of two things is bound to happen. You unite or you fracture.
This is all too much.
“You didn’t believe it from the first day. I want you to leave, Giulio,” I whisper.
“I didn’t mean to…” Remorse paints over his face. “Let me help clean up at least.”
I wipe away the tears with the sleeves of my sweater. “No, I’ll do it. Please, just go.”
Giulio’s face weakens and his eyes turn red and glassy. When he runs a hand over his mouth, it doesn’t rub away our grief for that absent place in our hearts our love once lay.
We’re not good for each other.
Sorrow overthrows his bare whisper. “I’ll take the twins with me.”
“Okay. It’s your night with them anyway.”
“It’s best if you don’t say goodnight. They’ll see right through us.”
Giulio’s right. As much as it pains me, I know that I will be unstable in front of them. I want nothing but security displayed in front of our twins. They deserve to be uplifted by us, even when we don’t support one another.
We stare at each other for one last moment before he steps over the pills and plastic. In the distance, I hear our children’s faint voices asking if I’m okay. Giulio’s response is inaudible, but whatever he does say is the opposite of everything I’m feeling.
My chest tightens the moment the front door slams shut and I’m on my own with nothing but a disaster surrounding me. My sobs lead me to sweep away the plastic and salvage the white circular pills.
They’re my only chance at serenity.
The agony at the back of my throat continues as I prepare the pasta dish and store it away. I don’t want it now. Perhaps Helena and her kids can have it tomorrow night for dinner.
I pour myself a glass of Merlot and storm through these cursed hallways to the front porch. I shouldn’t have listened. I should have said goodbye to Oscar and Slonne.
The hell with Giulio Giannotti.
The wooden porch step grazes against my jeans as I take a seat. I need to clear my mind from all the nerve endings exploding at this derailed stage of my life. Seattle’s air is now damp and blankets of ominous clouds banish the dark blue skies. It disturbs me. It was exactly like this when Addilyn was taken.
Addilyn.
I take a gulp of wine every time I feel a sob surface. The mix of dry and rich flavors blend into a pit of nothingness. I feel nothing. The thoughts cultivate. I miss her so much. I need her.
At first, I don’t register the movement across the street, but when I do I see an unrecognizable man standing beside a parked gray car. I can’t decipher the make, but the bright orange cigarette embers burn deep into the evening. His gaze is straight ahead, studying me.
The tears make him blurry and I take it as a warning to hurry inside. But when I peer out the front facing window, he’s already gotten into his car and takes off.
What did he want?
Who is he?
I realize the pounding in my head has been there all night, but my rapid heartbeat took over at some point. I had managed to silence both of them while in company, but now all that answers me is white noise, shattered vows, and the tears which continue to flood my cheeks, begging me for something