Chapter 60
Lyra pov
Marcello tilted my head to the side, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned in for a kiss. Instinctively, I pushed him away, the sound of flesh meeting flesh ringing through the air as I delivered a sharp slap across his cheek. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, my voice a mix of anger and disbelief.
His eyes blazed with an unsettling combination of shock and fury, the imprint of my hand beginning to redden against his cheek, a stark contrast to his tanned skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled, his voice lowered to a dangerous rumble.
I stumbled back, my heart racing and adrenaline coursing through my veins. “You’re the one who’s wrong here, Marcello! You can’t just kiss me without my consent,” I shot back, my hands trembling as I struggled to regain my composure.
A dark shadow crossed his features as he stepped closer, closing the gap between us with an unsettling intensity. “I thought we were beyond this, Lyra. I thought you loved me,” he said, his tone heavy with accusation, each word wrapped in an undercurrent of betrayal that twisted my stomach.
My heart raced, pounding against my chest as I hesitated, scratching my hair in a nervous gesture. “I do, Marcello... it’s just…” I trailed off, my mind racing as I searched for the right words to convey the turmoil swirling within me.
Marcello’s grip on my hand tightened, his concern etched across his features. “Just what? You don’t want me anymore?” he pressed, his eyes intensely searching mine as if seeking the truth hidden beneath my hesitation.
Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself and let the words spill out, feeling a mix of vulnerability and frustration. “I’m on my period, okay? I just need some space, some time to myself,” I said, striving to sound calm and composed, even as a storm of emotions churned inside.
But Marcello’s expression shifted abruptly, his face contorting in disgust. He pushed me away, his hands raised defensively as if I were a toxic substance he couldn't bear to be near. “Don’t come near me when you’re... like that,” he snapped, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort, leaving me feeling both bewildered and hurt.
I felt a sharp sting from his words, the kind that pierced deeper than any physical blow. My eyes widened in disbelief, a tight knot forming in my stomach. "What do you mean, 'like that'?" I asked, my voice trembling, barely rising above a whisper in the charged silence.
Marcello’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing into slits that radiated annoyance. "You know exactly what I mean. You're... unclean," he said, letting the word hang in the air, heavy and dripping with disdain.
A wave of hurt surged through me, quickly followed by a blaze of anger. "Unclean?" I repeated, my voice rising, feeling the heat of indignation wash over me. "You’re talking about my body, my natural cycle, as if it's something to be ashamed of?"
He turned away, his body rigid, shoulders tense with irritation as if I were the very source of his discomfort. "Just keep away from me, Lyra. I don’t want to deal with this," he threw over his shoulder, his voice fading into the distance, leaving an echo of our shattered connection.
I stood there, feeling like I’d been dealt a cruel blow, the breath knocked out of me. The room spun around me with a dizzying intensity, and I felt my legs weaken beneath me. Collapsing onto the cold, hard floor, I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
How could Marcello harbor such a deep-seated aversion towards something so profoundly natural? My mind raced through memories of laughter and tenderness, moments we had shared, now feeling like distant echoes in the wake of his rejection.
In that oppressive silence, the room enclosed me, each breath I drew filled with the weight of sorrow. It was as if I were mourning the loss of something invaluable – our love, our trust, the intricate understanding of one another that had once felt unbreakable.
I sat on the cool wooden floor, my arms tightly wrapped around my knees, as hot tears streamed down my cheeks, leaving a damp trail on my skin. The heavy silence enveloping the room was abruptly shattered by the sound of the door creaking open. I looked up to see Rebekah rushing in, her brow furrowed with concern, her dark curls bouncing with each hurried step.
“Lyra, what happened? Marcello stormed out of here like his life depended on it," she exclaimed, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the disarray of scattered cushions and a half-drunk cup of tea that mirrored my chaotic emotions.
I sniffled, hastily wiping my nose with the back of my hand, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “He... he doesn’t want to be around me when I’m on my period,” I managed to choke out, my voice cracking under the weight of humiliation.
Rebekah’s expression shifted instantly, amusement flickering across her face like a candle flame. She burst into laughter, the sound both surprising and infuriating. “Oh, Lyra, you’re so clueless," she said, shaking her head incredulously, her laughter ringing sharply in the quiet room.
A surge of defensiveness crept up from my gut, but Rebekah’s tone morphed into something more serious, cutting through the remaining laughter. “Marcello’s always been like that. He’s been conditioned to believe that periods are… unclean,” she stated, the sarcasm in her voice clear and biting.
My heart sank at her words, and my eyes filled with tears once more, blurring my vision. “Why?” I whispered, the question escaping my lips like a fragile sigh, heavier than I intended, laced with confusion and pain.
Rebekah's expression softened as she settled onto the plush cushions beside me, her presence a comforting reprieve from my swirling emotions. "His mother died of severe pre-eclampsia when she was pregnant with him," she began, her voice a gentle whisper that cut through the heaviness in the air.