FORTY - NINE

FORTY - NINE
CELESTIA

That afternoon, after Amadeo left, I dwelled on his words even though I knew they were not the best of my interests. I tried to understand Raffaele, to see him in a better light and not the painted monster he portrayed to be, but it brought me nothing but vaulted pain.
Raffaele and I have been in this game for far too long, the tug of war of heat and hate, and this time we had taken it too far. I deserved better, I thought. I deserved to live my life without the fire in his eyes or the coldness of his heart.
The day seemed to stretch forever as I sat by the only window in the room and watched the cloudy sky of Las Vegas rolling in the last of the twilight sky as if the blackness failed to come fast enough. Even though I was tired and exhaustion sat on my eyelids like a block of weight, sleep was elusive.
The moment I tried to close my eyes and chase the well-earned peace, the flashes rushed in like angry waves. Grabbing the books that Lila had left bedside my bed, I flipped open one and mindlessly read through the lines even though I was hardly attentive. At some point, I might have dozed off, because the next time my eyes opened, I was lying on the bed awkwardly with a book still perched over my stomach.
Yesterday, Amadeo had given me free rein of movement inside the villa, but somehow, I refused to leave the room. There was a sense of safety and saneness in isolation. Besides, I have always been left alone for most of my life that it did not matter anymore.
Lila came in the day for breakfast and lunch, and it was truly kind of her to eat alongside me so that I would not feel heavily alone. Unfortunately, our time together was limited.
Apparently, a meeting was being held in the office building, followed up by a party, and a list of necessary chores was handed out to the staff, guards, and servants. Evidently, Lila was busy making the arrangements for food and hospitality for the guests, and so were the other servants.
The day passed in a blur of mundane events as I took advantage of Raffaele’s absence in the house and remained in the library. Since the dark clouds no longer occupied my mind, I was able to read better and stayed until the late hours of the night. An elderly servant brought the customary dinner and left without so much a word, and I gladly eat alone with a book in my hand.
By the time I decided to return to my room, the night’s thickness had deepened, and the house was eerie quiet. The shimmering light around the villa, though dim, showed the way to the stairs as I managed to reach the floor without so much as a stumble.
I would have safely made it to my destination until there was a riot of sound coming out as I was passing by. The air is suddenly rent by the sound of breaking glass. A loud rumble and crash echoed from behind the ajar door, and in the stillness of the night, it seemed too prominent to ignore.
On instinct, I ventured closer and risked a palm on the door to push through and entered. This room was as spacious as mine, only differently decorated, and a large mural sat on the wall. My searching gaze looked around and found none, except for a discarded grey suit abandoned on the bed and a couple of files scattered around the floor.
Every nerve and vein tightened and liquefied at the convinced knowledge that it was none other than Raffaele.
Another loud shatter boomed as I quickly spun towards the source. The washroom. For a long moment, I stood there like a statue and contemplated whether I should intervene or not.
‘He lashed out more in despair than anger. And in my experience, if you throw stones at a person when he’s hurting, it will never help.’ Amadeo’s words reverberated in my head even though I had tried my best to forget any words of compassion towards Raffaele.
Before I could actually decide on flight or fight, the door swung open. Raffaele emerged and froze. Our eyes snagged and locked as we stood facing each other almost thirty-six hours apart. The air ached and crackled, tension flooding the space.
He made the first move and approached in long and powerful strides as I remained rooted on the spot. “What are you doing here?” he asked without his lethal hatred.
I noticed his strained eyes and tensed shoulders, and when my eyes dragged down to his hands, they were bleeding. Crimson trailed along the long digits and seeped into his nail beds.
My heart sped up. Raffaele looked wrecked. Seeing him in such a state, I winced. Not that my hatred subsided, but I wasn’t a monster either. Watching him bleed wasn’t a fantasy I would ever harbor in my mind.
Amadeo’s words came truer with every blink as I slowly parted my mouth to speak. “You’re…bleeding,” I managed to blurt out the obvious but quickly amended. “I mean, let me at least clean them.”
He looked down at his hands, halfway fisted and winced. “I don’t need help. Leave.”
What was with this man and his fragile ego?
Why did he like pushing away people…or is it just me?
I offered him a little comfort, and he blatantly declined. In all my experiences, I knew that pushing Raffaele would only mean provoking a wounded tiger. And I was not in a mood to pick a fight I would not want or win. If he wanted to stay alone and wallow in pain, I was fine with it. Why the hell should I stick around and worry for him?
Temper flared and slashed my nerves. With a frown, I quickly wheeled around and attempted to charge towards the door when a voice rang out, imploring, “Wait.”
I slowly turned sideways as he sighed. A doubt danced in my eyes, whether to stay or dash out, but Raffaele must have been seen through it.
“I…was not expecting company,” he said quietly. “Please, stay.”
I slowly went closer. “Do you have a first aid kit in the bathroom?”
He gave the nod, directing, “Left cabinet, under the sink.”
I immediately went for it, but the sight of the bathroom floor was disastrous. Shards of glasses scattered around and the mirror over the sink were sufficiently damaged. The cracked surface reflected too many images as I had to tiptoe around the place to retrieve the first aid kit.
By the time I had returned, Raffaele was sitting on the large couch chair with his elbows resting on his knees, and his head hung between them. It was so uncharacteristically him—the defeated, broken man—and somehow, my heart ached at the sight of him.
The regal and proud look suited him so much better.
Advancing towards him, I sat on the table as I took his injured hand and placed it on my knees. As I busied myself cleaning his wounds, I could feel his gaze on me—lingering there. Once or twice, I might have stolen a look, but mostly concentrated on his swollen and bloodied knuckles.
Miraculously, there was no chunk of glasses stuck in there, or he would have needed stitches. But still, the cuts were deep and bleeding. My mind spun, trying to decipher my feelings. Why did caring for him felt so good and content? Shouldn’t I have been the one making him wince in pain and gilded with pleasure?
Not a peep passed through his lips when I sterilized the wounds—as gently as humanely possible—or wrapped them up, save for the occasional wincing.
Raffaele must have tremendous endurance, given the state of his hands.
Replacing the items into the box, I rummaged a little more. “I can’t find any painkillers,” I muttered and expectantly looked up.
“That’s okay.” He slowly withdrew his hand and slouched back. “I don’t take them.”
“You must really like pain,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes discreetly.
For a long while, we silently gazed at each other. I felt as if his stormy grey eyes were enveloping me, and if I stayed too long, I would not be able to tear myself away. So I tried to get up but was interrupted by a hand clamping down on my knee.
“Why did you offer to help?” he asked, searching my gaze.
Was it not obvious? Or he simply wanted to hear the words from me?
I sighed and managed to flash a thin smile. “Other than the fact that it was a humane thing to do, I didn’t want you to get infected and die. Who knows, your indebted ghost would have haunted me forever then.”
Cutting through sullen features, his lips stretched into a full smile that made me swelled with pride. I made him smile. Even if it was for a fleeting moment.
This time, I did manage to get up and pick up the scattered papers on the floor and arrange them back into the folder. I placed them down on the table and stood before him.
“You obviously had a bad day, and I would not overstay more than I am needed. Try to keep the bandage dry,” I said, pointing at his hand.
Raffaele didn’t say a word, and that fleeting smile he had a moment ago had already vanished into thin air.
Sighing, I turned to leave.
A hand caught mine, and in a flash, Raffaele anchored me to him.
“Celestia, don’t leave me,” he rasped, both in need and desperation. “Please, don’t leave me.”


Raffaele finally revealed the side of him we were dying to see. What do you all think?