disowned

Vincenzo Moreno

My eyes glided across the screen of my phone. It was nothing other than a lecture slide that stared back at me. It'd been so for a while: me, buried in a book. I didn't think the status quo would change.

When I wasn't reading, I slept, or ate, or did what my battered mind thought up. Anything except thinking about the pack house. Sometimes, that line of thought was unavoidable, especially when I'd studied for a long time. You know, the occasional mind drift. I handled this by taking a break and running my feet across the carpet. Its soft, feathery feel helped to keep me at ease.

Contrary to what I'd believed, I still had an eye for my academics. Last week's happenings hadn't affected my zeal; hence I had been studying off my ass in preparation for mid semester tests.

A knock sounded. Ignoring it at first, I was forced to speak when it came again.

"I've had dinner," I grumbled, wondering why the maid was disturbing me.

"Hey, it's me." Michele.

I rolled my eyes; then wondered what he was doing here.

"Enzo? In there?"

I started to speak, but kept shut. I didn't want to speak with anyone. I didn't want to see anyone.

"Of course you are. C'mon you can't stay in there forever." He knocked again, a sigh leaving him.

His words struck a chord. I couldn't stay here forever.

"Luigi wouldn't like it if I broke the door."

"And your grandpa won't be off my case should I punch your ass." I could tell he smiled. For some reason, I wore a smile too.

"What's the problem?" he asked.

Rather than answer, I stared at my phone.

"Open up, Enzo. You've been in there for days. Come on, let's talk this out."

"There's nothing to talk about." Then, I let the words leave, "Go away. "

After a moment of silence, Michele spoke, "So that's it? You'll keep moping? No matter how dumb this sounds, I've just got to say it. A problem shared is half-solved. You've got to talk to someone, Enzo. You've simply got to. Whatever you are facing, whatever the problem is, you've just got to let it out. Speak."

All the while he spoke, I rolled my eyes, slightly amused at his attempt to cheer me up. Though I appreciated that, my problem was unsolvable—at least by him. Talking wouldn't do a thing.

And. I didn't have the courage to be vulnerable before anyone.

"So? Say you open the door and we talk?"

Groaning inwardly, I ran my hand down my face and stared at the door with a dazed expression.

He knocked again. And I almost gave in. Almost heaved from the bed, to have my best friend in here, but I knew my demons were so many, he couldn't drive them away.

"Go away, Michele. I'm not in the mood."

The much needed quietness emerged, although Michele remained at the door. However, ironically, it felt like the tiny piece of ledge I stood on had been pulled from my feet the moment Michele's steps receded.

I got a hold on myself—gnashing my teeth—and returned to reading. Or I tried to. Sadness had a grip on me. I grieved about the quarrel with Madre, about how uncertain the future was, about hiding my shame-painted face in Luigi's home, and most importantly, for being a prisoner to the dumbest concept ever fabricated. Likeness. I wouldn't call it love—exactly like she'd said. I wasn't capable of love. Maybe what I felt wasn't that, but I did feel something.

I did.

I gave up reading as the undesirable thoughts trooped in, and opted for a shower. Standing while cold, icy water coursed down my body; as the steam hidden within me oozed out. This would make it the second time I bathed tonight. Asides studying, this was a way of forgetting the past.

After showering, I returned to the mundane activity of studying. I did the best I could before calling it quits to watch some movie on TV.

Right as I was about dozing, someone decided to knock.

"It's Luigi," he said, before I could speak.

I merely pulled my lips shut and checked the time on my phone. It was past ten.

"Michele's gone?" I asked.

"Yeah."

Silence came after that. I focused back on the TV, knowing Luigi would be gone. That was if he wasn't already.

"I invited him," he said.

"I know."

"He was pretty worn out from all the nailing and sawing."

"I can imagine." He'd gone for a renovation trip with his grandpa; should I be surprised?

"I thought he'd be able to…you know, get through to you." Apparently, he'd thought wrong. "Can you let me in? Even if it's for a minute? I promise it won't take more than that."

What could I say? Should I be shocked it was Luigi at the door not Michele? Since this was the first time since a week—which for the record was how long I'd been here—he'd showed up, looking for me.

"Just a minute," he pressed on.

After some deliberations, I left for the door. I stood at the threshold, expecting him to speak—not staring as if this was the first time he saw me. It all made sense as his gaze lingered around my jaw. Too bad I had been too adverse to interacting with anyone that I hadn't asked for a shaving razor.

"Inside?" His attention left my jaw to return to my eyes

"You said it won't take more than a minute."

"Yeah, but…"

He didn't need to speak much. I pulled the door wider and moved back to the bed. Perching on the edge.

The door closed behind him, and for some time, nothing was said. Definitely, his eyes were on me.

Then, he started nearing. "Your time's ticking."

He sat beside me. Silence, still a thing. As time stretched, none of it bothered me anymore. I felt at peace with not hearing a thing—except for the babbling TV of course. I was okay with no one assuring me everything would be fine, or trying to force the truth out.

I was okay with it, and I shut my eyes to receive its true essence.

Having some sense of relief, I opened my eyes. Flicking them to see Luigi smiling. His side profile to me.

"What's funny?"

He turned, still wearing a smile.

"Nothing. Just proud of myself for keeping you at ease. Being a psychotherapist isn't a castle in the air."

Yeah, right. He could glory in his delusions. I'd let him.

"Sometimes, silence is the most effective way to communicate. It does speak louder than words." He inclined his form to me, propping his hand on his lap. "You can't go on like this. Suffering alone and shutting everyone out. It's got to stop."

I grimaced.

"I won't leave until you've come back."

I cast him a glare; he cocked his brow, showing he was up for any challenge.

"Then make yourself comfortable." I moved further into the bed, leaving against the headboard. "There's no bringing me back."

Was this my cue to leave? I'd always known crashing at his place wasn't the best of plans, but I'd had no choice then. Michele had been away and I hadn't been thinking straight.

"Why then do you have me or Michele when you can't say what's troubling you? What are we? Mere followers? Dummies?" He paused and went on in a softer tone that stung me. "Or at least talk to a counselor. I know a few."

I frowned at him. "I'm not crazy."

"I never said you were. I was only making a point. You've got to talk to someone. It's been days. Eight days. How long will you stay this way? Classes have—"

"I don't know." I stared into space. "Non lo so absolutamente." [I absolutely don't know] Based on the intensity of Luigi's gaze, I gave in.

"I had a fight with my mother. Said some things I shouldn't have…" Some things like: Rina is my mate. As for my pledge of hatred towards Madre, I never felt sorry for that. "Made some mistakes. And there you have it."

He held my gaze. Not speaking, even though I wanted him to. And I realized myself, annoyed I'd wanted some words of reassurance. .

"Your time has long passed, Luigi."

"You've got to iron things out. Have you called her?"

I turned to the TV.

"You haven't?" he whispered. "And neither has she. You shouldn't have taken so long."

"It doesn't make any difference. Whether I call now or later."

"You never can tell. You should have tried."

I dismissed his words with a dry smile.

"I'll come with you."

I looked at him, confused.

"I'll follow you home if that'll help sort things out," he said. I gaped at him, unsure whether to laugh or not.

"What?"

There was not a single hint of tease on his face. No ghost of a smirk. I looked away.

He couldn't be serious.

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

After a long look at the TV, I faced him. "Good night."

His eyes searched mind for a moment; he took his leave, stopping but not turning around at the doorstep.

"Hope you give it a thought. I don't mind breaking the door to force you out."

I looked on as he closed the door, the words—I'd like to see you try—moving my lips silently.