STELLINA

4.

Chiara Rossi.

Time seemed to stand still.

For almost ten minutes I was alone in a room as quiet as death. Only my tears filled the room. The stunned body of my attacker was at my feet and I didn't even dare to look at him. I was afraid. I was terrified.

Never before had I used violence. I was a very peaceful person and I hated violence, whatever form it took I always refused to use it. And that night I had used violence. I had knocked a man out. And even though it was for a good reason, I was resentful.

My uniform was starting to get wet from the constant stream of tears and my heartbeat had accelerated when the door opened brutally again. I raised my head to see who was coming back into that room. And my surprise was great. I wasn't expecting to see that person there, technically I did, but not now.

When the patient's brother came in in a rage, he didn't even bother to look at me. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and he looked at the unconscious body of my attacker with hatred and disgust. His gaze was as terrifying as my attacker.

"Prendi il suo corpo e riportalo al magazzino. Sarò lì il più presto possibile." He spoke in Italian as if he didn't want me to understand except that I understood what he said very well.  I was bilingual, only Italian was spoken at home, so I had no trouble understanding that sentence. Who was he? He didn't seem to be a nice man, quite the contrary, and this sentence made me realize that he meant every word he said.
(Take his body and bring it back to the warehouse. I will join you as soon as possible)

After a few minutes, his eyes met mine. No one spoke and I saw pity, no...compassion in his eyes. I couldn't believe it, this man was heartless and you could feel it miles away. How could he feel that kind of feeling?  After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he finally turned away from his dark gaze.

He turned to talk to another man who looked like him but older. He was a little shorter than him and had slightly longer hair, which was the stereotype of a mafia man, but unlike the angry man, he seemed more human. It's ironic to deduce that he was part of the mafia but was human at the same time. The man, in his thirties, gave me a sympathetic look before he left and left me with the man I presumed to be his little brother or at least someone related to him.

He was irritated, frustrated to be with me and I only wanted to shout at him to leave me in peace and never come near me, but I couldn't speak. My throat was tied and no words came out. I squeezed my legs a little closer to my chest and ran my face down to escape from reality for a few seconds. To reassure myself and forget that particular night. So I let myself go to my thoughts before being interrupted by the unknown.

"What happened ?" His voice was harsh and emotionless.

I did not answer. I couldn't talk, I couldn't think clearly, and I didn't have the strength to talk to anyone.I was shocked to say the least and nothing in my mind was making sense.

"I asked you something. "He reiterated, this time in a deeper, angrier voice than when he had asked me first. I remained silent. I had no desire to confide in him, to tell him what had happened because I did not trust him enough to speak to him. 

A silence came over me and I had this hope growing inside of me that he had given up. But I guess, I  didn't know him well. I heard footsteps intensifying and getting closer to me before I felt a hand grab my wrist.

"Look at me." He shook my wrist slightly as if to force me to look at him, but I didn't give in. I didn't want to face his gaze again."I said look at me, doc. "He insisted while continuing to shake my arm until he could get my head up.