Between The Flames ⚜️Il Paradosso Book Two⚜️

Chapter one

“Se bastasse la ragione, Dio nel petto non ci avrebbe messo il cuore”

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Time doesn’t heal everything. The pain doesn’t diminish. It sits still as our brains try to convince us that we are ok. In the meanwhile, it hoards our memories and recycles them in ironic fashion. It’s almost like a form of reverse psychology to make space for the possibility of regret.

And we blame ourselves for finding comfort in the things that hurt us the most.

We wonder if things wouldn’t have turned out the way they did if only the circumstances were different. But when you are as broken as I am, your mind lies. Your heart beats but it doesn’t pound with adrenaline like it used to. It gaslights you into thinking that life would be empty without the beat of its drumming. And two years seem like a lifetime when you feel dead inside.

Guilt remains at the bottom of an ocean like a chest of lies and secrets, a sunken ship full of fossils waiting to be discovered. In too deep, you’re breaking through weeds and splitting water to get to the other side.

It's like sitting in an empty room, the grandfather clock ticking loudly but the pointed arms shuffle in place.

They’re going nowhere. They simply just exist.

Like sleep paralysis. You’re stuck; your feet are heavy blocks of concrete. You can’t run and the demon is approaching. You don’t see him but you know he’s there. He can smell your fear, so raw. You can already taste fresh blood and its bitterness at the end of your tongue.

You know what’s coming.

You’re no longer afraid because death is now perceived as a gift that you are yet to be granted. A membership that’s unattainable.

Death will not surrender you until all that lies buried beneath has resurfaced.

Until then, you sink deeper and suffer within this realm where sleep without the monster doesn’t exist.

“I dreamed of him again last night.”

The hard leather squeaked beneath me as I adjusted my head so that I was now staring up at the ceiling, fingers intertwined over my belly. The couch felt like a rock to my spine and Dr. Avery’s scratchy voice wasn’t offering much comfort.

“Do you feel he’s forgotten about you?”

I blew out a long sigh, connecting the dots in my mind for a minute and shrugged.

“It’s been a little over two years.”

Silence was never a good sign. Or maybe I’d grown accustomed to the turmoil that the calm was unsettling. It was like holding my breath under water.

“Do you miss him?”

“Maybe he’s dead.”

Dr. Avery’s foot tapped against the wooden floor. She was fidgety. That didn’t sit right. I feigned oblivious and went along with her.

“Or maybe you’re too afraid to admit that you do.”

I craned my neck to a pair of long, symmetrical legs, one crossed over the other. A notepad sat in her lap as she leaned back, tapping the end of her pen against paper before jotting down something. Thick waves of blond hair rested neatly on her shoulders, a few sliding behind her ear when she pushed the rim of her glasses up the bridge of her nose.