The Hateful Heavy Heart | 18+

32 - Coming Home

Ruggiero

As I read over the invoice, making sure everything looked good, I could hear the steps of heavy boots approaching. A hand slapped the doorframe, making its owner's arrival known. "Hey, boss, I'm here to take over for you," a deep voice, one that I knew as Wayne's, said.

I glanced quickly at my watch to check the time before I looked up to meet Wayne's eyes with a smile. "Thank you, Wayne, I really appreciate it." I stood up, smacking my hand on the paper. It was half-past one, so I needed to go get going. "This invoice goes with the 1998 silver Supra. They dropped it off around noon, only wanting an oil change, so I'm guessing it'll be done in another hour or so. Though, Kyle and Lucky suggested they could use more work."

"I'm guessing you left a summary of the suggested work behind the invoice," he commented, walking further into the office.

I sent him a smile. "I'd be no good if I didn't. Are you good if I go?" I checked my pockets to make sure I had my keys and my wallet, not wanting to leave and realize I didn't have them.

Wayne was a good-looking guy. His uniform fit him well; there was no doubt that underneath it, he had planes of muscles. The first time I met him, it had been hard not to go home and think about him. I wasn't exaggerating when I said he was good-looking. He had a head of curly, shoulder-length midnight black hair, often wearing it in a low ponytail, and forest green eyes, which I'd made a conscious habit to not look into. I was scared of what he'd think if he knew what I thought of him.

I was sure toxic masculinity and the consequences that came from it would kill me.

But he returned the smile, his a little wider than mine, baring his teeth. "Yes, go on, boss. I can handle this," he assured me, giving me a hearty pat on my shoulder.

As I made my way out of Carlisle's, I couldn't help but wonder what Jace would think if she knew. Would she be disgusted with me? Would she want nothing to do with me, like my mother? Though it had been over a decade, her words had never left my mind: "Sei la vergogna della famiglia." Translation? "You are a disgrace to the family."

I didn't expect my mother to understand me. She was reserved and well-guarded as if an army of thorns were protecting her. While she was the same woman that raised me, something changed when I turned eighteen. I couldn't pinpoint what it was, nor did I ever ask my dad about it, but I could tell her disgust for me ran deep.

I knew that she was ashamed of me and those feelings heightened over the three years after it when Martina and I were very visibly together. I didn't believe in hiding my love, whether I was with a man or a woman, and I was adamant to show off Martina proudly. Despite being more than two decades older than me, I loved Martina. She accepted me—all of me—and she never once made me feel bad for anything. And though I was younger than her, she allowed me the upper hand, wanting the power to be balanced. When we separated, it wasn't because we no longer loved each other, but the opposite. I'd told Jace that the reason we broke up was that the age difference bothered Martina. While it wasn't a lie, there was more to it.

The painful truth was that Martina was dying. A few weeks before her forty-sixth birthday, she became noticeably symptomatic. The first indication of her symptoms arrived in the form of a nonexistent appetite. Still, she continued to eat as best as she could with a smile on her face. The second indication came during sex. For us, it was what we needed to know that something was wrong. Over the two and a half years we were together, we had a more than healthy sex life. We were open about our desires with each other and explored them comfortably until sex started to bring Martina excruciating pain.