Le Parole Lontane (Distant Words)

Chapter 13 - Concession

Note: This chapter is unedited.

"No, not one shall be forgotten who was great in the world. But each was great in his own way, and each in proportion to the greatness of that which he loved."
— Søren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling

Nürburg, Germany, 4th of June 2022

My body is just an extension of sound, picturing the vibrations of the instrument that I learned to posses during all these years. Shaking fingers touching the metallic strings, pinching out the sacred song of my liberation.

"Because baby, for your love, I'll do whatever you want..."

Hearing Damiano singing this line makes me feel even more distant in my own small universe. Only there's no time for daydreaming anymore. I know this is the moment when I have to break the barrier and return to the reality I'm forced to face when my bass solo ends.

I get up and offer the audience a fake smile. The thing is that I've always played this part in 'For Your Love' while standing on my knees. Not out of vanity, as I don't care about what people think or what Damiano says that I should be venerated and adored as a goddess of the musical universe, but simply for our love. This song means to us way more than the narrow minds can perceive.

Damiano wrote it in bed, holding the notebook on my naked body while the pen was scribbling the words on the paper, leaving invisible marks on my back too. I want to think there are still traces of it imprinted in my sweaty skin as he's singing the last parts of our masterpiece.

That night he promised me he'll do whatever I want and he kept his word. Here we are, one year and a half later, hitting international fame, achieving milestone after milestone, playing in front of huge crowds, but most importantly, having each other. It's been a bliss to be just us lately. No Giorgia, no press, only me and him, out in the open as the most perfectly staged friendship, but sinfully emerging into each other with any occasion when the dreadful looks weren't around.

It was good and it was all working well until that cursed night in Cannes happened. The blatant decadence of the world has cut inside me, burnt my happiness and let the ashes spread around to the people that I love, painting them in a horrific grey. If I look around I can still see them. All wearing the happy masks adorned with a mortuary veil.

We play the next song and the next one until we almost finish our set. As much as we love it, recently music has became the last point in our list of priorities. All of us smiling, but being devoured by our own inside demons. An unnoticeable sigh here and there, but the show must go on. Once we stepped in the wolves' den of celebrity, there's no way back.

I catch a glimpse of Damiano and I move my eyes to a random point in the audience trying to avoid the impact when our gazes would've met. This has been our policy, but sometimes the attraction is too hard and our little gestures manage to break all the rules resulting in our love being spilled to the masses. Some see, others pretend they're blind, we don't confirm either. It's better like this, to enjoy the discreet shades given by their confusion.

When the show is over we follow our usual ritual to the dressing room. He helps me out of my corseted dress then hands me my casual outfit. No questions.

Usually, dressing room time used to be our moment after the show. If it wasn't ending in a lustful collide of desire and pleasures, it was surely an experience as close to an ecstatic state as possible. But not now. After the night that threw me in the depths of hell, Damiano never dared to come close to me. Maybe he wants me, maybe not, all I know is that he's keeping a safe distance.

I hope he forgives me for this, as I forgave him for what I found out yesterday. After one long night of twisting and turning in bed while analyzing everything, I came to the conclusion that Thomas is right. I have to let him do what he wants, because once Damiano enters in his social justice spiral there's no way to take him out of it. I'm aware that it'll be painful, but I'll have to try to cope with it. After all, he's right, maybe he's saving other women for sharing my fate too. This is the only thought that manages to bring me a bit of comfort after I found out that him and Ethan will be gone most of the time this week.

"Are you okay?" Damiano asks.

He surely noticed my lost gaze trying to reach the places where he'll be and the things he's willing to sacrifice only to protect me.

"Yes, I'm fine," I say, trying to sound as genuine as possible. "Let's go, surely the boys are waiting for us."

And I was right. When we get out of the dressing room Thomas and Ethan are patiently waiting outside. Stoic smiles on their faces, light touches in an attempt to encourage me to continue to go on in the fight with my own destructive self, they even dare to crack some small jokes.

The road to the airport manages to encapsulate the same feelings. Everyone is acting like they're not aware of anything and, at the same time, they're being the most precautious people I know.

We get to the private jet carrying a set of very mixed feelings. The first two shows from our tour haven't been bad at all. Germany has an excellent public who loved us and we hope that we reciprocated their feelings through our music. But, besides the successful gigs, there's still and unidentifiable mix of emotions which manages to ravish our souls like a short storm on a hot summer day.

"We'll get through this," Thomas whispers in my ear while going to take his seat next to Ethan.

I nod. As much as I'm denying his intelligence, Thomas has been very thoughtful these days, offering me the support that I needed in order to be able to move on.

We take off and I hope that I've left all my worries in Germany. I want to return to Italy with a fresh mindset, ready to embrace whatever the future has in store for us.

Damiano takes my hand. I know he loves me and I'm trying to make my anxious mind understand the fact that everything he's been doing is meant to protect me. It'll be hard, but I sense that I'm on the right path of acceptance.

Maybe this is our concession. I gave him freedom not expecting anything in return because sometimes loving someone means giving them space. If they love you truly, they'll return, and I want to think that he will.

We return to Rome when the eternal city is covered with the blanket of the night. Back to our neighborhood, in Trastevere, back to a normality that we've always wanted and needed, but sometimes impossible to escape.

Our worst prisons are our own selves, as no place in this world can immobilize you in such a way to leave you without the basic capacity of breathing. I'm not sure why the sudden panic attack comes to me, but they're here, my boys are always by my side, ready to hold my hand on the way home through the darkest nights of existence.

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