Chiara Rose

sessanta

tw - mention of mental health issues, drug use, alcohol use, self harm and suicide.

Chiara's POV

Knocking on my bedroom door pulls me out of the little world I'd fallen into from reading, and reminds me that I am not dating Alex Volkov. It also reminds me the shit hole I've dug for myself, and I go to yell for the person to go away but Tino opens the door and lets himself in.

"What do you want." I grumble, trying my best to ignore his presence and get back to my book.

He doesn't reply, he just shuts the door behind him and starts wandering around my room. I'm waiting for him to be like the others and just start flexing in the mirror, but he doesn't, he sits on my bed instead.

"Look, I know you're struggling. I really do, and I really, like really really want to help you. But for me to do that I need you to talk to me for a little bit. Is that something you'd feel comfortable doing? If you don't want to talk to me specifically I can get Gi to come in and talk to you, or Camila, Val, even Riccardo or Romeo, or any of the five other idiots that live down the hall." He begins, taking a break to shuffle closer to me.

"I just really need to know what's going on Chiara, I need to know so I can help you, and so I can get you the help that you need." He finishes, looking at me expectantly. I take a moment to let his words sink in. He wants me to get help, he thinks that I need help, he thinks that I deserve the help.

"Okay." I say, slowly nodding my head as I do. I can talk to Tino. He'll know how to fix it, he'll know what to do, he always does.

"Okay? As in okay you'll talk to me?" He asks slowly, obviously shocked that I said yes that easily. I don't blame him.

"Okay, as in if you ask questions I'll do my best to answer, okay." I answer, finding the energy in me to make eye contact.

What I see immediately makes me worry, Tino looks like shit, and Tino never looks like shit. He's got dark circles sitting under his eyes, and he hasn't bothered to put his contacts in this morning. His hair is sticking out in multiple directions, like he's run his fingers through it one too many times.

His eyes squint a little as they rake over my face, and he must see something he doesn't like as his jew clenches slightly. He quickly gets over it, diving straight into his first question.

"Okay. Well, I'm actually really interested in this little theory you've got running about you killing Dad. Because from what I remember, two very tall and bulky masked men with Russian accents shot Dad, and you don't really fit their description. So I'm just curious where you fit into all of it." He asks, tilting his head to the side to feign his confusion. I take a nervous gulp and try to mentally plan how I should respond to this.

"Well, the Russians were there for me. I was the one they wanted not Dad, and if I had've given myself to them then maybe Dad would still be alive." I say, moving the book out of my lap and picking anxiously at my nails. I haven't actually verbalised my reasoning to anyone, and it feels weird. Almost like a weight has been lifted of his shoulder.

Tino's face softens for half a second, before he scrunches his nose again. What is so confusing about this?

"Huh." He states, scratching his head for a second.

"Well, if that's the theory you're running I guess we're all to blame. I mean, I could've shot the Russians before they shot Dad." Tino begins, but I cut him off.