Il dono della vita | Måneskin

Chapter 9: Haunted

Victoria's POV

I drive silently, tears rolling down my cheeks in a cascade of mute despair. I think of the news that I've just received and I still can't process them fully. My night ended in the most dreadful way — two of my best friends have been rushed to the hospital, the people that have been by my side for so many years, whom I shared my joy and tears with. I feel how my fears and pain could slip away from me within moments and I still can't fathom what's the normal reaction to this obscene path that my life suddenly fell onto.

I don't dare to look at him either. Damiano admitted that he's suffering from the disease that has haunted my family for years. I can't bare it. I can't stand knowing how he's been through so much pain and suffering to get to this point. I can't live with the idea that he might've turned into my father, the man who's still haunting every corner of my existence up to this day.

Years after my mother passed, when I thought he had overcome the pain of losing the woman he loved the most, the pain itself overcame my father's efforts to get over it, so he slipped into one of the most self destructive coping mechanisms – alcohol. I think about the fights he must have within himself every day, yet the man that comes to the surface is changed, bitterness and anger takes over him when he drinks, his eyes get dark and he is sad when he doesn't. He has became a shadow of the person that used to be.

It scares me to get close to Damiano after his confession knowing how deeply addiction has always scarred me. I also think about how this could've changed him for the worse.

I look at him with the corner of my eye, trying my hardest to seem focused on the road. He's broken too, tears have stained his face as well and he looks down at his shaking hands. He betrayed his own self tonight, made the, sometimes, unavoidable mistake of going back to his old ways — my father's ways.

I once again think about my father and how much he has changed over the past three years and I feel almost betrayed. His alcoholism issue has trapped me with him, begging me to pick him up from the bars late at night, asking me for money to buy more liquor, enduring his harsh words and insults, his toxic love, up to the countless slaps and kicks in my body.

I refuse to think that Damiano has turned into that person. Because if it's true, I know that I can't take it.

I park in front of the hospital, quickly getting out of the car and run to the hospital's entrance, followed all along by Damiano. We reach the lobby and ask the lady at the front desk about our friends.

"Hi, we're looking for Thomas Raggi and Ethan Torchio."

She stares at us for a moment, then types something on the computer in front of her, "Let's see..." she says after pressing 'enter'.

"They haven't been assigned a room yet. Apparently, they're either undergoing surgeries or are still being checked up." She tells us after what felt like the longest pause. "You can remain in the waiting room until the doctor will let you know their statuses."

I turn to leave and, caught up in my own thoughts and pain, I forget to thank the lady. "Thank you," mutters Damiano, as if he had just read my mind, receiving an "You're welcome," back.

We sit in the designated area, across from each other, not daring to interlock our gazes. But, I still search for him. He sits down, his elbows resting on his knees with his face hidden by his sweaty palms. I spot a feeling of regret in this behavior. Or, it's rather agitation? Whatever that is, I think as of something new added to the idea that I have about alcoholism. I'm tempted to go to him, to hug him and to let him know that we're both going to be okay, yet I'm frozen by fear in my spot.

I close my eyes and cover my face with my hands as well, then say a prayer in my mind. I beg God for strength and peace, I beg for my friends to be okay, to hear out of that OR that they're alive and well, for my lost lover to have the power to fight his demons.

I get interrupted by my phone ringing, I open my clutch and look at the caller's ID.

Papà.

I take a deep breath and answer, taking my phone with my now shaky hand to my ear.

"Vic? Where are you?" He asks mumbling through the line. He's drunk.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I don't know how much I can take tonight. I wish I can run and not care of anyone or anything.

"I'm at the hospital, a friend had an accident." I tell him trying to sound calm.

Damiano looks up at me, curious as our gazes intertwine for a brief moment.

"I don't care!" He shouts to the phone and I flinch. "You should be here! You can't leave me like this!" I look down, ashamed. "You'll get what you deserve when you get home, you better be quick!" screams come out of my phone before he hangs up and I'm paralyzed in fear. My breathing starts getting erratic and air hurts my chest on his way to my lungs. I feel like I'm suffocating and I don't know how to find the air that I need anymore. I close my eyes in a failed attempt to take a deep breath, cold sweat soaking my back as tears spill from my eyes.

I feel lost and buried into my own self when I feel a hand grabbing mine. I look up and it's him — his touch was always what calmed me down and what I missed the most during these years. I look into his eyes and I don't see my father, the soft look Damiano gives me could never be the harsh one that my dad offers. In this very moment I know that his addiction hasn't turned him into the man I thought it had, and, for the moment, this thought calms me down.

"I'm sorry." I tell him genuinely, looking for the acceptance to my apology.

"I'm sorry, too." He looks deeply into my eyes and I shake my head, crying more at his regret. He shouldn't be apologizing for relapsing, I should for being so judgmental.

He caresses my cheeks, pushing a stand of hair to the back of my ear and I feel all my anxiety leaving my system. I lean into his touch and close my eyes, taking in the very first moment of love I've been feeling in a long time. He comes next to me and I bury my head into the crook of his neck.

We stay like this for what feels like hours until a doctor approaches us.

"I'd anyone waiting for Thomas Raggi?" he asks and we both say "yes" at the same time.

"He's okay, he didn't suffer major injuries apart from a concussion and some bruises and scratches," he informes us and relief takes over me.

"What about Ethan?"

The doctor takes a pause and looks through his sheets, "His surgery is over, there were several internal bleedings and complicated injuries, he has been taken to the intensive care unit. We can't give further details, we just have to wait to see his progress."

I sit down, trapped in a state of shock. The danger hasn't passed for him. I look up at Damiano, who's still chatting to the doctor and, after he leaves, Dam turns to me and sits by my side, taking my hand in his.

"He's going to be okay," he says to me and I nod, trying my best to believe him.

My phone goes off announcing me that I got a text message. I open it and check the time – 4:15 in the morning already. Before lowering my gaze to the previous notification on the screen, a new drunk text message from my father pops up: "Come home right now. I'll fucking kill you!"