Alexis

"And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and thy shall know I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them."

Ezekiel (25:17)

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"Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,

Blood and revenge are hammering in my head."

— Aaron, Act 2, Scene 2, Titus Andronicus

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Knowing the time that we landed made me oddly quiet. Plus, oddly, being in Italy made me feel sick. I wasn't entirely sure why but I had an idea. Italy: land of my family, where my father was born, where my aunt was born, where I met Vincent, where I made a few great memories. Yet I knew it was because of those key points that I was sick. Similar to Las Vegas. This was my dad's place and here I was, without him. And last time I was here, he was alive and well yet we were fighting. And for what reason? Why did I ignore his calls all those times? What was the reason? Obviously it wasn't worth it if I couldn't fucking remember it less than a year later. So pathetic of me. How could I treat my father like that? It genuinely doesn't make any sense.

"Are you stopping by your mother's first?" I asked as I looked out the window of the car that we were in.

"I am," Vincent confirmed. He was looking out his window. Tito was in the passenger seat. I couldn't remember the driver's name. Made me feel shitty. "You're going somewhere else, first."

"Oh. . ." I mumbled. For whatever reason, I was a bit hurt. Not a lot, I had very little feelings left after everything I've been through in the past nine months. I'm not sure why. We weren't dating. He was under no obligation to introduce me to his mother. None at all. He knew my father regardless if he knew me however I'd only know his mother through him.

Although, did I even have the right to be hurt? We weren't together. We had no ties to each other right now. And, to be honest, I think the only reason he was by me in this car in this predicament was to make sure I don't kill myself although I had no idea what that meant to him. Maybe it was his way of making amends with God? Maybe he felt guilty over my father's death and wanted to try his best to avenge it so he, Vincent, would be good with God.

I felt that my thoughts were starting to morph into a self-sabotage rampage of demeaning comments. This would be something to talk to David about. David liked to deeply analyze and force answers out of me. David would be able to aid. But David was not here and although I had a strong mind, a stain was hard to erase from white. Putting water on it enlarged the stain, blackness seeping all over. Oh so very hard to get rid of stains, even with bleach for bleach ruined the material.

There was a long moment of silence. We turned onto three new streets in between. "Did you want to meet my mama?" he asked me. His Italian accent slipped heavily on the term "mama".

I shrugged but didn't look at him. "That's not up to me," I replied. "It's up to you. She's your mother, not mine." I don't have a mother. I could've been a mother, failed at the test, twice, practically.

"I want you to. Do you want to?" he asked and I felt him looking at me but I didn't look at him.

"Not today," I sighed after a moment. The car turned to a familiar road yet I knew we weren't going to Vincent's place. No matter how much security was there, Vincent didn't want to go back to a place that Luca knew well. "You need to spend time with her. One on one," I said.

He hummed and looked away as I continued to look out the window, my hands clasped together in my lap.

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