Differences

Chapter 33 - Alaina

New Chapter!!!

Guys I'm so soft for the characters I write. Is that weird? Anyways, continuation of the previous chapter hehehe. 😆🫶🏻

Warning: concept of eating disorder and greif are mentioned within this chapter. Please read what is comfortable for you.

Enjoy reading!!!💘💝

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A small part of me screamed that this was a terrible idea. That there was no way I would be able to be better, get better. I've tried before. Nothing Ever Worked. Why would it work now?

But a bigger part of me was just sick and tired of living this way.

Sick and tired of always hating the way I look, hating the way I think, hating myself that I care about other people's view on me to the point that their views have become my own.

I didn't want to live like this anymore.

And another small voice told me it could be possible. It could be possible with support. Support from the man who didn't run the opposite direction when most would, but instead held out hand towards me.

A hand for me to grab. A hand for me to hold on to.

I wasn't alone.

"Really?", he murmurs, so soft I probably would've doubted myself if I had heard that correctly if I had not been looking at his face the entire time, "Do you . . . do you want to try?"

I give him a smile, "Yes. I do. I want to live. Live, live. Not live to survive."

He whispers, "Alaina. We can do this. We can get through this. Together. Ok?"

I nod in agreement and snuggle myself into him once more. He allows me to and brings him long arms over my shoulders and settles his head in the space between my head and neck, his breath softly tickling me. The warmth and his usual delicate woody floral scented emitting from him, and the indescribable feeling of safety only making me all the more comfortable.

"Do you still have the recipe book with you? The one your Nonna gave?" He asks.

"Ah, yea?", I reply not following where this was going, "Its inside my bedside table draw. On your left."

He shifts over towards his left, slightly dragging me along, opening the draw of my bedside table, taking out Nonna's recipe book. The book had a fading gray hue from the countless times I have held it, and blotches of oil and tear stains. But it had Nonna's classic cursive writing, her writing, written in supposedly English for me, but really, it was a mix of Italian and English. Italish if you like.

"It really must be something you treasure.", he comments as he drags his fingers across the book cover.

"Yea, it's the only keepsake I have of her."

"What was your favourite?" He asks, whilst flicking through the recipe book.

"Mmm, I don't know. Everything was so good. But, if I had to choose one, I think I liked her lasagne the best. It was creamy but also kinda light because of the tomato sauce. It reminds me of Christmas when she would make huge servings of it."

"So, a hearty warm meal huh?" He suggests, to which I agree with a few approving nods.

"Then out of the recipes here, which one do you think you are most comfortable eating now?" He asks passing over the book to me.

I take the book into my hands, but I hesitate to open it. Not because I was afraid of the book, I've opened it countless times before. I literally read through it a couple of days ago. But I was afraid to give him an answer. Because I didn't know what I was comfortable with. I didn't know what I wanted to try. I didn't know what I would willingly try to eat.

I was the worlds hugest hypocrite. I say I want to get better and yet I am afraid of choosing something to eat that may help me get better.

I was so weak. I was so pathetic.

Maybe, I'm incurable.

"Alaina," He breathed out, pulling me out of my trance, "it's ok to not know what you want. And you don't have to finish the whole thing. It's ok to be afraid, I just wanted you to choose something you wanted to eat and start by understanding you can eat something and still enjoy it."

I stare out at him in awe, not understanding how he was able to string my concerns into sentences.

"I'm a bit scared that I will come to dislike her food. I don't want that to happen. It's the only thing I have left of her." I admit, expressing half of my concern, knowing he was already aware of the other half.

"You won't. Because even if it takes you weeks, months or maybe even years, we will be able to eat your Nonna's food with a smile on our faces one day. One day you will be craving for your Nonna's food, and that day, we will cook and drown ourselves in her food." He consoles, brushing his fingers through my hair before going on, "And I know that day will come because you're a fighter, Alaina. Always have been, and always will be. Strong, brave, and resilient. That is who you are."

The back of my eyes begin to sting, and fat water drops begins to swell and fall against my cheeks. I brush them away with the back of my palm, but they don't stop, and I find myself gasping for air, while also feeling soft lips plant on my forehead while my hand was cupped in a pair of large hands.

"You can do this. We can do this", he coos, while rubbing my back in a continuous circular motion. A foreign motion to me, but it felt right. I felt supported. And I just let him do it, until my sobs settle, and I could begin to breathe somewhat normally again.

"Luke?"

"Mmm?"

"I miss her Lasagne. I want to eat her Lasagne."

"Lasagne it is then." He confirms, "Lets go make your favourite lasagne."

"You can cook?" I ask, half joking. I have never seen him doing anything remote to domestic activities. Honestly, it did not suit him at all, imagining him in kitchen other than to steal a couple of bites from Leila's cooking was something I could laugh at.

"Nope, but Leila can give us a hand. And I'm sure you can use that head of yours to tell us small details of your Nonna's cooking. Your memorisation skills are something I am definitely asking God for in my next life."

"Its not that good, having good memory. But I suppose it can be useful in many scenarios." I reply.

"Exactly my point. Now, come on, lets getting cooking." And then, unexpectedly, he scoops me up into his arms like this was a normal thing to do. 

"Wait, Luke, stop. Let me down. I can walk on my own." I wail.

"No. Hold this" He hands over my Nonna's recipe book to which I take.

"Please Luke, let me down." I repeat while squirming to be freed from hid hold.

"Stop moving around, Alaina. Moving isn't gonna get your feet on the floor." He says as he make his way towards the door and out of my room.

And with me laughing as we dart down the stairs, we make our way to the kitchen. To do something I hadn't done in over ten years.

But I was hopeful. Because for the first time in over ten years, I wasn't forcing myself to try this. Not really. And I was going to try eating a dish that was part of my childhood. Something I had associated with warm hugs from Nonna's and the festive season. With a reminder that I could still feel close with her. Because I will always remember her, and she could continue to live through me. Thanks to him.