Brooklyn:
After being forced to spend one summer in Italy with her grandma, Brooklyn always found her way back to the cobblestone streets but not for the feeling of a summer never ending, but for Valentino, a boy who radiates trouble and sees throu...
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POV: Brooklyn "If the hurt comes, so will the happiness." Summer #2
There's this thing about curiosity.
It creeps up on us least expected, demanding, and unrelenting until you just give in. Curiosity leads to broken hearts and dead bodies. Everyone knows it, yet we still follow the dark path that curiosity leads us through.
I wish I didn't, but the pieces were right in front of me, and it was beginning to become impossible to ignore. The way my papa just let me go over to Italy without any resistance. He was the one who suggested it.
I wanted to believe my sister couldn't go because of her behavior, but I started to think. I mean really think about the disappointment on my father's face every time I came back. Like I wasn't supposed to return.
Ever.
"Do you trust me?"
He kept sending me back, but not Elena. My papa made it pretty evident that Elena was his favorite daughter no matter what she did. It was like Elena was begging for attention but was mad she was getting it from the wrong person.
I would never know because we aren't the type of sisters who share secrets while eating ice cream late at night or talk about crushes. Never been that way.
I wonder if it was because we looked and act so differently. My curls, skin, and even smile was different from everyone else's in the family. I've never fit in the family picture or postcards. A sore thumb my papa frowned upon.
"Do you trust me, dear?'
That one came from my mom when I asked her why I was so different. It was her of telling me to shut up. To stop asking questions. To stop being so freaking curious, but it crept into me, demanding and unrelenting. It led me back to my papa's office, but back then I didn't know it would lead me to Valentino's too.
The moonlight was the only source of light again as I moved swiftly towards my dad's office. My heart faced frantically in chest despite the controlled breaths I took as I punched in the password that's burned its way into my mind: 1964. After a moment, the keypad blinked green, and the door of the office opened with a creak.
"Trust me, Brooklyn."
My papa's voice seeped from my subconscious. It wasn't a request, but a demand. Like trust can be beaten into me. All of my life the people around me has used trust as a shield over my eyes. To stop me from seeking the truth and I let them because ignorance is bliss, really. But good things don't last forever. I was curious. I wanted answers. Even if they hurt me in the end.
Instead of looking through my papa's computer, I looked through his desk drawers to come up with useless folders and contracts. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'll know when I find it. Secrets have a way of revealing themselves.
I glanced at the clock and tap my foot, mentally searching for other places to look. The bookshelf. Maybe it was a little dramatic to hide things in bookcases, but it made the most sense. The old, rusty red and brown book spines start to blur together the more I looked at them.
The perfect place.
Without another thought, I opened every book, searching for clues, before quickly placing them back the shelf. After about 25 books, I was tired. There must be about 50+ more books left just from this shelf. The other bookcase taking up the other wall is still untouched. The time was ticking too fast for my liking, and I refused to leave emptyhanded. I have to leave for the airport at dawn.
Every summer I have to come back to New York for my father's annul summer fest for his law firm. It's as important as the annual winter ball and requires my attendance, but only for a few days.
Then I'm back with Valentino.
If he was here, then he would think smart. Instead of looking at every book, Val would only look through the ones that look worn. Used. I scramble to my feet as soon as the thought hits me. The other 50+ books don't matter anymore. I pick up the with bent spines.
A first edition of Crime and Punishment.
The Master and Margarita.
The first one only has a string of random numbers. Not just 9 random numbers. A phone number I'll call later. I continue my search with the second book and pause at the prominent 5 digits: 31205.
My birthday.
One passcode I could never figure out is my father's safe. No matter how much research I did, I couldn't get it, because it had five digits. Birthdays were out of my mind since the rest of my papa's passwords were so random. Cars, published book years, etc. Never anything personal.
The tall sliver safe glinted out the corner of my eye. This was it. My finale. The climax to the fake life I'm living, but the steps I took were slow. I thought I would be ready for whatever truth I'll find. Now, I'm dreading it. When I put in the numbers, I don't hear the beep that it makes. Only the drumming in my ears.
A singular manilla envelope and a stack of photos perfectly placed in the middle. Like it was waiting for me the whole time.
Slowly, I pull the envelope out. I expected it be heavy from the secrets, but it was as light as a feather. Although I wanted to impulsively tear it open, I drew the paper out slowly. The familiar print of my birth certificate stared back at me. Relief flooded through me before I realize something was wrong.
My father's name is Anthony Bennet's, but on my birth certificate there's someone else's'.
Michael Williams.
The realization strikes me in the chest and causes me to stumble back two steps. My whole life I grew up a man who wasn't really my dad. It all made sense. The way he would favor Elena over me. How he would frown down at me. I don't look like my mom, and I don't look like him, either.
Still in shock, I grab the stack of photos and scan them. Each one is a younger version of my mom and a mysterious man that looks just like me together.
In the same streets where I founded myself in every summer.
Italy.
Unable to stand anymore, I fall onto my knees with the photos and papers scattered around me. The sun has started to rise, and I know I have to go, but I don't move an inch.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The truth doesn't set you free. It never did and never will. Instead, it anchors you down until you're drowning in secrets. Until you're gasping for air.
