Mirror

chapter 9

Domonic Moretti - session 17

Maria's addiction to drugs was a constant shadow over their lives. Dominic remembers the countless times he had to fend for himself, scavenging for food, and witnessing his mother's decline. Despite this, Maria's love for Dominic was evident. She would often hold him close, whispering promises of a better life.

Session Notes: This period instilled in Dominic a sense of responsibility and independence at a very young age. He often had to take care of his mother, which led to feelings of helplessness and frustration.
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As we arrive at her house, I can't help but be struck by its grandeur. It's a large, beautiful home with a sprawling yard that suggests both wealth and a keen sense of privacy. Veronica takes out her keys and unlocks the front door, the scent of her perfume mingling with the home's subtle fragrance, creating an inviting atmosphere.

"Make yourself at home," she suggests, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll get us some drinks."

I walk into her living room, taking in the tasteful decor and the way everything seems to reflect her personality-elegant yet formidable. "You have a beautiful home," I say, genuinely impressed.

"Thank you," she replies, returning with two glasses. She hands me one and sits down next to me. Her proximity sends a shiver down my spine.

"I invited you over because I'd like to be your friend," she says, her tone earnest. Her eyes, however, reveal a mixture of apprehension and vulnerability that she tries to mask.

I smile, trying to ease her nerves. "Let's be friends then," I say, raising my glass to hers. She lets out a relieved breath, and we clink glasses.

Our conversation flows naturally, surprisingly easy given our usual grumpy demeanors. We talk about everything from work to personal dreams, and for once, I feel like I'm connecting with someone on a deeper level. My therapist would be proud.

At some point, we've had more drinks than we probably should. I've lost my coat, and her shoes are still on. Feeling a sudden urge to take care of her, I stand up and kneel before her.

"Dominic, what are you doing?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice.

"Let me take care of you," I say softly. I unbuckle her shoe, then move to the next one. I want to take care of her in other ways too, if she'll let me.

She's a little tipsy, and as she sways slightly, I decide to pick her up. "Which is your room?" I ask.

"Last room down the hall," she mumbles.

Her room is pristine, everything in its place except for a pink book on the nightstand. I lay her gently on the bed, but as I turn to leave, she grabs my hand.

"Stay, Dom. It's late, and you've been drinking," she says, her voice soft and a little slurred. "Please stay the night."

I hesitate but can't deny her request. "Okay, Veronica," I say, kicking off my shoes and crashing on the bed next to her. Minutes pass, and I look over at her; she's already fast asleep. She stirs, and I instinctively pull her closer, her head resting on my chest.

I slide my hand into her hair, carefully removing the pins and unraveling her bun. As I run my fingers through her hair, I feel a sense of peace I haven't known in years. But sleep doesn't come easily for me. I reach for the comforter and pull it over us.

My eyes fall on the pink book. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, quickly realizing it's a journal. Lists of groceries, shopping items, and to-dos fill the pages. One list stands out: a "wish" list. It's a collection of things she wants to do in retirement-get a dog, travel to hot and cold places, go on dates, make new friends, find a hobby, fall in love, eat new foods, redecorate, have a child, get closure.