The second installment of The Bambina series. Read to find out the secrets hidden in Danielle's journal, and how the couple, Sophia and Raphaelle, navigates their new Normal.
Chiara has gone back to Catania, left three days ago. A relief, though I know I'll miss her. I'll her miss her badly. She has been a very great distraction recently. A distraction from myself. The part of me that no matter how little I am, I can't escape. Because once I'm big, she's back. Chiara has worked as some miracle medicine for that. Because she's always talking. She's Raphaelle's polar. She's a talker, he's a doer. Combined? Either too much, or so much that I don't have to think, because my mind is constantly occupied with them.
Today's my second session of Therapy. I haven't actually thought about Danielle since Chiara arrived. But the second she was on that plane, the thoughts crept back in. I have resisted the urge to read more of her diary, waited, for this day to come, to do in the care and help of a professional. It's the safest option. One that can spare, not only me, but Raphaelle, of so much pain.
I'm lying on the daybed, neatly placed in the lightest most peaceful space in this dark masculine house. And I'm waiting, patiently for Raphaelle to finish his call.
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The room is quiet, save for the distant murmur of Raphaelle's voice, a soothing cadence that occasionally spikes with laughter or softens with strict cold sternness. Sunlight streams in through the large window, casting a warm glow on the daybed. I can't wait for him to look into another house, some place less black and grey. More me. More us.
I turn my head slightly, watching the dust particles dance in the light. It's almost hypnotic. My mind drifts to Danielle again, to the diary I've kept hidden away. Her words, her thoughts, her secrets—they've been a constant undercurrent lately, shaping my thoughts, my actions. I wonder what she would think of all this, of me lying here, waiting for guidance, for clarity. Would she be happy that I'm broken? The thought pains me. But according to her diary, the probability is in its favor. It freaking hurts. So badly.
Raphaelle's voice grows closer, and I can hear the finality in his tone. He's wrapping up the call. I take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is it. The door creaks open, and Raphaelle steps in, his presence filling the room. He gives me a reassuring smile, his eyes soft as he presses the red button.
"Ready to go?" he asks, squatting down to brush his soft fingers against my cheeks.
I nod, my heart rate quickening slightly. "Yeah, I think so."
He stands back up, "I'll go find you a jacket. It's a bit chilly today. You just go put your shoes on."
I sit up, collecting my thoughts for a few seconds, before I head to the hall, putting my shoes on.
Seconds later Raphaelle appears beside me, "you okay, baby?"
I nod, and he helps me with the jacket. "You don't have to go if you're not ready," he says.
"I'll go," I say, a hint of pride in my voice as I open the front door. "After you, daddy," I say, holding the door open.
He shakes his head, his gaze intent. "That is my job, bambina. Out," he says, grabbing hold of the door, leaving no room for arguing.
