Italy's hottest couple, Thomas Ceccon and Bianca Ricci, is not going through the best phase of their relationship. With their careers at their peak and one month away from the Paris Olympics, they will have to put their problems aside and focus on w...
"Bianca, can we talk for a moment?"—it's the first thing he says when he gets beside me.
I nod my head, not really wanting to talk, so he continues—"I'm really sorry about earlier, I truly didn't mean to bring it up in front of everyone, but I was so angry at that moment. I just want you to know that hurting you was never my intention."
"I know, don't worry. I just wish you had told me in private, you know you can trust me"—I say, calm but hurt.
"I know I can trust you, and I do. But I didn't want to upset you since you were so focused on your preparation for the Games, and I thought it was best not to say anything"—he says sincerely. Lorenzo has always been my best friend, and I understand that he wants to protect me and not see me upset, but deep down, I feel betrayed.
"It's fine, don't worry. I know you want what's best for me, just as I do for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go home, rest, and try to clear my head a bit"—after saying that, I give him a hug before getting into a taxi, which I luckily managed to hail in time, and head home.
On the way, I can't stop thinking about how Thomas deceived me all this time. I think about how stupid I've been these past few months, putting up with his attitude, his mood swings, his immaturity, and his disrespect. But the worst part is that I was stupid enough to believe he intended to fix things.
'Am I ever going to have a normal, peaceful day in my life?' I think after living through one of the most chaotic and surreal weeks of this past year.
When I get home, I notice the absence of the journalists who bombarded us with questions this morning. 'Thank goodness,' as I'm in no condition to go through that again.
Once inside, I change into something more comfortable and head down to the kitchen to make myself a coffee. I still remember the moment Thomas and I shared just hours ago right here, or last night when he asked about our breakup with the intention of fixing everything and then kissed me out of the blue.
But I also remember all the moments we shared during our two and a half years together. I recall the times he tried to cook, and I told him it was delicious even though I couldn't swallow it, when I made his favorite dessert, when we danced around the table, or even when we sat down to talk about our day or our future together.
Thinking about all that, I can't help but let a few tears fall, running down my face until they disappear. How could a relationship that was built on happiness, trust, and communication fall apart in just a few months? We had lost all of that and become two immature people, incapable of talking civilly like adults.
Sitting on the couch, I look through some photos, feeling nostalgic. I can't help but smile when I see them, as they remind me of wonderful moments with the man who had made me happy since we first met.
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Suddenly, I hear the door lock turn and see Thomas enter, looking dejected. I quickly hide the photos and wipe my face. I don't want him to see me upset or affected.
"What are you doing here?"—I ask, surprised.
"I came to pick up my things. I guess you don't want me to stay here anymore. You made that pretty clear earlier"—he says seriously. Deep down, I know he's affected by all this, but he refuses to show it.
Seeing him head toward the stairs, I suddenly intervene—"Don't worry, don't go up; I'll get everything for you. You wait here"—without waiting for a response, I head to the bedroom and grab the suitcases I'd supposedly packed for him. Obviously, I hadn't packed anything, but an idea suddenly came to mind that would make me feel better.
Without thinking, fueled by rage and pain, I start throwing all his things out the window. They fall into the garden, one by one.
Suddenly, I see a stunned Thomas, bewildered by my behavior. After putting up with his irascible attitude, his disrespect, his sudden mood swings, his disinterest, and his immaturity for all these months, I've decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.
I go downstairs and head to the door to face him. I'm tired of always being the good one, of having to put up with everything, and then having to apologize while he shows no interest in trying to solve or face our problems.
"What are you doing? Have you gone crazy?"—he shouts without hesitation.
"Don't shout so much; you'll make all the neighbors stare at us. And that's something you don't like, right? You don't like being embarrassed in front of people, even though you're the first one to throw a jealous fit in front of the entire team to make me look bad"—I say, with no intention of letting him insult me. Not after everything.
"Do you hear yourself? Do you think what you're doing is normal? Act like an adult"—his words leave me speechless.
"Act like an adult? Are you seriously saying that after what happened this morning?"—he says nothing, so I continue—"What's not normal is that I had to find out you're a fucking traitor in front of all my teammates and not from you, but from Lorenzo."
"Forgive me, okay?! I tried to talk to you before, but you didn't want to"—he says, indignant.
"Did you expect me to talk to you like nothing happened after everything that went down? You're very wrong if you think I'll always do what you want"—I say, astonished. I'm shocked at his ability to always make me out to be the bad one, the guilty one, the one who's wrong.
"You're being very immature right now"—his words hit me like a tornado. Was he seriously calling me immature?
"The only immature person here is you, who instead of talking to me, instead of trying to tell me how you feel so we could fix things, you hook up with the first person who feels sorry for you"—I snap, furious.
"I didn't tell you anything because you weren't listening to me. You were always too busy and stressed with training; you never had time for me"—he says. I never expected him to say that. Right now, I'm frozen, not knowing how to react to his words. However, after a moment, rage consumes me as I see him continue to blame me for everything that happened.
"Fine. Maybe you should go to Isabella; I'm sure she'll be happy to listen to you"—seeing that he doesn't respond, I decide to end the conversation.
"Leave. Get out of my house right now. I don't want to see you again. If I ever speak to you again, it will only be for work."
"Great. Same here. But just so you know, this is really over now. Don't come crawling back like a dog later, not after you refused to talk to me, to give me a chance to explain everything to you."—after saying that, he leaves without a trace.
I'm left alone, leaning against the corner of the window, devastated. After a while, breathing in the cold night air, I go back inside, relieved. I feel liberated, ready to start a new chapter of my life.
