ECHOES OF US | 18+ ✔️

CHAPTER 8

MIA

Life is a suffocating darkness, devoid of any guiding light, drowning me in hopelessness and despair. Its merciless and torturous nature carves deep scars in my heart.

Every day, I fight to hold on, just to keep moving forward despite the crushing weight in my heart. Yet, there are days when, despite my best efforts, I find myself falling into a deep abyss from which escape seems impossible.

I feel invisible, as if the world doesn't see me, and how to smile has slipped from my memory. Sorrow is now my sole companion, silently eroding my spirit like a stealthy assassin.

The two pillars in my life, who not only cared deeply for me but also went to great lengths to shield and safeguard me, are gone. Not a single day goes by without tears streaming down my face, and the gaping hole in my chest remaining unhealed. All I have left is grief and misery.

The day my papà decided to part with mama's clothes was like a dagger to my heart, making me feel her loss all over again. {dad}

Bitter agony.

In the blink of an eye, my life unraveled, and I am now trapped in a never-ending nightmare.

Everyone around me moves through their tasks, blind to everything. They pay no mind to their surroundings, showing no concern or interest whatsoever. It's pitiful that society has become less humane.

It's so damn ironic.

Whenever I want to escape the miserable existence of my life, I find solace in visiting my madre's grave. The air here feels peaceful and serene, as if her spirit is still watching over me. {mother}

"Mamma, how I miss you," I choke out, the warm tears streaming down my face as I replace the withered flowers with fresh ones. "Almost a year has passed, and I still feel adrift, unable to find a sense of purpose. Without you and Danté by my side, leaves me with no desire to exist anymore, mamma. My grip is slipping, and I'm uncertain of how much longer I can hang on. I know I've been saying this with every visit, but there's a possibility that this could be my last. Please forgive me mamma for my thoughts, but I long to be with you in heaven." {mom}

*

As my shift comes to a close at the trattoria where I have been employed for the past six months, I quickly wipe down the last of my tables. Time is of the essence, as I need to be home before my papà gets there to avoid a repeat of last night. I also have my fingers crossed, hoping to score some leftovers.

After the severe beating he gave me, all I want is a soothing hot shower to ease my bruises and soreness, and then go to bed. I really don't have the energy to cook or deal with him and his drunk friends who stay late into the night.

While retrieving my handbag from my locker, Signor Fabiani, the trattoria owner, calls out, "Mia, there are some leftovers in the kitchen if you want." {Mr.}

Filled with gratitude, I hurriedly respond, "Grazie, signore," and make my way to the kitchen. With haste, I seize the bag of food and make my way out. {Thank you, sir.}

When I arrive home twenty minutes later, panting and gasping for breath, a sudden chill seeps into my bones as I step inside the house. I am greeted by the sound of boisterous laughter and animated conversation while a pungent cloud of smoke hangs in the air. My papà and his friends are fully immersed in their smoking, drinking, and gambling.

He was always a heavy drinker and abusive, but after mama passed away, he became even worse. His drinking and gambling spiraled out of control, and we lost our beautiful home, ending up in the slums. I lost count of the endless moves we had to make to escape from relentless loan sharks. Working two jobs became my reality, an exhausting effort to chip away at his mounting debts.