Evelina

(xv)

Evelina

"Figlia, perché ti stressi così tanto?" Papà's voice cracks, betraying the worry he's been trying to mask behind his firm tone. (Daughter, why do you stress so much?)

His eyes, usually so stern, now look tired, full of concern. "No matter what you are going through, devi dirmelo. Hai già dimenticato la tua promessa?" (You have to tell me. Have you already forgotten your promise?)

He pauses, as if to give me space to think. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt me like this. Vederti così mi fa male il cuore." (Seeing you like this breaks my heart.)

I want to speak, to respond, but the lump in my throat refuses to loosen. The walls of my bedroom seem to close in as all the eyes in the room are fixed on me. Papà, Mama, Mateo, Alexandro, Antonio...they're all here, waiting for an answer. I know they love me, but right now it feels like they're all pressing in, like they're expecting me to explain something I don't fully understand myself.

Papa's words linger in the air, heavy with guilt and expectation. He thinks I'm just stressed, but it's deeper than that. I am drowning, and he doesn't even know how deep the water is. Which I totally am.

Before I can find the words, Mama's gentle voice cuts through the tension, her soft tone like a balm to my racing heart. "Amore, non spingerla. Dalle un po' di tempo." She places a hand on Papa's arm, urging him to pull back, to give me some breathing room. (Love, don't push her. Give her time.)

I swallow hard, my throat dry but my heart full of gratitude. "Grazie, Mama," I whisper, my voice barely audible. I'm grateful for her patience, for her understanding. But it also reminds me that she knows something is wrong. They all do. I can't hide it anymore, even if I want to. (Thanks.)

Mateo leans forward, his eyes narrowing, a smirk playing on his lips like he's about to deliver a punchline. He always does this—makes light of things, tries to get a reaction. "So you are hiding something, huh?" His words are meant to tease, but they land heavier than they should. He thinks he's helping, trying to pry something out of me with humor, but right now it feels like he's just twisting the knife.

I snap. The frustration, the weight of everyone's expectations, and the suffocating feeling of being watched—it all boils over. "Yes, I am hiding something!" I blurt out, my voice sharper than I intended. The room goes silent for a beat, and I see Mateo's smirk falter. He didn't expect that. No one did.

But I don't stop there. The anger fuels me, gives me the strength to keep going. "But what does it mean to you?" I glare at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. "After all, you've been hiding your five girlfriends from us this whole time." My words are venomous, but I don't care. He's always so casual about everything, always trying to deflect, and I can't take it anymore.

He raises an eyebrow, unphased. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he prepares his retort. He crosses his arms and leans back like he's been waiting for this. "Correction, sorellina. Not five girlfriends." He lets the words hang in the air, enjoying the suspense he's building. (Little sister.)

Mateo always calls me 'sorellina' even though I am older then him. His logic of sister and lina is sorellina and for some reason I have gotten used to it.

"Unlike Enzo, I'm not sitting at home waiting for my girl to magically appear. I'm out there, looking for her." He completes coolly.

I roll my eyes at his words, but deep down, they sting. He's so casual about everything, so nonchalant about love and life, like it's a game to him. Meanwhile, I'm crumbling under the weight of my own thoughts, and he doesn't even realize it. He doesn't understand how exhausting it is to feel like this, to carry this burden of sadness that I can't shake. He makes it sound so easy, like finding happiness is just a matter of looking harder. But I've been looking. I've been searching for a way out of this darkness, and nothing works.