Barrett: A Love Beyond Time

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Sometimes The Starting Point is Also the Last

The sunlight hit my face causing me to wake up. I looked to the side, Roger was sleeping quietly. He brought me here? I do not remember I have gone to bed, much less when I sleep. My mind still remembered the way Roger looked at me last night... It was almost frightening remember his expression. I felt awkward around him.

He was probably suspicious of me, but I do not blame him for that, nor myself could trust me. I thought I hated Syd, but I had the real proof that I can not do it. What I felt for him was stronger than any hate, and even though I hated myself for it, I still loved him. My love for him was like a chain that kept me from fleeing to anywhere where I could hide all this, I was stuck with it, like it or not.

I went back to look at Roger, so calm, at least in sleep. I stretched a bit and my hand went lightly on the cheek. His lips formed a slight smile.

"I want to be clear that I still want to kill you." He muttered. "Do not try to soften my heart."

"How can I soften something that does not exist?" I asked. He opened his eyes and stared at me.

"It exists, but I prefer to leave it protected." He said. "It's easier to live."

I approached him. "But your heart has to be hidden to me?" I asked.

"Sometimes." He turned to the other side and covered her head with the blanket. "Or almost always."

I stopped in front of that huge building, it was like a museum, only without seeming to. That place brought back so many memories, in their majority, perhaps more memories than I wanted to have. I pushed the huge and heavy wooden door and walked slowly inside. The place was more conserved than I expected, there was someone at the seen very good care of it.

"I've said I'll pay you next week!" Pietro shouted. I started to smile at the same time. He walked out of one of the rooms of the place and stood in front of me. "Alice." He began to smile.

"To whom you owe money now?" I asked quietly. "How are you? You ok?"

"I thought it was... never mind." He began to smile even more, only this time the most awkward way possible. "I'm fine... I actually missed you. And you?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I'm okay." I replied. "Well, that is quite different."

"They make how many years?" He asked. "I saw her last month, she has grown a lot since then. She looks a lot like her father, very much."

"I can imagine." I nodded. "I talked to her last night."

"Good." He said.

If others were not there listening to loud music, we both would have been taken by the morbid silence. Pietro approached me and hugged me. I did nothing because he had done it in a little moment of my distraction, but for a few seconds I got no reaction, a few seconds later I moved my hands on his back. I felt his hands stroking my hair and holding my waist. My head was leaning on his chest, the strong smell of perfume it was giving me nausea. This is horrible. The fact that I make sure again that Pietro was still in love with me made ​​me feel disgusted with myself. I pulled away from him and stared at the ground because it is impossible to die of embarrassment.

"Where is Nuria?" I asked softly. We're talking about Nuria... "She's still here, is not?"

"Yeah." He smiled awkwardly. "She must be out there. You'll be lucky if you can find her."

Pietro grinned, as silly grin I had ever seen, and went walking through the corridor to his room. I began to walk through the dark marble floor as he watched things that had never changed. That place was not really a famous gallery or something, made ​​some years that photographers not posed that place and there were no famous artists, most of them were foreigners who lived trying his luck in London. There was no white wall , no frame of millions of dollars, no Greek statue or rich people to enjoy it. All there was in that place were dreams and more dreams, embroidered with talents and lives. Most of the walls were cracked, the majority of the windows were broken and I believed there was no water or electricity on most days of the year. Pietro was one of those refugees who lived in that place. He had studied medicine, but his medical career did not last long. Pietro lived like a pauper almost since his father had disowned him, was like a return for what his family had done to him. But I had not given anything in return for what he had done for me.