To Have & to Hurt by Morgan Bridges
Violetta
“Violetta.”
As though an invisible rope has been tossed around my waist, I come to an abrupt stop just one foot shy of the bathroom door, with my hand already reaching for the knob. I can’t gather the strength to face Tristano, which is why I don’t turn around right away.
“You should know better than that, ribelle.”
I lower my shaking hand to the knob, but don’t open the door. Instead, I drop my forehead against the wood with a dull thud. The energy from Tristano is so different than anyone I’ve ever been around, which is saying a lot because I’ve known powerful men in the criminal world my entire life.
But he’s…too much.
“No.” My whisper is nothing more than a puff of air, no stronger than an infant’s breath, yet the vibration of my vocal cords startles me. I swallow as though the lubrication will enable me to speak with greater ease than before and say the word again. “No.”
The tiny sound finally does more than ride on a gentle breeze. It hits the air, still weak but with a hint of volume. Giving voice to the rebellion building inside me is a release and it frees some of my frustration and anxiety. I know Tristano won’t hurt me, despite his apparent desire for me, and maybe that’s why I’m able to give him my refusal.
I lift my head and fist both hands by my side, imagining the material in the one hand is my courage and strength. Clutching it like a lifeline, I slowly turn around to face Tristano, bracing myself for the murderous expression sure to be found on his handsome features.
But that’s not what I see.
Yes, his silver eyes are lustrous and bright, and yes, he’s staring at me with enough intensity to pierce my mental armor. However, there’s also a gleam that has nothing to do with desire or anger, and everything to do with awe and wonder.
“Did you speak to me?” he asks.
Because his voice is almost as soft as mine, the words sound less intimidating. I lift my chin a fraction of an inch, not in defiance—although that personality trait may never leave me—but to show him I’m standing my ground.
“Yes.” The monosyllable leaves me on an exhale and it takes that forceful breath to push the sound forward and out into the open. It’s strange that this sensation utilizes so many different parts of me, but the muscle memory is there and it’s comforting.
Tristano’s eyes flash and then he’s stalking toward me with urgent steps as though I might bolt. It’s my gut reaction, but there’s nowhere for me to run and I’m tired of being confused because of him. His kisses have me forgetting reality and his touches make me want to throw all caution to the wind. That type of behavior will be detrimental to me.
And I’ll be the one who ends up paying the price for my indiscretion, not him.
He’ll be able to walk away and leave me altered forever, unable to change back into what I once was, who I once was before he came into my life. I’ve fought so hard to protect my identity and although I have to reframe that because of Carina’s actions, I won’t lose the parts of me that are connected to my soul.
My heart and mind, the two things Tristano could easily conquer and take prisoner.
I take a step back, my spine hitting the door when he gets too close and encroaches my personal space. But he doesn’t stop at a respectable distance, choosing to continue forward until there are only inches between us.
At the touch of his hand encircling my throat, panic zips through me and along my extremities to prepare me for flight. Yet, the tender sweep of his thumb down the column of my neck stills me.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to hear you speak,” he says. I gaze at him with a quizzical expression, the weight of my thoughts creasing my forehead, and Tristano exhales. “It doesn’t make any sense to me either.” The side of his mouth tilts up in a half-smile and my heart expands in my chest until I worry it might flatline. The way he’s looking at me right now wrecks me more than any harsh word ever could.
A part of me wants to provoke him so his anger will return and I’ll be free of the trance he’s put me in with that roguish curve of his lips. It’s not hard to assume this lighter type of expression from him is uncommon. When would someone like Tristano have the inclination to be carefree and relaxed? Given that he’s the head of his family and runs a criminal organization, the answer is simple. Hardly, if ever.
Which is why I indulge myself and soak in the rare moment.
“What is it about you?” Tristano asks this as if he’s posing the question to himself instead of me, and there’s a great deal of confusion in his tone. He wants an answer and it’s one I don’t have.
But desperately want to know.
“Why do you tempt me in ways that have nothing to do with carnal thoughts and desires?” he says, briefly closing his eyes as though in pain. I almost reach out to soothe him, to brush away the lock of hair that’s fallen across his brow, but I don’t. Because if I touch him I won’t want to stop. “What makes you so special?”
Tristano deserves to know the truth about me, that I’m an average woman, easy to overlook. I’m not vivacious like my sister, who makes an impression wherever she goes. I’m not the most beautiful woman to walk the Earth and I don’t have any assets which would add to my value. All I am is myself.
Something I’m still trying to identify…
“I’m not special,” I say. It must’ve been too quiet because he lowers his head, so I try again. “I’m just ordinary.”
Tristano’s gaze drills mine as he searches it, looking for something I don’t want to share or reveal. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he says finally.
I turn my head, not wanting him to see how unoriginal I really am. I don’t have low self-esteem, but neither do I think I’m memorable. I’ve been in my sister’s shadow all my life and it’s been a place of security for me. Carina never left me behind and would always bring me into the fold if I wanted. However, she knew I was happy to watch life from the sidelines.
Now that Rafael’s important to her, it’s doubtful I have the same place in her life.
It raises the question: now that the dynamics have changed, what is my place? Do I even have one anymore? This line of thinking drowns me in a pool of self-pity, born of my insecurities, confusion, and loneliness.
“Come back to me,” Tristano says. He leans closer than before and sweeps his lips across the side of my neck, just above my hammering pulse. “Don’t leave now that I’ve found you.”
A sigh flows from my mouth at the feel of his lips pressed against my skin. My body rises in temperature from the heat radiating off him and onto me, and a flush slowly covers me, one of both anticipation and arousal.
“What?” I breathe. I’m quickly losing the battle of keeping my lungs filled with air and my breaths regular. My pants are near soundless, but I feel each one extensively. They’re proof of the weakness that assails me whenever Tristano touches me.
He lifts his head to stare down at me and then lightly taps my temple once. “You hide in there and I assume it’s because of some unpleasant experiences.” He drags his index finger down the side of my face, languidly tracing the curve of my cheek and the length of my jaw, before dragging his fingertip along the seam of my lips. “I would know your thoughts, your secrets, and your desires, Violetta.”
“Why?”
“You already convey so much without even speaking, which leads me to believe if you actually did, it’d be enlightening. But also, I seek clarity in all things to avoid ambivalence, which often turns into disarray. And with you I can’t be certain of anything, although I’m rarely wrong when it comes to people.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Tristano what he sees when he looks at me. Is it a child on the cusp of adulthood? Or a woman and potential lover? Does he see me as an extension of my sister and not as my own individual? Or am I so enmeshed with Carina that no one knows who I am without her?
I bite the inside of my cheek until blood flows across my tongue. I’ve never really thought of my life without my sister because it’s my greatest fear, more than anything in this world. And now that nightmare has joined the one featuring Ugo.
For me, Carina is both a source of comfort and fear.
I’ve never wanted to acknowledge that because the thought feels disloyal. I’ve struggled against this line of thinking, but it’s done nothing except create an emotional distance from me to her, a gorge I’m not sure she can lessen or bridge.
Tristano takes my face between his hands and the contact jars me, causing me to blink rapidly. “Have I upset you?” he asks, his voice stark with worry. He sweeps his thumbs just under my eyes and the dampness there surprises me.
And humiliates me.
I haven’t cried since the night my sister was forced to leave our father’s home.
After slamming my palms against Tristano’s chest, I shove with all my might. I refuse to break down in front of him and the very idea of doing that has me almost vibrating from the energy shooting through me, urging me to be alone. Tristano doesn’t take more than a single step back, yet that’s all I need.
I tear my face away from his hold and quickly spin to the right in order to remove myself from reach. Then I make a beeline for the door, running like the devil is on my heels. My steps aren’t soundless and Beni swivels his head in my direction from where he reclines on the couch, his brows inching up his forehead.
“Wha—”
The fact that he doesn’t stop me from wrenching the front door open and darting outside is a clear indication Tristano’s right behind me. If he wasn’t, Beni would’ve done whatever he needed to detain me.
“Leave me alone,” I say in the wind, not daring to turn back and look.
Instead I run until my lungs feel as if they’re being clenched in a fist and my legs shake so badly I stumble. It’s only when my vision blurs with tears and my chest aches unbearably that I slow down and sink to the ground. The moon provides enough light, but the trees overhead block out a lot of it with the fullness of their leaves.
A breeze, full of warmth and moisture, blows past me and it’s as though Mother Nature is offering her sympathies. My behavior could be blamed on a number of things, such as my age, the events of the past couple days, or the stress I’m under. It’s none of those.
I don’t know who Violetta is and it’s terrifying.
Minutes pass with me weeping uncontrollably. Or has it been only seconds? What does time matter if you don’t really know your identity? Or how to find it?
“That’s enough.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of Tristano’s stern voice. I’ve felt his presence the entire time and I’m not stupid enough to think he’d let me waltz off into the night unguarded. Knowing he watched me cry is shameful and I’m already retreating back into my mind where it’s safe, gathering my silence around me like a forcefield to keep me from opening up again. And to keep people out.
Tristano isn’t subtle at all when he walks over and positions himself directly in front of me. The weight of his footsteps, unheard when he followed me, reveal his determination, as well as his vexation. I open my eyes but keep my gaze lowered. It takes time to get into such a deep state of mind and if I look at him I may not be able to stay quiet.
“Violetta, you’re going to get up right now and then we’re going to return to the guest house where you will explain this emotional outburst, as well as answer any questions I have. Entirely with your voice. Hai capacito?”
Rebelling against my father was easy because he didn’t want my secrets, he wanted my subjugation. But Tristano wants everything from me and he’s willing to take it.
But I’d freely give it all to him, if he’d only reciprocate.