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I’m not sure how long I sit there thinking about Valerio, thinking about Nico. But eventually, it becomes too much. I’ve always hated the silence. Silence can be so stifling at times, and right now, the silence in my apartment is driving me crazy.
I want nothing more than to talk to my sister, to tell her what’s going on. She would understand. More than anyone else. But she’s currently in the air. And I want her to already be settled in Brazil before I break the news. I’m a little uneasy about Nico knowing her location, but I have to believe he won’t do anything to her unless provoked.
Lucia has to remain safe. That’s all I care about.
After a couple more minutes pass, I get to my feet, walking toward my kitchen.
“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself, rifling through my cupboards until I find a bottle of vodka I had hidden away for a rainy day.
I’m not a very big fan of drinking. I usually hate the way it makes me feel. Especially the aftermath. But today isn’t simply a rainy day. It’s downright storming. I grab the bottle before putting on comfortable slippers and heading out my front door. I lock the door behind me, the sound of the click echoing in the quiet hallway.
I walk toward the elevator, pressing the call button, and waiting for the doors to open. I step in, the subtle scent of cleaning solution lingering in the air. I press the button for the seventh floor, waiting as it begins its ascent. It opens once again with a soft ding, revealing a similar hallway to the one I just left.
I walk a few more steps, stopping in front of a door painted a deep, sophisticated blue, with a brass plaque showcasing the apartment number. There’s a black keypad a lot like mine beside the door handle. I hold the bottle in one hand and with my other, I input the passcode with practiced ease.
As soon as I walk through the door, I’m enveloped with the scent of flowers, courtesy of the various potted flower arrangements lining the entryway. I shake my head at the sight of them, wondering about my friend’s weird habits.
I find Sabrina lying on her living room couch. She’s got her gaze fixed on the entryway. She relaxes at the sight of me. I relax too, feeling at ease for the first time since Nico showed up at my door.
“Any particular reason why you’re breaking into my house at ten p.m.?” Sabrina asks coolly, running a hand through her long auburn hair.
Her living room is mostly dark, the brightest light coming from the TV, which is playing one of those dull romance films she seems to enjoy. She watches them to fall asleep, and judging by the dullness of her blue eyes, she was half asleep already. I feel guilty, but I really needed company.
I’ve known Sabrina for ten years. We’ve been practically inseparable since we met in college, and I love her like a sister. Despite that, though, she doesn’t know who I really am. So I can’t very well tell her what’s really going on. I settle for the best excuse I can think of.
“I ended things with Killian,” I say, remembering that fact at the exact moment the words leave my lips.
Sabrina’s arches an eyebrow. “Good riddance. You were always better than that dickhead. Now tell me why you’re really here. And what’s with the booze? I know that’s not because of Killian.”
I sigh. Sometimes, it’s really annoying that she knows me so well. She makes room for me on the couch, and I take a seat beside her, placing the bottle on the coffee table in front of us.
“Can’t I just want to drink my sorrows away for one night?”
Sabrina arches an eyebrow. “What sorrows?”
Damn it, she’s really giving me a hard time. I thought it’d be easier for me to convince her to do this with me.
“The sorrows of…” I search for a compelling answer. “Life?” I offer half-heartedly.
Sabrina snorts. “You’re ridiculous. But I’m not going to question you too much because that vodka’s looking more appealing by the second.”
I roll my eyes. My best friend, the alcoholic, ladies and gentlemen. She’s not actually addicted, though. Sabrina does possess some measure of self-control. I’ve just never seen her turn down an opportunity to drink before, which is how I knew to come here.
She gets to her feet to get some glasses from a cupboard, and my eyes settle on the large flat-screen TV in front of me. It’s some sort of Turkish drama that’s playing on the screen. And the characters are apparently in the middle of a breakup. The girl is bawling, damn near begging the guy not to leave her, which is pretty pathetic.
I don’t hesitate to tell Sabrina that when she gets back.
“People do desperate things when they’re in love,” my best friend argues. “Plus, she’s in pain. I don’t think she realizes how pathetic she looks.”
At least she agrees with me that it’s pathetic.
“If it hurts so much, then it’s not worth it in the first place,” I state.
Sabrina smiles, looking at me sideways, “Your opinions don’t matter in this situation because you’ve never loved anyone like that before.”
“And I never will,” I grit out.
What I really I want to say is, “What if I have and I know never to make that mistake again?”
