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I was wearing a black lace nightie. One of his favorites.
All the women were standing around. Watching.
I somehow managed to walk up to him and sink to my knees. I grasped his tiny penis and put it in my mouth. His groans were disgusting.
I was disgusting.
And then suddenly, he turned into Belinda.
She was bloody. All over. Covered in blood.
Her head was twisted to the side like it was broken. “You could have said something. You could have saved me, you selfish whore.”
I screamed out in terror.
“Shh, Giselle. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m here.” Carlo’s big arms pulled me into his chest. He smelled like spicy pine mixed with whiskey.
And I loved it.
He smelled like Carlo.
I was here.
In Carlo’s house.
In Carlo’s bed.
With Carlo.
Nowhere else.
I was here.
I panted and tried to catch my breath, but it was hard. “I’m sorry,” I whispered for the first time. I’d been here almost three weeks, and I’d never apologized even once.
“What? For what? You have nothing to feel sorry for,” he muttered into the top of my hair.
“I’m sorry for living. I’m sorry I didn’t die after I gave birth. And I’m sorry I’m here now, throwing a wrench into your life.” It all came bubbling out of me, and I didn’t really even understand what I was saying. But it was all true. Every word.
“Jesus, woman.” He rolled us over a bit, and he turned on my bedside lamp. Then he rose up on his arm, resting his handsome head in his hand. “First of all, you have nothing to be sorry for. And secondly, if you had died,” his eyes flitted around my face, “part of me would have died that day, too. I love you, Giselle. You know that. And lastly, you aren’t throwing a wrench into anything. I missed the fuck out of you. And I’m so fuckin’ happy you’re back.”
His eyes. The loving way he looked at me.
And his words.
They all soothed a wounded part of my soul. But it wouldn’t be enough.
All of Carlo’s love couldn’t save me.
“Tell me what you’re dreaming about. It’ll help to get it out in the open.”
I stared at him straight in the face and shook my head.
I could never tell him about my dreams.
He’d think I was out of my mind.
Not that he probably didn’t think that already.
