Something To Undo
1278 Words
Camilla didn’t run.
She walked. Fast. Down the crooked stone steps that spilled toward the square. Her sandals slapped the sun-warmed pavement as she cut through the swirl of tourists and locals and mopeds humming like lazy bees.
She wasn’t running.
She just needed air.
The kind of air that didn’t smell like basil or vintage wine or designer perfume.
She reached the jetty and leaned on the railing, eyes on the sea. It was slate-blue and restless today, flecked with white foam. A tour boat drifted in the distance, its speakers spilling out some corny playlist made for people who wanted to feel like they were inside a postcard.
Cam didn’t move.
She hated that she felt something.
She had no claim. No label. No right.
But that woman — Caterina — had walked into Matteo’s world like she belonged. Like she never left. And Matteo… hadn’t stopped her.
Cam swallowed.
It wasn’t about jealousy. She’d known Matteo for three days. You don’t get to be jealous at three days.
But she’d felt something bloom between them — something strange and slow and real — and now it felt like someone had walked in and poured bleach all over the canvas before the painting had even dried.
She took her camera out of her bag. Raised it. Clicked.
Boats. Nets. Seaweed caught in iron rings.
Nothing that mattered.
Nothing that healed.
And still… she stayed.
Back at Marina’s, Matteo stood in the kitchen, fists clenched at his sides.
Caterina leaned against the tiled counter like she owned it. “Are you really going to pretend you weren’t ignoring me?”
“I wasn’t pretending,” he said, too calm.
She exhaled dramatically. “So this is your new tactic? Silence me into vanishing?”
“I didn’t think I needed a tactic. We broke up. You moved out. You took the espresso machine and my mother’s cast-iron pan.”
“It was my pan.”
“No, you were just the one who packed it.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed off the counter. “Come on, Matteo. You and I both know we left too much unsaid.”
“We said enough,” he replied. “You wanted Milan. I wanted roots.”
“And now you’re playing peasant prince to wide-eyed girls with cameras?”
Matteo’s jaw flexed. “Don’t.”
“She’s not even your type.”
“You don’t get to tell me what my type is.”
Caterina crossed her arms. “So what, you’re just fine now? You make pesto and flirt over pasta and that erases what we had?”
Matteo didn’t answer.
Because the truth was: no. It didn’t erase anything. And that was the worst part.
Caterina had been the first person he’d loved with both eyes open. She’d been his fire escape — glamorous, impossible, sharp as broken glass. And she’d wanted him to be more. More ambitious. More mobile. Less… rooted.
And he’d let her go because loving her had started to feel like setting himself on fire to keep her warm.
And yet—
Camilla.
She had walked into his world like a whisper, not a storm. And he hadn’t even realized he was listening for her until she showed up.
“She’s not you,” Matteo said.
Caterina blinked.
“She doesn’t have to be.”
That night, Camilla didn’t sleep.
She lay on top of the sheets, window wide open, moonlight brushing her bare legs. Her thoughts spun like film reels. The look on Matteo’s face. The tension in the air. Caterina’s presence — like something written in bold ink while Cam still felt like a penciled-in maybe.
The thing was, she’d been the other woman before.
Not in the scandalous sense. But in that quiet, invisible way — the one where you don’t realize someone else still owns the room until they walk into it and you’re suddenly the afterthought.
She didn’t want to feel that again.
Didn’t want to be temporary. Didn’t want to invest in something only to find out she was filler.
Her hands curled into the sheets.
Maybe she had made a mistake coming here.
Maybe the quiet, the stillness, the almost-healing — maybe all of that was a lie she’d sold herself.
She closed her eyes.
But Matteo’s voice echoed in her memory.
“Then stay long enough to see what else you can find.”
Cam sat up.
No. She wouldn’t bolt just because it got complicated.
Life was always complicated.
The question wasn’t whether there were ghosts in the room — the question was whether they still had keys.
Morning came in a wash of pink and gold.
Cam headed out early, camera slung over one shoulder, curls still damp from the sink. The town was soft and quiet before the crowds swelled — fishermen repairing nets, an old woman sweeping her stoop, a boy on a bicycle with a baguette sticking out of his backpack.
She didn’t go to Marina’s.
She went to the cliffs.
There was a hiking trail that wrapped up behind the village and curved through olive groves and terraced vineyards. She took the path slowly, pausing to snap shots of dew on leaves, broken fences, sun flare through cypress trees.
Up here, the world felt less like a tangle.
When she reached the ridge, she sat on a wide stone and pulled out her water bottle. The view was staggering — rooftops like toy blocks, the sea a wide inhale, the horizon a soft promise.
And then — footsteps.
She turned.
Matteo.
He wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t surprised.
“I figured you’d be here,” he said.
“Did Caterina tell you where to find me?”
He winced. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Cam said. “I just needed space.”
“Didn’t want to stay and hear the ex-lover drama?”
Cam shrugged. “Been there. Didn’t want the encore.”
He sat beside her, careful not to touch. “She left. This morning. I asked her to.”
Cam glanced at him, surprised. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t live here anymore. And she doesn’t get to pretend she still does.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“I’m not a rebound,” Cam said softly.
“I know.”
“And I’m not looking for a thing. I’m not sure I’m even—”
“I’m not asking for anything,” he said. “Except… honesty.”
She studied him. “That’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
The wind picked up, warm and salty. She looked out at the sea again, then back at him.
“You scared me,” she admitted.
“Because of Caterina?”
“Because of me,” Cam said. “Because I can see myself staying. Wanting something. Letting someone in. And I’m not sure I know how to do that without losing pieces of myself.”
Matteo turned to her then, serious. “You don’t have to lose anything. You just have to be willing to share.”
Her breath caught.
He wasn’t asking her to collapse into him. He was asking her to exist beside him. As she was. Still healing. Still unsure. Still herself.
Cam reached into her bag and pulled out her camera. Without a word, she lifted it and took his photo — a candid, raw shot of him lit by morning sun, eyes open and unguarded.
She looked at the screen.
Then smiled “I’ll keep this one.”
- Writer
