Thirty-Eight
803 Words
Niccolo
You don't deserve her name.
I meant it. But I shouldn't have said it. What should I have done? Caved into her temper tantrum and tell her? Leave her?
Why not just leave her?
She doesn't love me. She thinks she does. I can tell by the fire in her tone that she thinks she's in love with me. But she's not. Love isn't something you can just…fall into.
People say that, but people also say pineapple pizza is good. So…we know not to trust what people say.
Love is too complex to stumble into. When you love someone, truly love someone, they fuel you. They become your other half.
You know them. You have to know someone to truly love them. She doesn't know me. Hell, she doesn't know herself. She's so adamant that she's grown but she's still immature.
She doesn't know me. She doesn't know my favorite color. She doesn't know my birthday. She doesn't know my favorite food, or what I like to do on Saturday mornings.
She doesn't know who my parents are, where I've been, who I've been, what I do. She doesn't know me.
She thinks she doesn't, but so does everyone else. They think they know me.
And that's okay.
I just wanted a distraction. I wanted some fun. I wanted some tenderness. Some human contact. I wanted her. But now…
I order Angelo to turn around. Go back to her house.
I'm gonna finish this.
So I stalk back upstairs, I burst into her apartment. She's not in the living room. So I go into when bedroom. I
My hand wraps around the knob.
I don't let her sobs deter me. I need to set this straight. I turn the knob, and go in the room.
“You don't know who I am. So stop saying you love me,” I state without preamble.
She hiccups, looking up at me. She wipes her tears away hurriedly, steeling her expression.
“Leave, Niccoló. I get it.”
I don't think she does. “No. Tell me what do you know about me? What do you...love about me?”
“You're right," She says, her eyes blazing. “I'm wrong. I don't love you. I don't know you. And I don't want to.”
Well, I never said that last part but okay.
“Now, you're lying.”
She stays silent. My heart thudded at the sight in front of me. She looked so hurt. Her lip seemed to quiver, but she bit it to stop me from seeing. Her puppy dog eyes, were rounded, dull off tears and she just…
“God, you're adorable.”
She scrunched her face up in disbelief.
“Whatt?”
“No, I...I wasn't talking about you. I just—”
“There's no one else here.”
“I was talking about the kitten, outside.”
She squinted skeptically. “For a Mafia boss, you're a horrible liar.”
I shake my head, clearing this entire conversation from my brain.
“The point is, is that you don't love me.”
“You said that."
“Yeah, but I don't think you're getting it,” I emphasize, putting one foot in front of the other until I'm right there, sharing the air that she breathes.
“You think you know me, but you know nothing about me.”
She looks away. I don't stop.
“What's my birthday? What's my favorite color? Am I allergic to anything—”
She scoffs. “You're so blind. Love isn't about knowing random facts. But fine. I don't know, okay. I don't you. I don't know that you secretly love the color yellow because it reminds you of the sun. It makes you feel warm. I don't know that you hate cheese. All types of cheese, but you don't hate macaroni and cheese.”
“I don't know that you love tiramisu, or that you love your cousin more than you will ever admit, especially outloud. You scared to be comfortable, you're scared to be open, you're scared of the dark, but you're so used to it, you can ignore it now.”
“And sure I know those things, but it doesn't matter right? I don't love you. And no one can love you like she can.”
I'm frozen. She takes advantage, brushing past me, leaving her own room, to escape me.
“H-how did you?”
“It doesn't matter, Niccoló. I'll never compare to her. I'm done trying.”
She gives me her back, leaving her own apartment to get away from me. I wait.
She'll come back, I think, so I wait.
I wait. And wait.
But she doesn't come back. Not that night. Not the next day.
She doesn't come back.
- Writer
