YOU ARE MY RUIN

Ashes and Ink 2

Chapter — Ashes and Ink (Part II)

I sat quietly at the dining table, my knees pressed together under the chair as I forced myself to keep eating.

I had to eat here.

Monica was allowed to eat in her room.

Sophia sometimes skipped dinner entirely because of something about staying thin for cheer practice.

I never really understood why she did that.

Then again…

I would probably do worse if it meant fitting in.

I pushed another bite into my mouth and chewed slowly.

A long time ago, I used to complain about food.

Now I ate whatever was put in front of me.

Complaining never changed anything.

“Aria.”

I looked up.

Massimo sat across from me, his plate barely touched.

We were the only ones at the table.

Uncle was probably still out on business.

Monica never came down.

Sophia was… Sophia.

“Yes?” I asked softly.

Massimo cleared his throat.

It looked strange when he did that. He always acted like he had everything figured out.

“You have an appointment next week.”

I blinked.

“Appointment?”

His expression hardened immediately.

I lowered my eyes.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“Yes. An appointment.” His voice was clipped. “Your school has raised concerns.”

My stomach twisted.

“They said you tend to… drift away in class.”

I froze.

Miss Florence.

Of course.

“You’ll be seeing a doctor.”

A doctor?

“He will help you work through it.”

I wanted to say I was fine.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t need help.

But something about the way Miss Florence had looked at me earlier made the words feel small.

So I just nodded.

Massimo stood, carrying his plate to the kitchen.

Before leaving, he carefully packed pieces of meat into another dish.

For Monica.

He was the only one who could make her eat.

I had learned that the hard way.

The last time I tried, she refused food for two whole days.

I looked back down at my plate.

Suddenly, swallowing felt impossible.

Tears burned behind my eyes.

I blinked quickly.

I had already cried too much today.

Still…

sometimes the pain of knowing you were alone hurt more than anything.

And Monica hating me—

that hurt worst of all.

I stood up quietly.

Massimo didn’t stop me.

Didn’t ask if I had finished.

Didn’t look up.

My bare feet slapped softly against the cold tiles as I climbed the stairs.

The hallway was dim.

As I passed Monica’s room, I saw light spilling from under the door.

Voices.

At least she was eating.

I kept walking.

---

My room was quiet.

Too quiet.

I sat on my bed and rubbed at my sore eyes.

I shouldn’t have cried in the car.

I reached for my notebook instead.

The assignment.

Miss Florence’s words floated back to me.

Don’t see the crime first. Imagine the person.

I picked up my pencil.

And wrote.

---

Hello Dante Salvatore,

I stared at the page.

No.

That sounded stupid.

I tore it out.

---

Dear Dante Salvatore,

I know this is weird—

No.

Too weird.

I tore that one too.

Paper crumpled around my feet.

I squeezed my pencil tighter.

Mama used to say the best words came when you stopped trying so hard.

I took a deep breath.

Then I wrote again.

---

Dear Dante Salvatore,

My teacher told me to write to someone from a list, and I picked you.

I picked you because your crime scared me.

I don’t really like fire.

I don’t think anybody does.

You don’t have to tell me why you did it if you don’t want to.

Miss Florence said letters are supposed to help people understand each other, but I don’t really know how that works yet.

So I guess I’ll just ask you something instead.

Do prisoners get lonely?

I know that sounds strange.

But I get lonely a lot.

Sometimes even when people are around me.

I think that’s worse than being lonely by yourself.

My sister doesn’t like me very much.

I don’t know why I told you that.

Sorry.

You probably think I’m weird now.

Also… your name sounds important.

And Italian.

I’ve never met anyone Italian before.

I think accents sound nice.

Do you have one?

You don’t have to answer that either.

I talk a lot when I’m nervous.

Sorry again.

If you write back…

I think I’d like that.

From,

Aria

---

I read the letter twice.

Then folded it carefully.

My fingers smoothed the edges.

For some reason…

my chest felt a little lighter.

Like I had put something down I didn’t know I was carrying.

---

One week later

Dante — Age 21

The weight pressed heavily in my hands as I lifted.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Muscle burned.

Sweat slid down my back.

The rage from this morning’s fight still sat under my skin like a second pulse.

Training helped.

Sometimes.

Not enough.

But enough.

“Salvatore.”

I lowered the bar.

A guard stood by the gate, holding something.

“A letter.”

I frowned.

Diego wasn’t due to send anything until Saturday.

I took the envelope.

It looked wrong immediately.

Messy edges.

Uneven fold.

Like someone had fought with the paper before sealing it.

I opened it.

Read the first line.

And stopped.

My eyes moved over the words again.

Slowly.

Then faster.

By the time I reached—

Do prisoners get lonely?

—a sound escaped me before I could stop it.

A laugh.

Low at first.

Then another.

And another.

Real.

Unexpected.

The kind that hurt because I hadn’t used it in so long.

The guard stared at me like I had lost my mind.

I ignored him.

My eyes dropped back to the paper.

To the childish handwriting.

To the awkward apologies.

To the strange honesty.

To the girl who had somehow written to a prison inmate like he was just…

a person.

For the first time in years—

Dante Salvatore laughed.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain…

He kept the letter.