Chapter Text
There were lots of things Chiara could have done right. There were lots of things she should have done right. But humans are a species built on mistakes, and some are more prone to making them than others. Chiara just happened to be that kind of person.
Maybe it was the way she would overreact at the small things Antonio would do, like fold the laundry inside out, or the way she brushed off his kind-hearted gestures as just another way to get into her pants. It could have just been that Antonio was tired of her, or that Chiara had just been a shoe-in for Alice all along and he was sick of waiting.
Regardless, Alice was better in some way or another. She always had been. Alice got the nicer clothes because she worked harder. Alice had more friends because Chiara was "just such a bitch.” Alice, Alice, Alice. It was as though the world revolved around her and everyone was sucked into her gravitational pull.
Chiara had learned that pitying herself was a fruitless effort. Their dynamic would always work this way, as it had since childhood. There was no means of escape. Of course, it still made Chiara bitter. It always would. But, as she eventually figured out, it was much easier to accept the criticism and loneliness than it was to try and defend herself.
When Antonio entered her life, it was as though the rain clouds dissipated and the sun shined at last. For once, she had something all her own. Antonio could have easily picked Alice over her. Most people did. But he chose her. Not even Alice could take that fact away from her ― or so she thought. Was it foolish to think Chiara had a chance, to think that Alice wouldn’t take this sliver of hope for herself? Apparently so. It made her blood boil, realizing how blindly ignorant she'd been. How could she be so stupid? So naïve?
Antonio stood silently as the rhythm of her fists banging against his chest slowed. Her anger was melting into grief. Colour was beginning to return to her knuckles, and as she unclenched her hands, small beads of blood began to form where she had broken skin. Chiara’s harsh words were now unintelligible, choking sobs. She tried and failed to hold them back, but with each tear, each gasp for air, they only became more suffocating.
Chiara backed against the wall. A picture of her and Antonio from their first vacation tilted from the impact. She slid down as her legs buckled beneath her, weak and vulnerable. Antonio stood over her, watching the undoing of Chiara. His eyebrows furrowed but he said nothing.
“Why?” Chiara mumbled into her arms, which wiped away at a stream of tears. “Why?” She asked again, more clearly but still muffled. Antonio did not respond. She sniffed and looked up into his green eyes. Once they were a bright, shining emerald, but now they were dull. Her own eyes were cloudy, and she could barely make out his expression but from the lack of words, she supposed it was less than indifferent.
Chiara shakily regained her stance. Her legs were gelatin. “Fucking answer me!” She shrieked. “God damn it, Antonio! Answer me!” She hit the wall. The picture frame swung from its place again. Antonio avoided meeting her eyes and offered a slight shrug.
Chiara nearly lost it.
She laughed in disbelief. “That’s it?” Her jaw clenched and her body trembled. She narrowed her eyes. Another tear ran down her cheek. “That’s fucking it?” Raising up a shaky hand, Chiara pointed behind Antonio. From where they stood in the hallway leading to their rooms, his back faced the living room and the kitchen. Their living room and kitchen. The one they had shared so many memories and meals in. The one where some nights, their eyelids would grow heavy and their breathing would slow as they fell asleep on the couch together. Those late night game show weekends where, in the morning, their backs would ache, but they would wake in each other’s warm embrace.
But now, it was Chiara’s house. Her hallway, her kitchen, her living room, her couch.
She pointed at her front door.
“Get the fuck out.” She hissed.
“I- “Antonio began.
“I said get the fuck out.”