Chapter Text
i look at the empty chair, moonbeams illuminating the expensive fabric. corteo, where have i gone wrong? corteo, when did it stop becoming about getting close to nero? corteo, should i have listened to your advice?
the empty space stares back at me, judgemental hallucination piercing me with all of my sins up to this point. my eyes droop and i don't know where to begin. when did the smiles that crossed my face become genuine? when did the sinking feeling in my gut when i saw nero's face turn into butterflies and weak knees?
my hands tremble and i reach into my breast pocket for my lighter and grab a cig from the coffee table. as i watch the smoke twist and swirl, illuminated by the full moon, flecks of dust dancing around it. suddenly i'm a child again. running for my life, lungs filled with frozen air and puffs of breath frantically spinning in the darkness. my chest feels like it's going to bust, my stomach like i'm about to vomit.
a gunshot rings out but the bullet vastly misses its mark.
my hands tremble.
i slip and fall in the snow but i get back up and keep running.
i take a drag of my cigarette to calm me.
why can't things be black and white?
corteo, when did my resolve falter? did you notice? did you try to get rid of nero because you watched me fall for him? did you notice the look in my eyes when he approached? how i gravitate towards him and his imposing stance, confidence leaking out of his pores? corteo, were you jealous? did you want me to look at you like i looked at him?
... no, of course you wouldn't, corteo. you just wanted to be a brother to me. i drop my cigarette and feel the soft crunch against thethin carpet when i stomp it out. i run my hands through my hair, but i can't help wish they were nero's; thick palms and meaty fingers, an opposing match for my own. perhaps in another life, i could have been an artist or musician with hands like these. instead of creation, they seek to destroy.
an opposing match to nero's, which seek to hold my soft skin and slender body as if it were prcelain. if he only knew. if only he knew the intentions of this empty shell. if only he could continue treating my body like the idol of loyalty and good intentions that he believes it to be.
corteo, why couldn't i keep my emotions in check with nero? was it because i'd never felt anything like what he offered to me? was it due to the novelty of his puppylike affection?
i think of his and my kisses, stolen under moonlight, corteo. i think of them often. of those hands, used for protecting morals and family and trust, cupping my cheeks with hesitance. of nero's chapped lips meeting my own, his goatee against my skin. i think of the nights those hands wandered up and down my body, delicate touches against my pale skin aglow with moonlight. he would stare at me with near reverence, corteo. i remember his tears when he first told me how beautiful he thought i was, corteo, and i can't get it out of my mind.
despite his overflowing trust in me, despite how drenched in sugar and rosewater the memories i share with nero are, i want to drag him into the inky depths of despair that i feel day and night. he thinks he understands me; what i seek to do would make him truly understand.
how can i reconcile these two halves of myself? the longer i play pretend as avilio bruno, the more my younger self, the angelo lagusa that once existed, wishes to break away from the chains of this farce. the more i cradle myself to nero's chest and realize he-- like the people whose deaths i've caused up to this point-- has a heartbeat too, the more that the inky tar creeps in my chest and causes emotions to bubble up from the depths.
corteo, i never wanted to feel anything but satisfaction from this plot of mine. why do i find tears pooling in my eyes when i think of hurting nero? when i think of all of the heartache i've caused him and the people around me? corteo, have i even been doing the right thing all along?
my vision of corteo is no longer in front of me.
of course he's not; he never thought this path was the right one in the first place. i grab another cigarette to ease my shaking body, to dry the sobs wracking my body now. i have to stick to my convictions, for my dead family's sake.
i long for the release that chaos among the vanettis will bring me. it's the only hope that my rotten soul has left.