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It had been a really shit week.
Bethany had known by about eleven o’clock on Monday that her week was going to be tough; her co-worker had gone on holiday and her boss expected to cover both her own work and her co-workers, it was the week before pay-day which meant she was broke, and the weather forecasts had been talking about rain, sleet, and snow. On top of all that, her Seasonal Affective Disorder had been kicking her arse, and her boyfriend was off in LA, living his best life.
She really wasn’t surprised that, by the time she’d gotten in from work on Friday evening, soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone by the sleet that had meant to come down yesterday, that she felt like shit.
Even if she’d been having a good week, being cold and wet would’ve made her annoyed – and after the week from Hell, Bethany was just about done. She couldn’t be fucked with making dinner, or getting in the shower, or even responding the missed calls on her phone from Damiano. All she wanted was to drink a mug of hot chocolate and to crawl into bed for at least twenty-four hours.
Fuck the weather, fuck her job, fuck Damiano – fuck all of it; Bethany was done for the week. She’d deal with all of it on Monday.
And for now, she was going to dig some Baileys or amaretto out of the cupboard to spike her hot chocolate.
Gotta treat myself somehow.
Bethany boiled a kettle and got out a mug to pour the sachet of instant hot chocolate in. It wouldn’t be as nice as the way she normally made hot chocolate, but she wouldn’t care when she poured the alcohol in. Damiano always turned his nose up at instant hot chocolate…but he wasn’t here, so what did his opinion matter?
Motherfucker.
Sighing, Bethany turned to the cupboard where she kept her booze. She wasn’t really angry at Damiano; it wasn’t his fault he was achieving all his dreams while she was stuck working in an office job she hated. Normally she was genuinely and deeply happy for him…but she was just struggling to muster up any positive emotion towards anything right now. Even the amaretto she found didn’t cheer her up; she barely managed a vague feeling of relief that there was one thing that hadn’t gone tits up today.
Pouring the freshly boiled water into the mug, Bethany gave it a vigorous – someone might even say aggressive…but that person could fuck right off – stir to dissolve the hot chocolate powder, before adding a good glug of the amaretto, and lifting the mug to her lips.
“Tesoro mio, please tell me that you aren’t going to drink that…filth.”
Bethany was so surprised at the unexpected voice from behind her, that she almost jumped out of her skin…and promptly spilled her drink over her hand and down her chest.
Her chest was mostly okay; it wasn’t comfortable, but her thick jumper took the worst of the burn…but her hand felt like she’d held it in a candle flame too long. She swore under her breath, dumping the half-empty mug on the counter, and rushed over to the sink to run her hand under the cold tap.
Damiano was behind her a second later, making concerned noises and trying to get a look at her hand, but Bethany shrugged him off.
Just like his absence, this situation wasn’t his fault…but although she knew that rationally, it wasn’t the rational part of her brain wasn’t the bit in control at the moment.
“What the fuck, Damiano?” she hissed over her shoulder at him: “You couldn’t have said something at any point before I was holding a mug of hot chocolate.”
Never one to de-escalate a situation, Damiano sneered: “Well, excuse me for thinking you weren’t actually going to drink that shit. I thought you had taste.”
At this point, Bethany didn’t feel like de-escalating the situation either: “What gave you that impression? I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
“You know what? Vaffanculo. I came back to this shithole to see you, not to be bitched at. I don’t have to be here!”
“Then don’t be! Telling me to fuck off in my own house – you fuck off! Get the fuck out!” by the end of her exclamation, Bethany’s eyes were itching with tears, but Damiano didn’t seem to notice, and she was glad.
She hated crying during a fight; it always made her feel like a little kid again, and she did not need that right now.
Instead, she tilted her chin up defiantly when Damiano glared at her, and glared right back until he threw his hands up and turned to stalk away from her. Bethany let him go, instead heading to her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her. She waited for the front door to slam behind Damiano, making sure he was gone, before falling onto the bed and immediately bursting into tears.
She’d had to wait for him to leave; Bethany was not a quiet crier. She was loud: her choked off sobs echoing in the empty room. Even when she buried her face in the pillow, it still filled up the whole space and it was all she could hear.
She didn’t know how long she cried for; it felt like forever, but eventually her tears dried up and Bethany was left with itchy eyes, a stuffy nose, and a killer headache, laying alone in the dark in her empty flat.
Or not so empty…
“Tesoro?” there was a soft knock on the bedroom door, half a second before Bethany heard it open: “Tesoro, I…mi dispiace tantissimo…I’m sorry. So sorry.”
Bethany looked up – and instantly dropped her head when she saw Damiano wince at the sight of her.
She dropped her head back into the pillows, hiding her no-doubt hideous puffy eyes and blotchy face. It was another reason she hated crying – it always made her look piteous, and it always felt like a bid for sympathy, even when it definitely wasn’t.
Pity was probably the only reason Damiano came to sit next to her on the bed and lay his hand on her shoulder – and she couldn’t bear being pitied. She resisted when he gently tugged at her shoulder, refusing to look at him and hoping that he would just leave…but of course, for all his quick temper, Damiano was a good person. He’d never leave her when she was obviously in such a state.
Instead, he lay down next to her, wrapping and arm around her and pulling her into his side. He urged her to tuck her face into the space between his neck and shoulder…and Bethany went along with it, if only to avoid having to look at him.
Of course, just because she couldn’t see him didn’t mean she couldn’t hear him: “I’m so sorry, tesoro; I didn’t mean to make you cry. It sounded like you were having a bad time, and then you stopped taking my calls, I only wanted to cheer you up.”
“I know,” Bethany muttered in response, because of course Damiano had had good intentions: “I know. I was tired and taken by surprise and my hand hurt, but none of that is any excuse. I’m sorry for being such a bitch.”
“We were both bitches.” Damiano accepted her apology easily: “But I knew you were having a bad time with your boss being a cunt and overworking you, so I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that and made you jump.”
“You couldn’t have known I’d be an idiot and spill everything down myself.” Bethany responded, wanting to absolve him of his guilt: “Beside, you were right. It probably was shit.”
She could picture the face Damiano pulled, and couldn’t help smiling at it.
It was a stereotype that Italians were particular about their food, but it held true for Damiano. He had strong opinions on food, and had the skills to back them up. He was almost as much of a god in the kitchen as he was on stage – although Bethany had been warned separately by Victoria, Ethan, and Thomas to never admit that to him, lest his ego become equally god-like – and cooking was definitely one of his strong points, for all he didn’t get into the kitchen much.
“It smelt like when you wash up the bowl you make brownies with. Only with booze.” Damiano admitted, sounding a little sheepish: “But you still wanted hot chocolate, so I made you some more.”
Bethany finally looked up: “You didn’t have to – ”
Damiano cut her off with a gentle kiss on the lips: “I know. But I wanted to cheer you up. My nonna used to make this for me when I was sad…without the amaretto, anyway.”
He urged her to sit up right – and gently helped her to loose both her jumper and the blouse underneath – before handing her a mug of sweet smelling hot chocolate.
It was nothing like the one she made, or even the nice version of the hot chocolate she made; it was thick, so thick she could almost eat it rather than drink it…and she did spoon a few ‘bites’ into her mouth while Damiano stripped himself of his t-shirt, and offered it to her.
She took it, trading it for the hot chocolate so she could put it on and then shimmy out of her jeans while Damiano took his own sip of hot chocolate. He handed it back to her once she was dressed for bed, kissing her on the forehead again and slipping out of the room. Bethany didn’t get the change to ask where he was going; he was back seconds later, holding the fluffy blanket that was usually draped over the sofa.
“I thought we could just cozy up. There’s nothing we have to do tonight.” he explained, throwing the blanket over the duvet before tucking both over Bethany’s legs: “We can take it easy.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Damiano grinned and climbed into bed next to Bethany, wrapping and arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side.
Bethany offered him a sip of the hot chocolate he’d made…but instead he leaned into to give her a slow, open-mouthed kiss.
“Tastes better on you, tesoro mio.”