The Confessions Of A Concubine. Roberta Mezzabarba

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СКАЧАТЬ me so much that often in the recurring moments of solitude I burst into floods of tears that could find no consolation.

      Even when the tears stopped falling and the sobs calmed, I did not feel a little more relaxed.

      I was just tired.

      Tired inside.

      And as I felt myself founder, the only thought

      that gave me a reason to exist was Pietro.

      ***

      It was a cold winter, it had been raining incessantly for too many days to remember how many.

      I was sorting invoices into the files, hidden by a shelf full of papers.

      I hadn't heard Pietro approaching.

      "I’ve found a place."

      His warm breath on my neck left bare by my hair gathered on the nape of the neck confused me.

      "Go down the stairs to the ground floor, then continue for two more ramps, where there are all those boxes. See you down there."

      That said, he disappeared just as he had appeared, leaving me in the throes of a cyclone of emotions.

      My arms felt heavy, and my legs did not support

      me, my heart was thumping so fiercely that it seemed to me that everyone in the studio could hear it.

      What was I to do?

      Think.

      Reflect.

      I didn't give a damn about reflecting at that moment.

      Think, make your head work.

      What should I do?

      Do I go down?

      No, I don't go down.

      What if I don't go down and he gets upset and doesn't talk to me again?

      I can't risk being left without what only he can give me.

      I’m going down.

      No.

      I don't know.

      So I found myself going down the steps of that

      place which was so squallid, where the entire condominium piled up things of no use.

      It was dark.

      What if Pietro hadn’t come down?

      What if he had played a bad joke on me?

      In the dim light that enveloped me I saw his face emerge, and his hands outstretched looking for me.

      My steps raised small clouds of dust that danced in the beams of light that penetrated through the dirty windows.

      I let myself be lured as if in a dream, as if it were not me taking part in that encounter, but that I was seeing it on a television screen.

      His arms were strong and squeezed me hard against his chest.

      "I have wanted to hug you like this for so long,"

      he said to me.

      I couldn’t speak: a knot of emotion and fear gripped my throat suffocating every syllable in my mouth.

      His hands wandered over my body exploring it, showing him by touch everything that the darkness, which surrounded us, concealed from view.

      Then gliding gently down my neck with caressing fingers he stopped at the first button of the cardigan I was wearing.

      I stiffened.

      And he felt it.

      "What's wrong, baby? What are you afraid of, you know that I love you? Don’t you know that? So let yourself go. I've never wanted anyone like I want you right now."

      His gestures became insistent.

      My hands still crossed on my chest did not loosen.

      It was he who capitulated.

      "And that's fine. I understand, you need time."

      He kissed me for moments that seemed

      incredibly long.

      He whispered words to me that I had never heard, filling me with unknown sensations, kissing me, on my eyelids, my eyes closed.

      ***

      Under the hot jet of the shower.

      Not moving.

      Thinking of him.

      With eyes wide open, see everything that happened again, like in a movie.

      Incredible.

      I was still feeling my heart beating furiously, when I looked out of the basement to see if I could go upstairs without anyone seeing me.

      Holding the handrail anchored to the wall and quickly climbing the stairs.

      Still aware of the neon light of the supermarket that hurt my eyes accustomed to the dark.

      And finding myself answering a customer with

      forced ease who asked me where she could find the crispbread.

      Seeing Pietro again from my desk a few minutes later, coming back into the office, winking at me as he asks me for the packing slips from the mineral water supplier.

      The water runs over my nape and slides down my back. There is no soap that can wash away the thoughts that are crowding my mind.

      Or maybe I don’t want to wash everything away.

      This will be my secret.

      Our secret.

      The small joy of each day.

      The red notebook is waiting in my bag, Filippo is sleeping in the armchair with the remote control in his hand, the television tuned to one of those insane programs that I detest from the bottom of my heart.

      I write.

      

       And I lose myself thinking about you.

       sweetly relaxed,

       ineffectual

       like all the hours

       that separate me from you.

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