by Mj Fields
“Yeah, no.” I look back at Matteo. “No. Do you hear me?”
His eyes soften, and he speaks just as softly. “I do hear you, Tris.”
Carlos scribbles my name then pushes the papers forward, with my name handwritten on it.
I sign.
“I grew up in a place where love wasn’t fostered but built on lies. A place where riches and luxury replaced love, and the desire to gain power to control everything around was bred. I didn’t know I was missing anything, but every day, I was made aware I was different. Sports and socializing didn’t appeal to me as much as books and art. Reflecting back, it was probably because I was often tired and preferred to partake in quiet activities. In hindsight, I realize that was because of my condition.” He sits back and takes a sip of his water. I can tell he’s thinking about what to say and how to say it next.
“Do you want to use the app?”
“No, Tris. I want to be able to speak to you without the possibility of my words getting lost in translation.”
He sets the water down. “My father passed when I was young. I didn’t know him well, I was but five years old. What I remember is his obsession with the estate.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nods and looks out the window as he continues, “Mother was obsessed with social standing and making her own mother happy.” He chuckles in a deep tone. “Which wasn’t an easy feat. But, over the following several years, upon returning from our private boarding school, things about the property became less worn and more appealing to the eye. Everyone seemed happier, more staff was added to the household, and it seemed as if every time we came home, there was an event, or party. As a boy, I recall most of my time spent there was being told what to do, what to wear, how to act, and the only time affection was shown was amongst a crowd. Otherwise, it was off to a lesson or a sporting club.” He looks at me then down, with sadness in his eyes. “I was not close with my family ever. My brothers were, how do I say—”
“Disgusting human beings and mentally abusive monsters,” Carlos pipes in.
His lips curve up a bit. “They were what they were bred to be.” He looks back at me. “Our grandmother, she didn’t like me. I wasn’t a show pony for her like Dante and Hugo. They knew she held the purse strings, and they fed off her, and me to her, whenever she looked spiteful. The reward, the hope that when our mother finally drank herself into her grave, they’d gain control. At times, there were apologies and promises to ensure my lifestyle did not change, which showed humanity not often felt there.”
He clears his throat and sits back, continuing, “I don’t blame them; they knew no different. And Hugo is finally taking interest in parenting.”
“Giving them that excuse is growing old, my friend. You certainly didn’t fall prey to that. And don’t you give that despicable man any credit. He knows he’s now under your favor and that you love your nieces. He’s showing interest because he knows that you want better for the girls.”
“People can change, and it is my sincere hope he does.”
“He called you a queer every chance he got. He made you believe you were gay. Luckily for you, I disproved that fact.”
What? I think. And also, Why is this being brought up at this time, at a time I’m learning he is …? Well, I now understand my father’s inability to say the word suicide.
Matteo looks at me. “What Carlos is saying is that I went through an experimental phase in my youth.”
“With him?” I ask curiously.
“Young lady, I should have felt used but, quite honestly, I am honored to have been the one to disprove that.” He leans forward and whispers, as if Matteo can’t hear him, “He has a magnificent cock.”
“Carlos, enough,” Matteo scolds him, obviously feeling the same way I do about the one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn this conversation took.
“No, sir. She needs to know these things.”
He looks back at me. “It’s perfect, as if sculpted by angels themselves. It’s a work of art.”
My face heats up, and I look down, afraid I may tell him off.
“And due to medication, it’s not as useful as it once was.”
I look up at Matteo, shocked. “So, you can’t …?” I shake my head instead of saying have sex.
“I’m not the same man as I once was, but I burn with the same desires.”
“Do you miss it?”
“I miss many things. However, there is just as more pleasure in sensual romance, a deeper connection, than a quick release.” He lets out a slow breath and clears his throat again. “There is still more to tell you that doesn’t pertain to sex.”
“I have a better understanding of why Carlos is trusted.” He’s in love with you. Or, at least, your “magnificent cock.”
“Matteo helped me in more ways than even he knows.” Carlos smiles affectionately at Matteo.
“And you’ve done the same, my friend.”
Like a jealous little fiend craving his attention and less cock talk, I redirect the conversation to what’s important, if not most important, of all. “The question that still remains is: why are you not seeking medical attention in your own name? I understand you’re intelligent and worldly and … very open-minded, and I know I can live in a land of my own making where monsters control my moods and basically my everything, but I am not so gone that I don’t believe there is help if you weren’t hiding the disease behind the assumed name, from your brothers. I understand they suck and don’t know how to be loved, but—”
“That’s because you didn’t see them when he collapsed at their mother’s service. If they knew that, because of the stipulation left in his grandmother’s will, the most successful son was in charge of the estate, and that he was that son, and had it not been for witnesses, they’d have let him lie there.”
“I’m so confused. So, they know he’s ill?”
“Matteo has covered his bases, with second and third opinions. The first doctor has been paid handsomely to say it was a misdiagnosis. If they believe that Matteo is ill, they’ll dig and possibly find a way to undo the changes we’ve made ensuring the children are not affected by the reality that their fathers would piss way the money and they’d be left with nothing.”
“I’m sure you’ve considered this, and it’s not my business what kind of money you have, but couldn’t you just … I don’t know, set aside a trust fund for them?”
“That would be a perfect solution, but it’s not enough for Matteo. The man whose heart is as big as his—”
“Hugo’s wife is unable to have children,” Matteo cuts him off. “He had several affairs resulting in pregnancies. He paid off the women to relinquish custody and to doctor birth records. If, someday, the women change their minds and want to be part of their daughters’ lives, I’d hope he couldn’t hang money over their heads.”
“Wait—what?” I ask, because, holy shit! “Did they willingly hand over—”
“He says yes. But a man with power and money can obviously be ruthless. I don’t know if they felt threatened by him but, at some point, that will end. And, at that time, the girls will be able to make their own decisions.”
“What about his wife, the woman who has raised them?”
“She’s delusional and self-medicates. He married a woman who, apparently, is a lot like his mother.”
“You mean, your mother,” I state.
Carlos sighs. “And the plot thickens.”
“After our mother’s death, I received an envelope containing a handwritten note from my grandmother, sealed with her wax stamp.” He looks down. “I am not biologically related to the family I believed was mine.”
The things he is saying make no sense, but I do not doubt the truth in his story. I do know that what he’s lived is making my monsters look like pets.
“Who would do that to you?”
“Someone who wanted to hide a child.”
I look back at Carlos.
“For generations, the Arias f
amily has lived like kings and raped the soil. The family’s vineyards have long dried up. Yet, after Matteo’s birth, and well past those years, they have lived off invested money.”
“It’s speculation, Carlos.”
Carlos shrugs. “Which is why Matteo wants no part in digging any deeper.”
“I don’t blame him. He has enough on his plate.” I look back at him. “You’re amazing.”
And I am falling so fast for you.
“And you look exhausted.”
The emotions I have been so proud of myself for keeping at bay—okay, yes, that’s with maybe some help from the anti anxiety meds, exhaustion from the flight, and the fact that part of me, a very big part of me, feels numb, like the static was replaced with an internal pause—win out, and my voice cracks. “How are you not?”
“I am.”
I push back in my chair, stand up, and look around. “You should rest. Where do you sleep when you’re here?”
Carlos chuckles. “Matteo Arias hasn’t slept in one of his studio lofts in years.”
Matteo shrugs. “I like to be comfortable and breathe fume-less air.”
“Then you will. You will for the rest of your very, very, very long life.” I hold out my hand. “Come sleep with me.”
“I would love nothing more, but I have a few things to do.” He takes my hand and rubs his lips across the back of it.
I watch as he looks at the table, at the NDA with Gabrielle’s name on it, and my anxiety worsens. “You can’t marry her.”
“Tris, I—”
“She said her or me and you told her me,” I said sternly.
“It’s a business partnership. And—”
“Carlos, will you excuse us for a moment?” Matteo asks as he stands.
My heart is beating like a wild animal inside of my chest, and I no longer feel numb.
“Of course.” Carlos stands, gathers his things, places them inside his briefcase, and leaves.
When I hear the door shut, Matteo takes my other hand.
“You are so very sweet, Tris.”
“I’m not sweet! I’m a mess—”
“No, Tris, you are everything you are supposed to be, and your journey has made you become stronger than you ever should have had to be. You are so strong, your heart can beat twice for each single beat of mine. I will remain your friend, but I will not drag you down with me.”
“I didn’t ask permission!” I’m losing it. God help me, these pills are not strong enough to stop this … pain.
“I can’t break your heart. I won’t. If I broke your heart, I’d surely go to hell.”
“Then heal it. Then heal my heart, and I will be yours until”—sniff—“until … until—”
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
“I can’t just be your friend, Matteo. When my sister told me you asked my father to take me on a date, I knew, I knew I wasn’t the only one who was sure there was more.”
“Tris,” comes from behind me, and I cringe.
Wiping away tears, I continue looking into Matteo’s eyes. “Go away, Patrick. I’ll be back to the hotel when I’m finished.”
Matteo wipes a tear. “Go. We’ll speak again—”
“Marry. Me. Not her.”
“Tris, what the hell are you doing?” Patrick is clearly shocked.
Still looking up at Matteo, I see something change. I feel it, too. He’s distancing himself.
“Please go with Patrick. Sleep, rest, and—”
“I have a concert in two days, Matteo Arias.”
“Then after the show.”
A strangled sob threatens to escape me, but I hold it back. “I need you to admit you’re falling for me, just as I am for you.”
“Beautiful Tris, please, I—”
“Tris, do not beg this asshole—”
“Do not talk about him like that! You have no idea what he means to me, what I mean to him.”
“Tris, don’t do this,” Matteo whispers.
I sniff and find the strength inside of me that I didn’t think I possessed, and I step back. “It’s all or nothing, Matteo. All or nothing.”
“You know that—”
“I’m asking you for every beat.”
“Love you, Tris, but this is fucked up. Let’s go, or I’ll have to call your parents.” Patrick is right behind me now.
“Every one of them,” I tell Matteo then turn and look at Patrick.
“I’m ready now, and I love you, too, but this, Matteo and me, is not your business.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Patrick says, grabbing my hand. “I will not allow you to beg a man to be in your life. You deserve so much more than that.”
Uncomfortably Numb
Tris
Something Marley and I discussed is my ability to walk away and not run away. Walking away is what I am doing now, and I’m doing so while my heart is breaking in a way that no hearts should break.
Hold it together, I would tell myself repeatedly, hoping to continue keeping my monsters at bay.
“What the hell has gotten into you, Tris?” He’s not even trying to hide the frustration in his tone with me anymore.
Can’t blame him. I have pushed him away with my “issues,” just like I have almost everyone else.
“I’m falling in love,” I state. Yes, state, because it is a fact.
“You just got your heart kicked in; you’re not ready,” He grabs my elbow to make me stop and turns me around. “I get you’re hurting, totally get that, but you just asked a man to marry you, Tris. A man who you just met. A man who can’t even speak—”
“The heart wants”—I choke back the sob threatening to burst inside of me at the mere word heart then clear my throat—“what the heart wants.”
“You have to stop doing this to yourself. You have to stop letting these fuckers hurt you. Jesus, Tris, you—”
“We all deal with things differently.” I gently pull my elbow back and continue walking toward … the hotel … I hope.
“He’s not coming after you, Tris. He’s not! And you should be thanking God because—”
Walking faster now, I throw my hands in the air and yell behind me, “If you love someone, set them free. If they don’t come back, blah, blah, blah.”
“Dammit, Tris, listen to me.” He moves in front of me and grabs my shoulders. “I have tried to let you carve your own path. I have tried to stay out of it with Marc. He took part of you away from us, from you. I won’t let this asshole—”
“Don’t do that, don’t draw that line, Patrick. Don’t, because he is what I want, what I need.”
“You don’t know that yet, Tris. You’re young. Hell, we’re young.”
“You’re still hurting, and—”
“No shit. But you don’t see me jumping into another relationship.”
I grab hold of his forearms, like he is my shoulders. “But you jump into bed with pretty much anyo—”
“Sex is sex. It’s not love, Tris.”
We let go of each other at the same time.
“It’s different for girls.”
“Not all girls,” he says with a hint of bitterness.
“I said my goodbyes to Marc. Believe it or not, I’m at peace with it, and so is he. Don’t compare your fucks to Matteo because Savvy fucked you over. I’m not her, and Matteo’s not a rebound piece of ass.”
He looks pissed, but so am I.
Walking into the suite, I feel a storm brewing inside of me.
The monsters want to come out and play, all at the same time.
Momma Joe’s smile lights up some of the dark corners of my mind that they are lurking in.
“How was your visit with—”
“Momma Joe,” Patrick begins from behind me, “don’t encourage this. She’s going to get hurt.”
Red peeks his head out from one of those corners and taunts me.
I whirl around. “This is my life, Patrick. Mine!”
“Yeah, well, if I saw
you holding a gun to your head, I’d do whatever I could to get it out of your hand, Tris! This is the same damn—”
“Enough! My God, you love each other.” For the first time ever, I hear Momma Joe’s voice crack, and it makes yellow, my anxiety, rub her hands together. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
Knowing I have about two minutes before I completely lose it, I hurry to my room in the shared suite while calling to them, “I love you all very much. I know what I want and what I need. Matteo is not up for debate.”
“Tris, he didn’t come after you! That speaks volumes!” Patrick yells as I shut the door behind me.
I hurry over to my bag and dig for my phone charger, tossing aside everything that has ever mattered more than the damn charger, which is everything because the stupid phone is a huge trigger, to get to it.
My chest tightens when I grab the tiny box with the engraved guitar pick that Patrick gave me when he taught me how to play.
Notebooks, so many notebooks, an actual mini photo album with actual pictures of my family so I can avoid the stupid phone when I feel so unattached to them it hurts. What I have done to them, what I have done to Patrick …
“Fucking Pop-Tarts!” I chuck them across the bed and dump my bag.
Shaking it once for good measure, I watch as deteriorating black rose petal, remnants of the curse fall onto the crisp white bedding and …
Static.
“Fuck you, Marc!” I grab the edge of the bedding and shake the blanket in anger, watching as everything goes flying.
“This isn’t normal, Momma Joe,” Patrick hisses from behind me, and I turn as he says, “This isn’t okay. She’s losing her shit, and we can’t just—”
“I already lost my shit, Tricks! Right now, I’m just trying to find my fucking charger, because the damn translation app sucked it dry.”
“Okay, let’s find it,” Momma Joe says, walking over and grabbing what is right in front of me—the charger.
“I need to charge my phone. I need to see if he’s called or messaged. I can’t believe I walked out of there. What was I thinking?” I look over at Patrick. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking the same thing I am now. You’re—”