COLD TRAP

MIRABELLA

“Is Matteo coming?”

“No. I don’t think he is.”

“Why do I smell him then?”

Pablo crouches down, carefully picking me up, placing me in the wheelchair. “Don’t worry about Matteo, hmm? He’s not here.”

One month. It has been one month since I was brought into this hospital. I was in a coma for the first two weeks and after another two weeks

of being poked with needles non stop, I’m finally allowed to go home.

Finally!

My world came crumbling around me after the doctor had informed me that I lost my baby. It was even more unbearable after the memories of that night came crashing down on me.

Although I’m unable to remember the events of that night in detail, the pain is still there. The scars on my skin, the loss of my baby, everything I’ve been through is all the proof I need that indeed, that night happened.

The doctor confirmed that it’s okay that I don’t remember everything in detail as it is a trauma response but i still dream about it. The punches, the slaps, my screams and whimpering, their laugh of mockery; everything is imprinted in my brain and it hurts so bad.

But it doesn’t hurt as much as Matteo’s disappearance. He walked out on me the day I woke up from coma, he walked out after he had found out that I couldn’t protect the child he desperately wanted and since then, I haven’t seen a peep of him.

But I smell him everywhere.

Pablo sa

says it’s because I miss him too much but that’s not the case.

Some nights I feel him staring at me while I sleep, sometimes I feel his fingers laced with mine while I sleep. Sometimes I smell his cologne so strongly in my private ward or the hallway.

I feel as though he’s with me but the truth is that he isn’t

He left me because I’m of no use to him.

I’m no longer innocent, I’m no longer pure. I’ve been used. I’ve been used up for the satisfaction of dirty, unworthy men.

Now I’m worth nothing.

I’m just a disgusting piece of shit.

What would the Don-scratch that-The Godfather of the Italian mafia want with a crippled woman who’s unable to have a proper conversation without stuttering between sentences.

F c k my life.

We arrive at the estate after a few hours and Pablo carries me bridal style into the mansion as he heads for the hallway. Downstairs.

“Why aren’t we going upstairs? Did Mateo kick me out?” He chuckles at my question.

Sat, 22 Jun

“Matteo did not and will never kick you out. But the doctor advised that you stay close to the medical room just in case you’re in urgent need of medical attention. You know how big the mansion is and we cannot risk keeping you far from the medical help you might require.”

Makes sense.

“Will Matteo stay w

with me?” Pablo doesn’t answer. I bite my lip in understanding,

My nose picks up on his fragrance again as Pablo carries me into the well decorated room they’ve prepared for me. Carefully, he puts me down on the bed with a devilish scowl on his face as he mutters some words that awfully sounds like ‘that f u c k r should pick a struggle” and

walks back to the door.

“Sore wa anata ga haitteiru ka dete iru ka no dochira kadesu!” He grits each word out, slamming the door shut

“Was that Japanese?”

“Yes.” He mutters.

“Who was that? What did you say?” I question curiously.

“Not important. You should rest, hmm?” He puts the duvet over me and I hum.

“Pablo?” He hums, “does Matteo hate me?”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Well because he’s been avoiding me since I woke up and I know he’s near because i smell him very strongly. Maybe because he thinks I’m dirty and disgusting? Maybe because he thinks I’m all used up and undeserving of love? He wouldn’t be wrong if he felt that way though.” I whisper the last part, tears welling in my eyes.

Pablo’s gaze softens and he strokes my hair gently, “Matteo doesn’t hate you even the slightest bit. You should’ve seen him when you were unconscious, he never left your side.” He clears his throat.

“But Matteo is a very disturbed man. You might look at him on the outside and think that he’s lucky, you might think that he has lived a very sheltered life and has two parents who love him but at what cost? Matteo has been through things that are unimaginable and now he thinks the only way to tackle a problem is to run away from it. Especially when it involves his loved ones.”

Pablo cranes his neck back as though holding his tears in as he continues talking. “You should forget Matteo and focus solely on yourself, Mirabella.” He watches me intently, “why do you think that of all the boys, I’m the only one who keeps Matteo on his toes? Why do you think he almost takes to his heels whenever he sees me coming?” I furrow my brows in confusion.

“Because he still blames himself for what happened to me.” Pablo’s hands fly to the back of his head and he shut his eyes tightly. “You’ve always been curious to know why I always have on this lace covering half of my face all the time…”

“Pablo…you don’t have to,”

He scoffs. “I know but I want to.” He mutters and the lace falls off, revealing the most handsome face I’ve ever seen in my life. Looking at his face, it seems cold and empty but also very interesting and challenging. But there’s a scar on the left side of his cheek.

A beautiful scar.

Like an artwork

My hand shoots forward before I can stop/t, fingers running across the scar, “it’s so beautiful,” I whisper and Pablo nods his head at me.

“it is.” He chuckles, “a few years ago when we were all still young and vibrant, when we were so bloodthirsty.” Laughter bubbles out of him at

the remembrance.

“All five of us had returned from our combat training when we found out that the Colombians had stolen a parcel from Matteo’s father, and as hot blooded as we were, we all failed to follow the plan laid out for us. We escaped to Colombia just so we could prove our worth; make a name for ourselves in the mafia.”

“We were successful. We got into the building, stole back the parcel but instead of returning home, we decided to stay back and party just for one night. Stupid teenagers. What were we really thinking?” He winces at the thought

“We wanted to stay back, drink ourselves to stupor and probably have a quick fuck… how stupid. We hadn’t even left our motel that night when a break-in happened and they took Matteo. We became very desperate, we didn’t know how to call home to inform them about what had happened and in our desperation, we laid out the most stupid plan ever.”

“Hey…Pablo…it’s okay if you can’t go on,” I whisper when I find him battling his emotions. He shakes his head no, reassuring me that he’s good to continue.

“We decided that one person would sacrifice himself, give up himself as a form of distraction while the rest would sneak into the holding cell to get Matteo out and that was the stupid plan we followed. It was natural that I gave up myself because I was the biggest and the thickest of them all. I could take whatever torture thrown my way without batting an eye.

Hot tears spew from my eyes.

Pablo heaves out a shuddering breath.

“When they took me…” he exhaled shakily followed by a dry chuckle, “I can still remember one of them saying and I quote, “you want to be a dog for the Sicilian mafia? We’ll make you a dog.” I remember it as clear as day how his blade carved into my skin as he drew the map of Sicily on my face.” Pablo dives his bottom lip viciously to contain the emotions threatening to surge through him.

Me? I’m already a crying mess.

“He didn’t finish though,” Pablo let out a malicious laugh. “He wasn’t even halfway through when our men from Italy came running in and shooting up the place.”

“I hated myself, I cursed myself, I felt empty and ugly, I felt disgusted and I couldn’t look myself in the mirror for years. The wound healed but I still hated myself, the scar has become like a beautiful art and I still hate myself, do you know why?” I shake my head ‘no!

“It’s because it is no longer a scar on my skin but a scar in my heart!” He bellows, “all those years I spent hating myself and calling myself all those disgusting names scarred my heart, mind and soul and now my body is healed but my heart is still wallowing in that misery and that part is my fault”

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“I need you to wake up every morning and tell yourself that you’re strong, you’re powerful, you’re beautiful and that whatever happened that night was just a bad day because

Mirabella believe it or not, this is the life you’ve been introduced to. The mafia. It takes from you every second that you breathe. It rips you apart until you’re left with nothing. But for us who are accustomed to this life, we see every situation as one of those days that went south and I need you to convince your mind to believe the same thing.”

“Your

recovery is solely based on your mind, up here.” Pablo pokes the side of his hea d . ” You will your mind to recover and your body will have no choice bu to b F c k Matteo. Do you hear me? k him if he doesn’t want to become a man for you! That’s on him. Your only responsibility is you and I’ll be here if you need anything. As your brother”

“My brother?” I question in a croaked voice.

“Yes. We’ve shared so much in the last few weeks and it’s natural that I become something to you. Since I cannot be your husband, then let

12:18 Sat, 22 June

me be your brother.”

I hold his soft gaze for a while, pushing my torso up to meet his as I engulf him in a hug that I’m sure both of us were in desperate need for. “Grazie fratello.” I murmur into his shoulder and his arms go around me.

“in qualsiasi momento sorella.”

I have a family.

I have a brother! And it’s Pablo

I want to scream.

“Tell me the honest truth Pablo,” I muffle and he hums, “did father die protecting me? Am I the reason he’s dead?” Pablo doesn’t say anything but his body freezes and that’s all the answer I need.

Everyone has been putting in n extra effort into making sure I don’t find out how and why father passed the same day I was rushed to the

hospital

Do they really think I’m that stupid?

“Can you help me get into my wheelchair?” Lask and he doesn’t wait for me to say it twice before picking me up and placing me on the chair. I tell him that I need to use the restroom and he says he’ll get my nurse to assist me but I protest against it.

I wheel the chair until I’m in front of the huge mirrors in my y shower. My fingers trail every inch of my face, I run my fingers through my tangled hair and through the exposed part of my legs, a choked sob breaking through me whilst I stare at my ruined body.

I place my palm flat on the mirror as I watch my reflection in disgust. “You bitch!” I slam my forehead into the mirror before I can control my

raging nerves.

y put!” Isla

my

head into the mirror again, harder than the first time.

“He asked you to stay

“He told you not to move!”

Slam.

“He told you how dangerous it was but you couldn’t listen!”

Slam.

“Now you’ve lost your child!”

Slam.

“Your husband!”

Slam.

“Your dignity!”

Slam.

“And your father in law is dead because of you!”

Islam my forehead so hard that I feel my own blood drenching my clothes as the mirror shatters into tiny pieces.