Chapter 13

15 years old As promised by the Consigliere, I do not see Alexandra again. He guarantees me that she is alive, but well hidden. “She is special,” he says. No matter how much I think about it, I cannot imagine what hole she is in. After my night of horror, I am taken unconscious to my room and cared for by one of the maids. As frightening as it was, my wounds are not deep enough to require hospitalization. After all, the Mafia princess cannot have too many marks. Immaculate is the best word to describe me. The doctor comes to see me, says something to them, and soon leaves, while compresses are placed on my back. Every time I close my eyes, I hear Alexandra’s sounds of horror or see Bruno’s demonic eyes. Raoul seems a little disturbed to me. He has been forced into this so many times that I cannot imagine why this time is so much worse. I have not seen my father or Paolo in two days, and I am grateful for that. Soon I will have to return to boarding school, despite my current situation and physical condition, because long years await me there, though I do not know how to face people after this. Nothing I saw or lived through in the last year can be considered normal. Worse will be facing Miss Elinor. I have the feeling that, if I spend too much time looking at her, she will know every sordid detail of my life. And I do not really know what she will do with the knowledge of the circus of horrors I went through. Maybe she will even congratulate herself and make my life even more hellish, as my father ordered, because for a teacher of girls, she seems like the wicked witch from children’s stories, demanding more than any of us can give. I fear discovering that I have nothing left, but when giving up appears as an option, Alexandra fills my mind again. She survived, and I start thinking about how strong she was. I know she would overcome this if we had managed to escape. I am sure of it. And now, nothing. I am incapable of doing anything, and all I want is to scream to anyone willing to listen about what happened. I do not know if she has family. I do not know if I can speak to someone, and even if I did know, I could not. Any failure of mine, and she falls. New Year’s Eve passes, and I do not notice. I think my mind will remain trapped in that night for the rest of my life. I am imprisoned. Leaving Sicily and returning to London brings me a mixture of relief and fear. I am probably abandoning her, and that hurts like hell. The cold of London embraces me and leaves me as cold as my soul. The soldiers, who to the real world are simple security guards, walk beside me, attentive. The boarding school building has never seemed so welcoming, and as I walk through its corridors toward my room, I think about the solitude that will be so welcome in the coming days. Classes will only begin next week, so I have time to suffer alone and pull myself together. “Valentina. Good to see you again,” Elinor says seriously. I am startled to find her wandering there when most teachers prefer to be with their families during this period. “Miss Elinor,” I greet her. “I did not expect to see you until next week.” “I imagine not. I do not have much to do outside, and I enjoy inspecting the students who return earlier.” She looks at me carefully, scrutinizing the skin unprotected by my coat. I follow her gaze and see that the bruise on my arm is not as faint as it should be. “Excuse me.” I run to my room, fleeing from her eyes. The stubborn tears begin to make their way out, and I yank off my blouse with force, staring at myself in the mirror. I am a remnant of the Valentina who left this room the last time. The scars will disappear, but my soul has been branded by fire. In an uncontrolled burst of fury, I simply punch the mirror with my left hand and hate myself for it. I must not lose control to the point of leaving more marks on myself, but being far from home gives me a false sense of safety that disgusts me. I am safe, and she is not. My wounds will fade, and hers will be renewed day after day. I punch the mirror again and hear a shrill sound flooding the room. It takes me a moment to realize it came from me. I am pure hatred now. For them and for myself. It seems so unfair that I am okay. I feel something warm in my hand, and I am so numb from my rage that the pain of the cuts is superficial, and the blood running down is irrelevant. “What are you doing?” I feel Elinor block me and stop me from hurting myself again. “Valentina, calm down, please.” She is so strong that she unbalances me, and I fall sitting down. She pulls me close to her lap without saying anything, and I simply cry. It is strange to be comforted, especially by such a rigid woman. But she gives it willingly, and I simply take it while I can. It has been a long time since I knew what it was to be comforted. The last hug I received was on the night my mother left. We stay in that position, and I do not know how much time passes. I only stop when I am too exhausted to keep crying. She lifts me and takes me to the bathroom, without commenting on the infinity of soft scars covering me. She takes care of me, and I am grateful for it. I do everything automatically until she puts me in bed, face down, while she applies some balm to each wound. She bandages my hands and sits beside me, stroking my hair until I fall asleep. But it does not escape me that she softly sings a song in Italian, lulling me, as if telling me to forget. But I cannot. Bruno is there, in the boarding school. He pulls Alexandra by the hair and sodomizes her. She no longer reacts while I beg him to stop. I beg, even after swearing I would not do that. Suddenly Alexandra is gone, and I no longer see Bruno, but I feel him, because I have taken her place, and it is my skin he marks. The guttural sound that comes from his mouth sickens me, and he keeps thrusting, opening me and tearing me. I must have screamed, because soon Miss Elinor wakes me from the nightmare. “Do you want to tell me?” “I do. I really do, and I need to, but I cannot. Miss…” “Elinor. Call me only Elinor when we are alone, all right?” she asks, trying to give me confidence. “I really cannot,” I say, bending my knees and pressing them against my torso. “All right. I know I have been harsh, and you do not trust me. But know this, Valentina: I will continue to be that way as your teacher. But you may have in me a friend. A confidante whenever you need one.” “I wish I could,” I lament. “You know, no one is your worst enemy except yourself. You can let yourself be crushed by whatever happened. But you can also rise and become greater than any trauma.” “To rise again, something would have had to be left.” “Beautiful girl. So many times, we are reduced to ashes. Every day one of us becomes ash, loses color, beauty, and purity. Some surrender and let the wind scatter what remains until there is nothing left. We become dolls. We exist.” My eyes widen when she says we become “dolls.” It is as if she knows what they did to me. It is as if they had already done it to her. “Dolls do not feel. That must be good.” “Never repeat that!” she scolds. “Do you know why nothing is left for many of us?” I only shake my head. “Because we allow them to undo us, reduce us, and control us.”