CHRISTINA.


    Two weeks later.


    On Friday evening, Vico and I returned from his parents. I was teaching little Gabriella the basics of drawing. She liked it so much that Celeste asked me, and even offered to pay for the lessons. I politely refused the money, arguing that I needed art supplies. Therefore, she could give them to Vico, and we would go shopping together.


    “Oh, you two are inseparable,” Celeste narrowed her eyes slyly.


    “Mom!”


    “Signora!”


    We were indignant in unison.


    “Okay, okay, I give in!” She playfully raised her hands up, admitting her defeat.


    “Your mother is something,” I say.


    “Yes, sometimes she gives out something that you don’t quite expect from her,” Vico answers.


    “Will you help me lift it up?”


    “Yes, of course,” he agrees.


    We’re going up.


    “You have a cozy little cave.”


    “Don’t call it that,” I protest.


    “I want to and I will.” Vico’s eyes are smiling, although he himself is not laughing.


    “Where should I put it?”


    “Leave it on the bed, I’ll sort it out later.”


    “As you say.”


    I’m walking behind. After putting it down, he turns around abruptly, and I crash into him.


    “I’m falling, I’m falling!” I try to throw one of the bags on the bed and balance with my free hand.


    “You won’t fall, don’t be afraid.”


    Vico catches me. The bag from my other hand falls to the floor with a noise. The guy is wincing.


    “Christina, you need to be more careful!” he says discontentedly.


    “Sorry, I’m just clumsy.”


    Well, he holds me in his arms for a few seconds, and we look at each other. But then he pulls away.


    “It seems like you’re no longer in any danger. So I’ll go. I’ll call you the day after tomorrow.”


    I wave after him, confused. It turned out really awkward. In any case, I need to unpack the groceries. I take out the plastic boxes I have already bought and start sorting the paints, brushes, spatulas and other gadgets into categories. I am like a fish in water when it comes to art. I sincerely love and admire it. And, although I am not very open towards people, I like it when they get emotions from my work. I need to finish a new painting. Since I started communicating with Vico, my inspiration has returned and my soul has become calmer. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s his vibe, but I like it.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ***


    The snow has melted, but it’s cool. I’ve gotten out of the habit of cities being immersed in a grey, damp fog in the mornings, which then settles on the roads, making them wet. But today is one of those days. I want to walk alone through the streets of Rome. I don’t think I’ve done it even once since I moved here before Christmas. Coat, midi skirt, shoes with a button-up. I look like a teenager now, honestly.


    Yesterday I posted a new post, and it got a hundred likes. It seems that social networks are really the way out. New people are signing up and leaving me messages of support. It’s incredible. Lost in thought, I walk along the cobbled streets of the old town, and at some point a passerby in a coat and hat pushes me.


    “Ouch!” I say.


    I think I hurt myself a little. My nylon tights were spoiled, but it’s not that important.


    He didn’t even apologize, the rude guy. And what’s that lying around? A small piece of paper, folded several times.


    “Signor, aspetti!” I try to call out to him, but he’s already disappeared. It must have fallen out of his pocket. I’m going to throw it in the nearest trash can, but why is it clean and folded several times? I decide to unfold it, and oh my God, I throw it away in horror. Blood, there’s blood on it, and the letter H. It seems that it really was addressed to me. I pick up the sheet of paper before passersby get close to me and run home as fast as I can. This is absolutely no good. I close the door tightly and start looking for where I put everything I already have. Snickers, a candle, the letters “B,” “C,” “H,” and “T.” This is some kind of rebus. I absolutely have to solve it. I move them from place to place, and in the end I get: “B*I*TCH”


    “Wait a minute, there’s a letter with lipstick. LIPSTICK? Damn, that’s my lipstick from college, the one I gave to Glenn that time!”


    Oh no!


    An Instagram message pops up on my phone. I open it:


    “See you there, babe!


    P.S. Have you enjoyed the taste of Snickers yet?”


    It’s nine in the morning. Maybe Vico is sleeping. His exams are over and he has a week of proper rest, but I can’t do nothing. Sorry, man, but my life is more important to me than your sleep.


    “Hello?”


    Wow, I think I’m lucky, he sounds cheerful.


    “Vico, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need help. Urgently. Can you borrow your father’s car?”


    “What happened? Are you worried?”


    “Please, hurry up! I’ll tell you everything later. I think you need to see this.”


    “Okay, okay, I’ll ask now. I was going to the gym, but if it’s urgent, wait for me, I’ll be there soon.”


    I start packing my clothes. It’s good that I don’t have much. I left most of them in Scotland with Jack and Aela. It seemed impolite to me to use what other people bought for me, even if they did it with good intentions. Two suitcases. I disassembled the easel to make it more compact. However, I still don’t know what to do with the boxes. Now I have a lot of materials, but I won’t be able to take them with me. It turns out that Vico wasted his money. Never mind, I’ll definitely return everything to him.


    In about forty minutes, Vico calls me:


    “I’m at your house. Should I get up?”


    “Yes, of course,” I told him.


    I open the door and pull him by the hand. He is clearly stunned by my behavior.


    “What happened? You are all disheveled, suitcases…” he looks worried.


    “Sit here,” I point to the floor.


    “What is this?” He raises an eyebrow and ruffles his beautiful black hair.


    I tried to tell him lamely that my college friend got jealous and started threatening me. Of course, I don’t mention the embarrassing moment when Glenn and Linda bullied me. I just say that he stole the lipstick and that I recognized it by the shade. Vico listens patiently and then asks:


    “Why didn’t you tell me before?”


    “I wasn’t sure,” I answer.


    “What are you going to do now?”


    “I… I don’t know. I’ll probably go home.”


    “To your family?”


    “No.”


    “Okay. Do you want us to call the police?”


    “That doesn’t make sense.”


    “But he’s stalking you.”


    “I have no proof.”


    “What’s this?” Vico points to the sheets of paper still lying on the floor. My phone lights up again. Vico takes it.


    “Don’t ask for help, bitch, or it will get worse!”


    “And you were going to solve this yourself?” he asks angrily.


    “He only started sending messages today.”


    Viko takes a screenshot.


    “This will come in handy. Don’t delete it under any circumstances. I’ll call my mom now. Take your suitcases. I’ll take the boxes myself and we’ll go to the car. Are you sure you took everything?”


    “Yes,” I babbled.


    And we quickly leave this house. And I just dreamed of a quiet life away from problems…