Fragile Longing

“Danilo,” he croaked. I stepped up to the bed, shocked to see tears on his cheeks. His shoulders began to shake, his coughs mingling with sobs. I tensed, unsure what to do. I’d never seen my father like that. He’d taught me to hide emotions, especially tears. It was weakness, and here he was sobbing like a child.

I clutched his hand. “It’s okay.” The words were meaningless, but I was at a loss how to brave Father’s despair.

“I’m scared to die.”

I sank down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve faced death so often.”

“Not like this, never like this.”

Listening to his croaked words pained me. His hand shook in mine, his eyes begging me to help him, but there was only one way to ease his suffering at this point.

I wasn’t ready for that step yet, neither was he.

“What if death is the end? What if it isn’t? I’m a sinner. There’s nothing ahead of me to find absolution.”

I squeezed his hand. God had played an abstract role in our lives. We’d gone to church on Sundays because our men were religious and it was expected, but Father and I had never given much of our time or thoughts toward faith. “Whatever lies ahead, you’ll conquer it, Dad. You are strong.”

“I was. I’m not anymore.” He closed his eyes and cried silently.

I stayed at his side, not saying anything, unable to comfort him, barely able to see him as the shadow of the man he used to be.A few minutes after midnight, my father died surrounded by Mom, Emma, and me. Emma had insisted on being present, even if I’d been wary of letting her stay.

Their sadness filled the room like their sobbing and crying. I stood by the wall, a bystander to their open anguish. Deep down, the turmoil they showed openly tortured me, but my stoic outer mask remained unperturbed. Mom and Emma needed me to be strong, to be their rock in these unsteady times. It was my task in life. My duty.

I balled my hands into fists in my pockets, the only outward sign of the fiery mix of emotions burning up inside me. Sadness and fury had mixed with the dark emotions that had built over many months, and were now joined by newer, darker emotions, creating a potent mix that threatened to unravel me.

After the morgue had taken Father’s body and I’d made all the necessary arrangements, I left the house. It was almost five in the morning, and my mother and sister had finally succumbed to sleep. I was wide awake. I’d suppressed too many emotions in the last year. I needed an outlet, a reprieve from my controlled self.

I drove to one of the clubs Marco’s family managed. It was the best place in the city if you wanted a good time and had the necessary funds.

The guestlist was exclusive, and you could only get through the door if your name was on the list. The bouncers let me pass without a word. Before I could settle at the bar, Marco appeared at my side. “I heard,” he said.

I nodded, ordered a drink, and downed it. “I need to take my mind off things.”

I wasn’t usually a customer in our establishments. Sex for money had never appealed to me. But I was hollow inside, too empty to put any effort into a possible distraction.

Marco considered me. “I have someone in mind for you. Go to Suite Three. I’ll send her up.”

I got up without asking for details and went upstairs to the private rooms. The suite Marco had chosen had a Roman theme with a round bed surrounded by fake columns. I didn’t care about the surroundings. Fuck, I didn’t care about anything right now.

The door opened and a tall woman with long blonde hair stepped in. She was dressed in a white wrap dress matching the theme of the room. In my exhausted, half-drunk state, she looked like a bad replica of Serafina.

Fuck Marco, the bastard. He could read me like an open book. Only her seductive smile and her sexy movements betrayed her true identity. Accepting her was admitting weakness; sending her back would send the same message. Either way, I was a fucking mess.

“What do you want?” she said in a beckoning voice.

“No talking,” I growled, jerking her against me. “Now suck my cock.”

She fell to her knees and I tilted my head back, staring up at the ceiling adorned with ancient Roman mosaics. I didn’t look at her as she sucked me, didn’t look at her as I fucked her. Images of another blonde woman entered my mind, and my thrusts turned almost vicious as the prostitute knelt before me, but the images were distorted, clouded with bitterness and a sickening need for revenge.

Satisfaction didn’t settle in me even when I came. All that filled me was a sense of defeat.