Page 17 of Vicious Intentions
I could never hate any of my fathers, and I have three of them.
Raffaele has never come out and given me the reason behind why he detests his father so much. Still, whatever it is must be valid because I can’t imagine him hating anyone, let alone his own blood.
Me:I’m sorry.
Rafe:It’s not your fault my dad’s a prick.
I frown again.
Me:What about your mom? Is she better?
The typing bubbles appear on the screen, then vanish. Then reappear. Then disappear again.
I bite the corner of my lip, already kicking myself for asking. Raffaele hardly ever speaks about his mom, and when he does, his texts are usually short and to the point.
The one time we managed to sneak away and FaceTime each other, he told me she was sick. That’s all he said. But I could tell it hurt him even to admit that.
Rafe:Can we talk about something else?
I let out a quiet sigh and nod, even though he can’t hear or see me.
Me:Sure. What do you want to talk about?
Rafe:Have you caught up with that show I told you about? About the girl with superpowers?
I smile when a slew of texts begin to come in explaining most of the plot of his new favorite show.
Deflection is Raffaele’s default setting. Why talk about what is wrong in our lives when we could talk about anything but that? And Raffaele never runs out of things to say. He loves telling meabout the movies he’s watched, new series he’s discovered, songs he’s heard. His taste in music isn’t the same as mine, and neither is what he watches for entertainment, but I still find myself sitting through his shows just to feel closer to him.
I wonder if he ever picks up the poetry books I love, or listens to classical piano just to feel closer to me.
Sometimes I imagine him lying on this bed, his arms folded behind his head, eyes closed, simply taking in a piece by Chopin or Mozart. I know it’s silly. He probably wouldn’t be caught dead listening to classical music. Still, it’s a comforting image to fall asleep to.
Rafe:Shit. Gotta go. Nico is all up in my ass.
That’s all he says before sending me a quick snapshot of himself on a balcony, probably in his penthouse apartment, flashing a peace sign.
I stare at the picture and laugh. Raffaele’s long blonde hair is blowing in the wind, pushed back from his light eyes, his cheeks pink from the cold air.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” Stella asks, amusement lacing her tone.
I glance up just as she steps into the room, fresh from her morning shower, a towel twisted around her head and another wrapped securely around her frame.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, locking my phone and tucking it out of sight.
“Jesus, Anna. Relax. I’m not going to narc your burner phone to the parentals. It’s all good.” My jaw drops.
How long has she known I’ve had Raffaele’s phone this whole time? I even bought a new cover for it so it would look like the one Mom got me. But apparently, nothing gets past my sister. Absolutely nothing. I should’ve known.
“You promise you won’t tell?”
She leans in and hooks her pinky with mine. I smile widely and wrap my finger around hers.
“I swear. Sisters first, remember? I’ll always have your back,” Stella says with a wink.
“And I promise I’ll always have yours,” I vow, the tension melting away from my shoulders.
I love all my siblings, but Stella… she’s my person. I don’t know who I’d be without her.
