Page 18 of Capuleto

"As well as it should be, and I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay. It'll depend on the boss."

"Yeah..."

I felt uncomfortable. On one hand, I didn't want to hang up, but on the other, I had to do it for my mental safety.

"I have to keep working, take care, okay? And if something happens..."

"Don't worry, I'll let you know."

"Thanks." My heart skipped two beats until I heard him respond.

"You're welcome. Take care yourself. See you when you get back."

That's if Koroleva made me return, and how I dreaded that return.

9

Neither with you nor without you

IT was said that human ethics had been a victory over a ruthless, ungovernable, and cruel evolutionary process.

It was suggested that we developed morality to counter our base nature, far more than most were willing to admit.

It was better to believe oneself to be a soul filled with goodness rather than a nefarious one ready to envy the achievements of others.

I never denied my nature, my essence.

I never believed in the benevolence of my soul, because I had never been good. And the definition of goodness, the inclination to do good or virtuous behavior, did not fit my profile.

If I had to make a list of things I excelled at, I could enumerate selfishness, competitiveness, greed, lust, gluttony, and a craving for power, among many other virtues that the vast majority would deem deplorable flaws.

I didn't care that humanity spent its time hiding its shames under a veil of false modesty. They loved to fill their mouths with "I'm happy for your success," while their hearts roared "as long as they're not greater than mine." That, they kept to themselves, because it didn’t look good, it wasn’t considered nice.

They devoted themselves to living life disguised in a tailored suit, constructed of tiny mirrors designed to reflect what others expected them to be, not their true selves. Most people spent their time criticizing in others what was actually a reflection of themselves, because facing what one truly is requires bravery—a bravery that comes at a high cost, because it's better to appear as a juicy apple on the outside than to take a bite and reveal the worms within.

Michael Ghiselin said, "Scratch an altruist and watch a hypocrite bleed." I thought exactly the same. Hypocrisy was humanity's great virtue, of the noble and good souls.

Did they really think they were fooling anyone? Our brains are wired for power, pleasure, self-interest, pride, and survival. To feel good about oneself, and for this reason, it does everything necessary to improve and increase all these premises; even if that meant stepping on the necks of others.

I had accepted and internalized this so deeply that any other reality seemed like a crude lie.

We all had a Face A that we showed, and a Face B that lived on the opposite side, hidden from prying eyes. Deep down, there was the hope that it would never be revealed to others.

Until someone came along, stood in front of you with such truth and boldness that it made the edge of the coin wobble, without you being able to ensure it wouldn't fall on the wrong side.

I glanced at my husband, his steady breathing cradled my head. He rested peacefully, with tousled hair and the wrinkles of worry smoothing out on his face.

He held me so close to his side that I immediately thought of those chimpanzees that adopt an orphaned infant, with the same affection and effort as if it were their own.

Romeo was different from me. He had the capacity to love others above himself, above his own well-being or security, as he had done with Adriano and with me.

I was his extra effort. He had moved heaven and earth to get me back and did not hesitate to blow the balls off the guy who had me tied to a bed, ready to force himself on me.

He picked me up with such care, with such tenderness, that even drugged to the hilt, I could feel the moisture of his eyes on my cheeks. Was he crying for me? He did it silently, in the back seat of a car driven by his men, while he cradled me like a helpless being and repeated over and over that I should forgive him. His lament plunged me into a blind pit where, for the first time, I felt ashamed of myself. Because he had suffered through my kidnapping.

I was adrift in the middle of an unknown ocean. Without oars, in the dark, aimless, and with doubts. What was I supposed to do?

Two headlights emerged in front of me, on the horizon, at such opposite ends and with such opposing purposes that they stirred conflicting feelings.

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