Page 167 of Monster in Disguise

"Marcello insists it wasn't a suicide attempt, but he has a history of psychiatric problems."

"What do you mean?"

"Besides his phobia of touch, he's always had problems with insomnia," he confides, and I remember the many instances in which he'd stay up late citing work reasons, or the nightmares...

"I see." I nod, not knowing what else to add.

Marcello's surgery is a success,and he is soon moved to a private salon. I stay with him the first night while he's out, but in the morning Enzo convinces me to go home to shower and change.

When I come back, the doctor pulls me aside to tell me that Marcello won't be able to speak for the time being, not until hisvocal cords heal. Other than that, his condition is improving. Given that it's his second attempt in a month, he suggests an inpatient center. I don't want to decide anything right now, so I smile and tell him I'll think about it.

I head over to his salon and notice a nurse is coming out of his room.

"Are you Mrs. Lastra?" she asks, and I nod.

"Is something wrong?"

"Mr. Lastra is awake," she starts, and I take a deep breath, my lips stretching wide into a smile. "But he doesn't want to see you."

"What do you mean?" I frown, my face immediately falling. Why doesn't he want to see me?

"He asked me to give you this." She hands me a letter. "Your name's been removed from allowed visitors, so..." She seems apologetic, but I just nod mechanically.

I go to an empty area and numbly sit down. Unfolding the letter, I start reading.

My lovely Lina,

I'm sorry about how everything turned out. You have no idea how much I wish things were different... including what happened that night ten years ago. I can sit here and tell you countless times that I never wanted to hurt you. But the truth is, I did hurt you. Even when I tried to do what I considered best at the time, you ended up being hurt.

I stop, tears already falling down my cheeks. But I will myself to read on. He's relating everything that happened that night ingreat detail; how he knew he had no choice, but tried to drug me so I wouldn't be in pain; how he'd struck a deal with his brother for my safety, devoting the last decade to working to catch a criminal and betraying his best friend in the process. The descriptions are so painfully vivid, my heart aches for what he had to live with.

I simply do not deserve you. Not now. Not like this. Not when I'm a broken man afraid to face his own demons. If what you said back there is true... that you forgive me... I want to forgive myself too. I want to become someone worthy of you.

But for that, I need to help myself first. I can't in good conscience stay in your life knowing I'm a ticking bomb that may go off at any time. I can't expose you, or Claudia to that.

I know I have no right to ask this, but... will you wait for me?

Forever yours,

Marcello

I can barely breathe as sobs wreck my body. I want to go to him and tell him that everything will be OK, that I forgive him and that I love him. If possible, knowing what I do now makes me love him even more. I can't even imagine what it's like to live with a burden like that. No, I can't even imagine how Marcello is still sane after everything he's been through.

It's hard to grasp all he's done in the past, the people he's tortured and killed... but is that really him? Or is it merely who the famiglia wanted him to be? How can he know any better when all his life he's witnessed only human cruelty? The fact that he'd so easily give his own life for me says it all. For a man who's never received kindness, he was ready to commit the ultimate sacrifice.

And that is the real Marcello. My soul recognizes his in a way that can't be explained by science or words. He's got the gentlest, most pure heart. He just had the misfortune of being born into the wrong family. No one's ever taught him kindness, and yet it comes so naturally to him.

I wipe my tears and head to the reception desk to ask for paper and a pen. Then I write my reply.

I'll wait.

Marcello

TWO MONTHS LATER

"Lina." I practice in front of the mirror, still not accustomed to my new voice. I clear my throat and try again. "Lina." I purse my lips. The knife had damaged my vocal cords, and while the doctors had hoped that they would heal completely, my voice now has a husky quality to it. It's not unpleasant, but it feels very foreign.

Like I'd smoked one hundred cigarettes a day for the last twenty years.

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