Page 30 of Veiled Vows

Serena

As we arrive home, I feel the nerves eating away at me. Salvatore goes to his office, leaving me by myself in the living room. I bite at my nails, a habit I picked up with my mother no longer around to swat my hand away from my mouth.

He returns from his office with a box of USBs and his laptop. My hands become clammy as he sets everything up. He holds my sweaty hand and leads me to the couch to sit.

He sits down next to me, and places a delicate kiss on my shoulder. "These," he begins, his voice rough,"are the recordings of my therapy sessions back when I was fourteen. I need you to listen to them."

I nod, not feeling like I’m capable of speaking. He plays the first one for me, and I steel myself for what I’m about to hear.

The screen flickers to life, showing a younger Salvatore, his face pale. Even then, he was handsome, but anyone could tell he was going through something traumatic, he looked unwell.

"She used to always tell me she loves me, that I’m her favorite person in the whole world." the young Salvatore says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What did she do, Salvatore?" The therapist asks.

There is a long pause, and then the young Salvatore begins to speak, and I wish he hadn’t. "She... she would come into my room at night. She’d say she wanted to talk to me. She used to tell me that my father didn’t love her enough, and that she needs me."

I feel my heart drop to my stomach, feeling so protective over the boy he once was.

"But then it got worse," he continues, "She started touching me, saying it was okay because she was my mother. She would... she would force me to touch her too. I remember her getting so angry if I told her I didn’t like it, that I didn’t want to do it with her."

I glance at Salvatore, his face contorted with pain as he listens to his own words. I reach out, taking his hand in mine. This must be so hard for him, yet here he is, doing it for me.

"I tried to stop her countless times," the young Salvatore says. "She would go crazy if I refused, only kissing me harder, touching me more. She would tell me that I should be grateful for her, that she was showing me how love feels."

Salvatore’s grip on my hand tightens.

"Salvatore, what about your father? How did he react to all this?" the therapist probes.

The young Salvatore hesitates. "He blamed me," he grunts, a tear escaping him which he quickly wipes. Even back then, he hated appearing weak. "He always told me that I was disgusting for seducing her. One time, he slapped me so hard because I forgot to close the door when I was peeing, he said that I wanted her to look, to come touch me."

I gasp, horrified. Salvatore's eyes are fixed on the screen, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip on my hand. It hurts a little, but I relish in it. I want something to distract me from the pain in my chest.

He was just a boy, he didn’t know any better. He’s innocent of the claims Antonio was throwing at him. His father was delusional.

"Did your father ever try to make her stop?" the therapist asks.

Young Salvatore shakes his head. "No. He said it was my fault, that I deserved it. He would just... watch, pissed and angry at me. He would tell me not to seduce her next time. "

Tears stream down my face as I listen. I can’t believe the cruelty Salvatore had to go through, the betrayal from both his parents. He’s just so strong, I never once imagined his past can be this awful.

Salvatore pauses the recording, there is a slight tremor in his hands. "I want you to understand," he says. "To know why I am the way I am. Why I struggle with love, with trust."

I reach out to cup his face, my thumb caressing his cheek. "You did nothing to deserve this, Salvatore," I whisper.

He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I feel so hollow inside, I can’t even imagine what he feels.

He opens his eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze taking my breath away. "Thank you," he tells me. "Thank you for listening."

I nod, pulling him into a tight hug. Salvatore clings to me, and for a moment, I close my eyes and imagine I’m hugging the young Salvatore. The little boy who desperately needed this hug.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes red. "There are more recordings," he says quietly. "I want you to hear them, to understand everything."

I nod, my heart heavy.

He plugs in another USB, and the screen flickers to life again.

The young Salvatore appears, looking even more fragile than before. The therapist’s voice is low. "Salvatore, can you tell about a memory with your mother that you especially hate?"

---