Page 17 of Brittle Heart

Chiara and I are at the subway station near her school, where I just picked her up. She’s crying, and I’m holding her close. In her hand is a paper with a low grade, not the first one she’s gotten recently.

It’s only been three months since we lost our parents, and she’s struggling to sleep. Everything is just too much. We lost our parents, moved out of our home, and now live in a run-down apartment with our asshole of an uncle.

He wasn’t a nice guy even before we had to live with him, and I never liked him, but now he’s always drunk and angry, so we mostly try to stay out of his way.

Since Roberto doesn’t lift a finger, I’ve had to find two jobs to cover our rent and food, all while still going to high school. I even told a bar owner I was older than I am so I could work there at night.

Chiara doesn’t see the full picture. To her, she’s lost her parents and her home and feels like I’m not there for her. I want to be there more than anything. She is all I have now too. But if I don’t work, we’ll soon be homeless or without food.

Since I’m not there, and she is grieving, alone too much, and only fucking eleven years old, she is slacking. At first, her teachers were understanding, but apparently, their patience is running thin.

I move in front of her, placing my hands on her shoulders and bending down to meet her eyes. She’s wiping away tears, trying to hold back more. “Hey,piccola,” I soothe. “We’ll work on your next assignment together, okay? You’ll improve your grade in no time.”

She nods but can’t meet my eyes, and another tear rolls down her cheek. I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile. Lately, all she does is cry, and it’s breaking my heart. But I don’t know what to do.

I am struggling not to drown in grief myself.

Drawing her close, I give her a comforting hug, kissing her forehead. “How about some ice cream?”

I earned good tips last night, and even though it isn’t in the budget, sometimes you have to bend the rules, especially if it might bring a smile to her face.

But before she can respond, loud laughter echoes from behind us. Del Moro and his friends are approaching, heading to our platform. My heart sinks. Quickly, I turn us both so we’re facing away from them.

“Stay calm,” I whisper to Chiara, but it seems he’s already seen us.

“Costa!” Del Moro shouts. I briefly shut my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, trying to gather my courage, then I arrange my face into a blasé expression, shielding Chiara as I turn to face him.

We lock eyes, and I say nothing. Del Moro walks toward me with a malicious grin. “Haven’t I told you that you’re not allowed to use the subway anymore?”

“Fuck off, dickhead” I reply flatly.

Undeterred, he steps closer. I stand my ground, maintaining eye contact. But his eyes dart behind me. “What’s this?” He snatches Chiara’s paper from her hand and scans it.

I reach out to take it back from him, but he rips it to shreds. “Looks like stupidity runs in your family.”

“Kind of like syphilis runs in yours, I guess.” I know I’ll regret that, but I can’t let him belittle Chiara when she’s already so down.

His friends laugh and jeer from behind, but Del Moro’s face twists with fury. “You’ve just proved how fucking stupid you are.”

He seizes the strap of my backpack and yanks, sending me sprawling onto the pavement. Pain shoots through my knees and palms.

I turn to see Del Moro focus his cold gaze on the trembling Chiara, who looks like a deer in headlights. Without warning, he forcefully pushes her, and she tumbles down onto the subway tracks below.

Panic overtakes me as I scramble to the edge and stretch my hand toward her, but she’s too far down, and I can’t reach her.

“Don’t touch the rails!” I yell.

“Lina!” she screams, fear in her voice while she jumps and tries to reach my hand.

Desperate, I pull off my backpack and let it fall to the ground before jumping onto the tracks, bending down, and positioning myself as a human ladder for Chiara. “Climb up, quick!”

Using my back and shoulders as steps, Chiara scrambles up and back onto the platform, shaken but safe.

But now, I’m the one stranded on the tracks. The familiar hum of an approaching subway train grows louder, the glaring headlights drawing closer. My panic escalates as I desperately jump and try to grip the edge of the platform, but it’s too high for me to reach.

As the train roars nearer, two of Del Moro’s friends get cold feet and rush over to extend their arms down toward me. I grasp their hands tightly, and they pull with all their might, yanking me up and out of the path of the oncoming train just in the nick of time.

The subway cars rush past before coming to a halt. As I regain my breath, trembling from the shock and adrenaline, I look up to see Del Moro sneering.

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