Page 2 of Brittle Heart

Getting up, I pull some clothes out of my drawer. I don’t have many to choose from. Most of my money goes toward rent, groceries, Roberto’s drinking habit, and things for Chiara. Besides, everything I own and wear is black, so it’s not noticeable if I wear the same shit repeatedly.

I make my way to the bathroom and quickly shower, brush my teeth and hair, and get dressed before applying some makeup. I look in the mirror, and the only things I truly like about myself are my black hair and gold-brown eyes, which I inherited from my mother. My sister, Chiara, and I resemble her a lot, with almond-shaped eyes that gently tilt upward.

Our mother was a beautiful Italian woman with sun-kissed skin and full lips. And while Chiara has her petite frame, I am even shorter than her and inherited my body shape from my father’s side, which is a lot curvier.

Unfortunately, it’s not the hourglass type of curvy with a flat stomach and a generous bust. I’ve had a belly, big thighs, and large arms for as long as I can remember. Being a size sixteen at only five feet two makes my body shape a circle.

If it weren’t for the fact that I love my little sister with all my heart, I might feel jealous of her for inheriting all the good genes. But I’ve been taking care of her for the past five years, and she is all I have. I could never harbor any resentment toward her, especially not for something as shallow as this.

Or so I tell myself.

As I finish my mascara, I notice her standing in the doorway.

“Can I have my turn?” she asks.

“Sure,piccola,” I say, reaching up to affectionately pat her head as I leave the bathroom and head into the kitchen to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Soon after, Chiara finishes in the bathroom and joins me in the kitchen to eat. I place a glass of orange juice and a plate in front of her.

“Buon appetito,” I say.

She smiles at me. “Grazie,Lina.”

She finishes her breakfast as the door to Roberto’s room opens.

Fuck, he’s not usually awake at this time of day.

He walks into the kitchen and immediately starts berating me. “Is there any food left for me, or did you eat everything again, pig?”

Trying to diffuse the situation, I grab two more slices of bread from the package. “I’ll make something for you too. You can go to sit in the living room, and I will bring it to you.”

As I begin spreading peanut butter on the bread, he grabs my wrist, causing me to look up at him. “I don’t want that cheap crap. Make me something better,” he demands, and I nearly puke from the sour smell coming out of his mouth.

I try to free my arm, but he’s a large man, and despite him being a raging alcoholic and in his fifties, I’m not strong enough to match him. His black hair is starting to gray on the sides and his dark eyes that were once a pretty shade of brown are now always rimmed red. The hand gripping my wrist has a black cross tattooed on it, already fading.

“We don’t have anything better here, Roberto. But these sandwiches are good, and I’m sure you’ll like them. Please, just sit down,” I plead.

In a fit of anger, he shoves me into the kitchen counter. “Don’t tell me what to do! Get me something better! Where is the money you owe me?” he barks out, his rage escalating.

I don’t owe him jack shit, as I’m the only one earning money and covering the rent and bills. But ever since he took us in five years ago after our parents passed away, he feels entitled to control and command me.

I never understood how my kind and loving father could have had a brother like him.

“Where is my money?” he shouts, pushing me again.

“I didn’t make any tips last night, but I’ll give you the money tomorrow after my shift,” I say, anticipating his next move when he forcefully grabs me and throws me to the floor.

“Lina!” Chiara cries out, rising from her chair.

“Go to the bathroom and lock the door!” I tell her as Roberto kicks my stomach.

“Lina…” Chiara pleads once more, shaking from head to toe.

I raise my voice. “Now, Chiara!”

She obeys, closing the bathroom door just as Roberto delivers another kick. As soon as the click of the lock echoes, I curl my body into a ball, trying to shield my head with my hands.

“You worthless, fat piece of shit! I’m going to teach you what happens when you steal my money!” he spews, continuing to kick me until he’s out of breath.

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