The Fallen Ones

Chapter 8 • The Fourth Summer

Enzo:

"Please," I whisper as I frantically bounce my wailing baby. "Please stop. I'll do anything, please."

My green eyed darling does no such thing. She continues to scream, tears not even falling down her cheeks. Her face blooms red as she cries out.

I don't know how to make her stop.

She does this. Every single day. All day. She's fed. She's changed. She's clean. She's held. She's slept. She just doesn't stop.

But it's my job as her father to be here. To take care of her. To make sure that nothing in the whole world could hurt her. I don't know how to make it stop.

And I can't ask Maria for help.

She's barely herself anymore. She moves around the castle like a ghost. One second, I'll spot her in the corner of my eye. But by the time I look, she's gone. She doesn't eat much and I can't remember the last time I heard her laugh. Much like our daughter, she spends most of her time crying. I've been tiptoeing around her, trying as best I can to give her space.

I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know how to pull my wife out of the darkest depths of her mind while also ensuring that our daughter is cared for. I didn't know what to do so I made the call.

"The baby can feel the stress," Rosa states, sitting in the rocking chair. "Give her to me."

"I've got it," I snap. "I'm her father." 

"Enzo, this is ridiculous," Rosa huffs. "You have far too much on your plate right now. You can't do this all alone."

"Aiuta mia moglie e basta," I instruct.
(Just help my wife)

It's pointless speaking to her like that, though. If anything, the more direct you are with Rosa, the more likely she is to defy you.

"Maria is taking a nap which is exactly what Elle should be doing," she insists. "Give me the baby."

"Posso farcela," I mutter. Elle's voice has grown hoarse from the hours she spends screaming each day.
(I can handle it)

"Fuck this," Rosa stands abruptly. "I'm calling Alice."

She starts for the door but I step in her way. She glares up at me and I return the gesture. This is my wife. My daughter. It's my responsibility. I'm the one who needs to care for them; no one else.

"I can do this myself," I state. "I can handle it."

"Yeah?" Rosa lets out a dry laugh. "Well, Maria can't."

"Don't talk about my wife like that," I spit back.

"Like what?" Rosa tosses her arms up. "Like she's struggling? Like she needs help? There's nothing wrong with asking for help!"

"I don't need help," I reiterate.

"You have no fucking idea what you're doing," she retorts quickly.

"This is my daughter we're talking about!" I exclaim.

Isabelle's screams ring in my ear and I breathe heavily. I haven't raised my voice in years, especially not around Maria. And I never, ever, wanted Elle to see this side of me. The side whose arms shake as they hold her, trying as best as I can to hold in my anger. I don't even know why I bothered to call Rosa. She's nothing but infuriating.

"It's also your wife who is so fucking broken can't even get out of bed," Rosa jabs her finger in my chest.

"Vaffanculo," I spit back. It's the only thing I can think to say.
(Fuck you)