(part five) – The beautiful story of a love. For books – ekuonews.it

TERAMO – «But do you really want to know my story? If you guarantee me to listen to it without judgement, I will tell it to you.

You know? It is difficult to open up and allow a stranger to enter the most private and sometimes unacknowledged folds of one’s human fragility. I’ve had a lot of things happen to me in my life, you know, Enzo? So many that I struggle to give the right sequence to the events. Maybe talking to you will help me. After all, if you happened upon it now it means that this is the right time.”

Perhaps, however, it is better for you to sit down. The story may turn out to be less happy than you might imagine.

Let’s start with a nightmare.

It’s night, the city lights are blurry from the steam that has fogged up the windows of my brand new Golf. There is a naked woman in my arms. She’s beautiful, she smells good. Suddenly I feel dizzy, nauseous. She smiles, but then blood everywhere. There is blood on her face, in her hair, on her breasts. I try to clean her, to calm her down. But where does she come from? In this darkness, the blood is black, it’s sticky, it’s hot. I scream, but no sound comes out of my mouth.

Then his face becomes clean again, but his eyes are terrified. She can’t speak, I ask her what’s happening, but she doesn’t answer. I hear shots. People appear in the dark. The glass explodes. Who’s shooting? I turn around and see my hand. It doesn’t look like her! She is huge! The gun is also strange, it almost doesn’t look like my Beretta. It’s gigantic. I turn around because now my girlfriend is screaming, she looks in the other direction and behind the window I see the silhouette of a man. He looks like a devil, he has wild eyes, then I see my gun pointing towards him. He shoots. Everything explodes, his eyes pop out of their sockets and he disappears in a whirlwind of strobe lights. Valentina screams. Now I can hear her voice perfectly, but the gun continues to fire. I look at it, it doesn’t seem like my hand is holding it. It’s not me. Who’s shooting? Because my Beretta is shooting itself. Another man behind me curses, his voice is croaking, other glass shatters into a thousand crazy splinters. Valentina covers her face with her hands without stopping screaming. I keep shooting. Yes, now I’m the one shooting. I continue and continue. My Beretta 92 9 caliber, it’s a Beretta 92 it’s a semi-automatic, but it doesn’t have all these shots, but I keep shooting endlessly.

I’m drenched in sweat. I have pieces of glass everywhere, in my hair, on my hands, even in my mouth. Valentina is covered in blood again. I fire another shot, take aim, this time the bullet grazes the head of the man who was staring at me from the dashboard and takes off his ear.

I see him peel away, almost in slow motion. It looks like a butterfly flying followed by a crimson trail that shimmers almost illuminated by the lights of the city in the background.

Then I wake up. It was just a bad nightmare.

My heart is in my throat, I can feel it beating so loudly that it seems to make a noise. I’m breathing hard. I miss the air.

The same nightmare every night. Every morning the same awakening.

I slowly regain my composure, I breathe slowly.

Outside, in the corridor, voices are heard.

It’s not day yet but they’ve already turned on the lights in my cell – Enzo Delle Monache –