Beatrice Costello

What was the point of starting all this, if not, to relieve the mind of all the shackles that bound crazy thoughts? To be able to find Giacomo's forgiveness, to forgive myself for ever having believed that I could be truly happy.

A real game of chess formed inside the mind ready to act at every choice and every possible turn, without measures or going back to the hole just the dam bursting letting all the rot take over, one of which could never have erased even if it had tried.

A dangerous game, since human chess generates deaths. And it's amazing how much it brings a sweet taste to my mouth making me take the tip of my tongue to my lips to wet it wishing I had more of that sensation

Listening to the song over and over in a maddening loop only keeps me more awake as my mind tries to get lost in the meaning of the words. Maybe that's the difference, I accepted the monster that dwells in me as a second layer, like the air I breathe. Did he exist or was he born?

Who will know the designs designed by the devil, who will know which fall he will give.

With each pain of each bite causing the pain to spread throughout the body, with each beating inhibiting my movements, stunning the thoughts that were forming inside, taking up a space that I once believed was good. Or at least I tried to imagine being good.

The space trained since birth to be condescending, patient, loving and obedient is now just a hollow and dark space, the suicidal desires I had were being taken over by the insane desire to consume every scream and every moan of her pain.

With fire, blood and the madness intrinsic to the lonely at heart, my mind is taken over by all the ideas flowing in a perfect scheme, the chess pieces moving each time as I lift the stick to hit the bastard again and again. Seeing the fury flash in his eyes, I dropped the staff on the ground bringing our faces close enough, stroking the beard grown by the journey, I find myself imagining how many he tormented without having me to quench his thirst.

Blue eyes gleam in response, her tongue sticking out wetting her sinfully reddened lips, was that the point of allowing myself to fall ill? Or was it already down before him? I place my hand on her cheek.

-I love you Stefano. I say, feeling the rumble in my chest.

The words coming out so easily that I don't even know when I came to love my tormentor, I feel my eyes burning with tears taking every breath I take.

-Beatrice -The serious voice stirs something inside me. - Let me go, I promise to pretend it didn't happen.

I sigh, climbing onto the small table with a few things neatly laid out beside it, tracing his outstretched biceps with the tips of my fingernail, eliciting a moan from both of us reaching his wrists, and stopping when he touches the ring on his ring finger.

–What kind of love is this Stefano? - I ask, reaching down, taking his hands to pick up the red ball trapped between the leather straps on the table.

He lays his head back as I kneel on the wood, feeling my chest heaving in such a painful way, replaying touches and caresses and looks. Was this love just an illusion, mine?

-It's the only real love. - I stop the movements trying to absorb each one of your words. – Love makes us crazy and all the monstrosities we do for love, doesn't make us monsters just made of meat.

I sigh hard feeling the pain carried by the huge drop that escaped from the corner of my eyes, running away when running down my cheek.

– Let me feel one last time. - He bites his lips

The sight of you so innocently helpless, exposed in all its glory like a sculpture carved from the most precious marble, it's this scene that steals another tear from me, holding your left arm putting my face close enough to yours, feeling the warmth and the aroma of his cigar breath, the tongue tracing all the path made by the tear sipping as if it were the purest drink. I pull away just enough for us to lock eyes.

- I feel like I've gone crazy. – I admit it, even if inside I still don't know how to distinguish whether it's good or bad.

-You were always crazy my love and perfect for me. - I feel the truth in his words, getting swayed, tempted to undo the ties that bind him. - Not. ' I look back at him. - Don't do it, only one of us can get out of here alive after that.

I swallow hard because this is the most painful truth, a knife that cuts my soul and for some twisted reason I love this pain.

"Are you giving up for me?" - I murmur in disbelief.

Your smile opens up huge making your white teeth shine with so much beauty, my piece of the sun that burns my wings.

- We'll meet in hell darling. – I see how the look changes at the same moment. “Don't forget whores have a reserved place to serve there too.

I smirk in satisfaction, it's the truth, that's what I am, a whore and now a bad bitch about to cause carnage, I went back to my movements putting the red ball in her mouth, listening to the whimpers as the words started to hit the open scars inside her soul, her accusations of being a bad wife, of being a whore from a bad family.

The indignity of bearing a Sartori heir.

I get down from the table facing the sea that carries all my pains, the annoyances and my heart, yes, if I ever had one, I'm leaving with that man. And even he knows it, as he stops trying to speak to force his best smile even with his mouth open. His gaze carries the satisfaction of knowing he's tattooed on me.

I dance for a moment chanting the music making my low voice reverberate on the walls of my cell, the feeling of pleasure grows, because this time it will only be mine. Mine alone, for all eternity. Without looking at anyone else, because the last look will be mine. I walk around the room, reaching the table and carefully choosing the proof of the monstrosity my love is capable of doing for him.

An infamous joke in which every movement brings out a smile amidst the chaos of blood splattered across the small space that used to be my cell.

Beatrice Costello

My right ear asked for rest from the incessant sound and even with the pain I let the music take over, when you lose your mind do you feel free or alive?!

It wasn't the time to hold back the pain, not when my demon needs to sing, when my mind needs to feel the blood heating. I watched his eyes tremble, his breathing out of rhythm and the sweat on his forehead instigating the worst in me, something I never imagined would be possible as a distant dream coming true, now. I chose the dull-edged axe.

I raised the axe, letting the blade catch on the bone of the ankle, making a swinging motion as if I were chopping wood, to draw it not from a piece of wood but from the bone, repeating the movement and seeing the way in which his eyes They turned and looked down to see that I'd left only a stump in place, their growls reverberating around the room with isolation blending with the music. I dropped the ax on the table listening to a brief sigh of relief, although his look now carries a challenge, what he doesn't imagine is that hell is here, he was the one who taught me that by teaching me that between the walls of this basement the one with power is the judge and the executioner. I grabbed a cloth and walked to her little closet, found the acid I needed, and came back pressing the acid cloth to what was left of her ankle. Her body writhing with pain, kneeling I lifted my gaze to meet his, the pain reverberated through my lip as the knee broke the skin, I licked tasting the viscous liquid and smiling with pleasure.

I am your executioner, your owner, your hell, the only one capable of having your love, because we are dirty, we are made of the same rottenness.

My troubled and dazed mind brought back the unfortunate words, memory is a disgusting bitch.

I used the same red ball I was forced to wear, which made the sight bring me such distorted pleasure. Seeing him like this, helpless, I feel that I am taking his throne.

Is this who I am now? A version of it?

An executioner like Stefano has been all these years.

I got up looking at the work as a whole, the sculpture that will live on in my memories, it would have been more difficult without my brother's help to secure it to that butchery rod, convincing him was complicated, but it was worth the pleasure of reciprocating all your love is mine alone.

-This is our love. -I say smiling, standing up, choosing the new weapon on the table. – Let me show you.

And that will be my most pleasant memory.

Every 'I love you' being returned in its own way, using the moment to avenge every child he raped in front of me and every child he took from me.

I took the metal stick swinging from one foot to the other feeling the music command my movements, when the bass reached the apex I rotated my hips and hit him in the ribs listening to the sound of bones breaking, like a soft melody.

I shook my head, watching what the next point would be and suddenly it didn't make sense anymore, nothing made sense, nothing but a battered, panting piece of meat reduced, only everything ends one way or another and the end isn't always a happy one. fairy tale. Despite the seeping pleasure, the feeling of finally satiating that ravenous little bloodlust, I was consumed by the desire to see him in pieces, like all the pieces he had made of me.

With a cleaver I began the cuts, making sure to let him feel each one of them his eyes rolling in pain, heightening my pleasure and the moans filling the space and the drool running down the red ball, the blood splattering all over the room, I let go of the cleaver and grabbed a knife, reaching into his abdomen and slicing open his guts from one end to the other, falling to the ground, the pleasure of killing becoming a part of my soul, his eyes losing life.

I started with them, that part that one day eluded the little world of fantasy making me believe that I could be happy inside the mafia, I stuck the knife in each of his eyes, I put each one in a small box, I walked to the other side of the room pulling the metallic drum positioned just for that, his feet thrown across the room were flung like a basketball, I caught the guts throwing inside the drum.

Without an ounce of compassion or pity for the dead.

“With the cleaver will take a long time,” I blurted out loud to the corpse in front of me.

I took the knife and cleaver to the table picking up the axe, making the throwing preparation and there goes a thigh ready to be shattered.

And in this ritual of disemboweling every piece of the body, I expelled every painful memory, every hurt, not even if everything goes wrong, this small moment will always be my victory.

I took the gallon of gasoline throwing it inside the drum, climbed on a stool and untied the trapped hands adding to the small barbecue, his head at the bottom without eyes coming towards me drew a laugh. I pulled back enough to lean the tired body against the door, picking up his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

As soon as I threw the lit lighter into the gas, I puffed on my first and only cigarette.

Feeling all the lies being burned by the fire next to the man who was once my husband, the intense blue eyes promising and swearing a non-existent love with each beating, forcing my mind for a single moment to think I was guilty of his evil deeds.

Am I losing my sanity?

Losing myself from reality?

The cigarette is gone, and the flames continue to consume all the fuel, the smell of burning flesh must have settled on my skin.

But I wanted to be there and nowhere else in the world, to see what for a single moment was the air I breathed, the master of my demon turn into ashes is like coming without having sex. And though no one could take his place, even in death he is my deepest pain, my most open and most sun-exposed scar.

The dream of a happy life and of building a pure love with a big family is my dream of a margarine commercial that just went up in smoke.

I waited that at some point regret would strike, that the pain would make me numb, that the air would fail. Still, by some joke of fate I felt my lungs draw in air comfortably for the first time, felt pleasure filling my veins. I rolled my eyes at the mess, that was the only moment of discomfort I felt.

Drink me, feed me and let me show you the light.

My demon seemed finally free of its shackles and through some madness, that's comforting.

I took the alcohol from the shelf beside me and walked towards the dirty ax on the table, with a new flannel, I started to clean the blood, smelling the rust and watching the shine of the ax appear.

I continued the same process on each knife, each razor, each needle and each pliers, all the last twenty-four hours I've spent here have paid off. Every scream of pain present within memory is kept especially in a place where the past cannot be forgotten.

Beatrice Costello

And now every piece of me took a toll on maintaining itself, I breathed as deeply as I could, leaning against the wall, took the cell phone off the shelf, turning off the sound and opening the door. The darkness embraced like an old friend, climbing each step I expected to feel any remorse and all I felt was a huge nothing.

Walking through the dark house, groping along the walls for some support for my tired legs, I managed to reach the bedroom, and as in a silent prayer I connected the cell phone to the sound system, threw the device on the bed without caring about the number of missed calls or messages.

I sighed, losing myself from reality feeling the taste of blood filling my mouth after cutting my lips biting.

I could have lost my sanity and still, it didn't matter.

His blood being spilled and running down the corners, the fire in his blue eyes being consumed, and the ashes that rose in the sweltering place.

It's that whisper in my mind that brings the first smile to my lips after the chaos, and that little feeling I'll never let go of. Even at the cost of innocent blood. Facing the mirror inside the bathroom, I realized that the sound had already been turned off because maybe the cell phone had finally discharged, in the reflection someone different from what I was used to seeing, with a livid head, I entered the box leaving the water running down the body cleaning the dirt clinging to my skin, because what clings to my soul cannot be cleaned.

I felt it was enough and left the box wrapping my body in a towel, I walked out of the bathroom holding the bag in which I put all the evidence that could indicate my crime and staining the whole house with blood, I left the bag next to the door entry so you don't forget to take out the trash even without knowing if it's collection day or what day it is.

I walked to the kitchen counter where I used to leave the charger and plugged it in feeling a small shock in my hand and a small red ball instantly appear on the tip of my finger.

The pain didn't bother her anymore, maybe she was the only true companion in all these years. I moved a little to the left opening the fridge door and getting out the orange juice, milk and two eggs. I prepared the frying pan and cracked the eggs, taking a kettle to pass a strained coffee and putting it on the fire, I took a glass and filled it with juice, watching the eggs crack inside the frying pan as the crack of bones breaking filled my mind and ears .

The kettle whistled and the smell of the eggs began to burn, I turned off the heat and placed the eggs on a flat plate, brewed the coffee as calmly and precisely as the art that is. Grabbing my biggest cup I filled it with coffee and covered it with milk until it splattered out as I lifted it off the counter, I took a sip feeling my stomach grateful for the food that had been stolen from it. I looked down at the glass still full of juice, spilling its contents across the kitchen mixing with the drippings of blood from every open wound.

The sound of a car outside didn't surprise me, and when one of the few people with a key to my house entered, the silence fell and the air that came through the door cooled the house.

His eyes searched the house looking for something that would never be there again, understanding seemed to hit his thoughts, watching my small breakfast. His proximity in slow steps was not surprising, but his silence for the first time in his life bothered him.

Eyes as dark as mine, straight hair and neatly trimmed beard set against pale skin, for the first time in my life I understood the darkness in my brother's eyes.

Maybe the worst monsters aren't the ones we create, maybe the worst monsters are just ourselves.

Pulling the drumstick sitting in front of me in deafening silence, I took a deep breath and returned the cup of coffee, I didn't bother with the open entrance door the footsteps of those entering were filling the small room between a sofa and the kitchen.

Stefano made a point of saying that she didn't deserve a big house, that her body would be deformed if she got pregnant, the small house that I learned to hate because it was a prison, the walls a ridiculous color of green, without having the slightest option of redecorating or any shit.

I lifted my head and watched quietly, feeling an incredible calm inside me.

Each look was loaded with a question that I couldn't answer until the hunger was over, and the worst of all, is that this hunger didn't stop the desire to rewind each moment like a movie feeling each sensation. dark eyes, I gave a small smile sensing the monster's desire to boast.

Face to face with my brother without any disappointment about the fate of the man who was my husband, he understood all the lines in the look, words were unnecessary and the sigh when he held my hand was his way of asking 'are you okay?' the rise of my smile joining his equal mine, couldn't give another answer.