Tintarella di Luna

The second of Kameka's co-author time! This time it's a hot European romance, perfect to warm your heart in the depth of winter.

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1. Removing Routine

 

The penetrating stillness of the night was smooth like glass, glass waiting to be shattered into millions of razor-sharp crystalline tears. Nothing could be heard except for the faint wheezing of an asthmatic train shuffling into the inky blackness. This night called to me, whispering into my ears, so I raised my head from my from my pillow to listen. Braving the impact of cold air onto my bare legs, I made my way to the window. I could still feel the lingering fingertips of my dreams clinging to the shards of my memory, the white-hot pain, the flinch-inducing sensations. All my life I ran from my past, but on this cold night, I stared out of the window lost in thought and embraced it.

My childhood didn't exist after the incident. In such a small town to grow up in, people knew about what had happened to me, and they avoided me like the plague. Some cursed me in the shadows, others just outright shunned me. My parents were oblivious. I never told them, and the whispers seem to stop short of our door. In my house, I was the child who could do no wrong, the eldest, the beloved, up until my parents died when I was eighteen.

The anemic sun turned the horizon a sickly white as I finally drew away from the window. I was trapped in this town and the memories it held for me. I spent almost my entire life here, raising my siblings, working multiple jobs to make ends meet. Now they were safe and sound in college, and I was still here, working to the bone to keep the apartment roof above my head and save up as much extra as possible, unable to leave. Paralyzed. Stuck in a dismal routine, on a merry-go-round that won't stop. 

Rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes, I dressed for work. The only work you can find when you didn't go to college was being a waitress. And in this small town, with a history like mine, being a waitress was akin to serving sharks their dinner while you bled into the ocean. I plastered on a fake smile and painted my facade on.

The service was filled with pinches and pokes, jabs and stubbed toes, as usual. Tips were meager. As usual. The only reason why today was different from any other day in my routine, was because with the extra two dollars Mrs. Hutchinson flung at me, after years of saving, I now had the money to book a one-way ticket to Madrid and stay there forever with my dual citizenship. Time for a new life.

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