LOVE SCARS | Chapter 5 My heart is buried in Venice

 Lucas and I had this unspoken bond that when we were kids boiled down to twin telepathy. It was a sixth sense he had that he could instantaneously let him know something was wrong with me. Even when not here miles apart he knew when something was off.

We sat on the phone in silence, the sound of crickets and his leveled breathing filling the air. He was waiting for me to let him in on what rock was tied to my ankle this time but knew I wouldn't let him speak up. I was a fickle thing having to be gently coaxed into vulnerability. Never bringing up the subject and only mentioning what'd been weighing me down in abstract terms. He knew this, but still; he waited for some slim chance that I might tell him. His sigh echoes from the other line.

"It was Papa, wasn't it?" he asked. When I don't say anything, Lucas sighed again. "What happened? Another one of his uncalled-for outbursts?"

He took my silence as a pitiful admission.

"What did you do?" Lucas asked.

Silence.

"Prince!" Lucas shouts into the phone. "Great, now I'll have to come home to deal with that pissy old man."

"Can we not talk about him?" I asked. My voice came out dry and dull. I swish around the whiskey in my glass before downing it. The continuous swish of liquid and burn of the liquor felt nice going down.

"Fine." He said. "So I want to get Theodore a Lamborghini for his birthday. Do you know his favorite color?"

"He doesn't even have his driver's permit, but it's blue."

"And? Did that stop us from driving at his age? Remember when we wrecked Papa's Bentley?"

I rolled my eyes at the mention of that. We were young and high on drugs trying to street race with some Asian kid in a 1980 Toyota Cressida sedan.

"A Lamborghini though? Don't you think that's a bit much for him?"

"Gotta have the kid riding in style. Plus, he comes from money. Why not let him show it off, huh?"

Theodore isn't the show-off type. He likes keeping himself under the radar if he can but with the last name Moretti, it was hard to avoid unwanted attention. Everyone knew that getting into Lorenzo Moretti's good side was like having a country under complete control. Everyone had their delusions of grandeur making Papa's name and, by extension, ours worth something. Women wanted to marry him for all the money, respect, power, protection, and glory that came with the family name.

"Dirty money," I said. "We come from dirty money."

"Money is money, rather we killed for it, stole it, or collected from bastards who owed us hefty fees," Lucas said into the phone. "It's ours."

"Anyway, I need a favor."

"Hmm, a favor? Since when did the Prince ask for favors? What happened to Mr. I need nothing for no one. Mr. angsty let me brood in my room like I'm 15. Mr.-"

"Lucas."

"Okay Okay. What do you need?"

"A presidential suite at your hotel."

"For what? Or should I say, for who?"

"Bambino's birthday."

"Does Papa know?"

"No, and he's not going to know unless you can't keep your mouth shut."

Lucas laughed into the phone. "I'll keep my mouth shut on one condition."

"What is it?"

"Come with me to Tokyo for a business conference. It'll only be a week or two with mainly business meetings. I even have a cute little house in the mountains. "

"No."

"Guess I'll tell papa what you're planning." He said in a sing-song voice. I could see his stupid ass face with a huge grin.

"Fine, I'll go."

"That's my rana pescatrice. I'll get everything set up. When do you two plan on leaving?"

"Tomorrow, when I get him from school."

"So this means he'll be missing the party Papa is giving him?"

"Yeah."

"I want no parts of this. You know that old man is going to be pissed. I hate working with him when he's in one of his pissy moods."

"Don't care. That's an extremely personal problem. Bye."

"Wait."

"What?"

"Whatever the old man said to you. He didn't mean it. You know how he can be at times-"

"Don't make excuses for him." I took my phone from my ear and ended the call. I sat my phone on the armrest and reached beside the table, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring myself another glass.

It was around six in the evening when Theodore was getting home from cram school. I get up from my chair leaving the sitting area to make my way up to Theodore's room. Theodore and I were the only two that lived with Papa. I could have moved out with Lucas, but Papa wanted me here with him and Theo. He loved having me here to play out his perfect family fantasy, meeting his needs and demands like the doting wife. He wanted to be his good little Tesoro and do whatever he says. Good children do whatever they can to make their parents happy, right?

I walked up the staircase while drinking my whiskey. When I reached the top of the stairs, classical music drifted out into the wide halls. Something that probably was Mozart or Beethoven — dead man's music. How could Theo listen to stuff like this? It's torture to the ears? I went down further until I was at his door. His door was open wide enough for me to peek in. He was at the dresser. He was shirtless, his bare back facing me. I took a sip of whiskey while I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed. My eyes traveled to his slender waist. He was so delicate fitting into my side like a bunny in an open field.

"Prince?" Theo asked with a slight hint of excitement in his voice.

I cleared my throat ignoring my slight embarrassment. "Hey, Bambino." I stepped into his room walking over to his bed to take a seat. He slipped on a shirt and then came to sit beside me. His knee rests against mine as he moves his body closer to me. He leans over startling me as he takes his hand to tuck my hair behind my hair. He leaned forward placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Something the matter?" he asked. His voice is soft as his silk as he puts his head on my shoulder.

I sat my glass on the floor beside my feet. Then, without a word or a thought, I hugged him. A tight, firm hug. I hid my face in the crook of his neck inhaling his scent. The usual fabric softener and shampoo are masked by the smell of lemongrass.

"Do you think I'm clingy?" I mumbled into his neck. Theo relaxes into the embrace, his arms coming around my waist.

"You? clingy?" He laughed. "Not at all. If anything, I'm the clingy one, don't you think?"

As a child, he was more clingy compared to his teenage self who didn't need me quite as much. Sometimes I miss his younger years as a child when we had practically done everything together having him attached to my hip or him clinging to me like some baby spider monkey. When I went on business trips and he had to stay behind it eat me up inside having to leave him alone with Papa. After taking care of Lucas and me, Papa's patience to look after the younger child grew thinner. When I did return from my trips, Theo would give the silent treatment and hide away from me until night, when he was too afraid of monsters who were going to eat his toes. Then he'd crawl into my bed asking if he could stay. Now I felt like that closeness was lost just a little. That may be the only thing that kept us sort of close was that he needed me in a way that differed from how our Papa needed me.

"A clingy little monster," I whispered into his neck. "You'll never leave me, right, Bambino?"

"Of course not. We're brothers. I'm going to always be here for you no matter what." Theo said.

For now. I thought. You'll be here for now. But what happens once you're older? When you're ready to go off to college? What about when you have kids and only come back on Christmas? When did you realize you don't want to be around me anymore?

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart," he said.

For a little while, we stayed bundled together until Theo's classical music track stops playing and he gets up to switch it to something else. I laid back on his bed, my arms resting behind my head as I listened to him move about his room, tidying up little things.

"Tomorrow I'll pick you up from school and we'll go to the hotel for your birthday. You can tell your friend to meet you at the Charles Green bridge hotel downtown." I said. "Pack a bag for three nights."

"This dinner is really important to Papa. I don't want to embarrass him in front of everyone if I'm not there for my birthday dinner." Theo said. I could hear the fearfulness in his voice from across the room.

"Don't you want to celebrate your birthday the way you want?"

"Yeah, but..." he paused. I hear his slippers shuffle across the floor. The bed dips down beside me before Theo curls up into my side, fitting like a puzzle piece. "He'll kill me."

"I'll handle him, okay?" I took my arm from behind my head and placed it around Theo.

"Papa is scary when he's angry," Theo said. I didn't even have to look at him to tell at this point he has his bottom lip sucked into his mouth.

"He isn't." I try to lessen our papa down to being something of a fucking care bear, but Theo and I both knew what I said was a lie. Even at the age of thirty-four He can and always makes me feel so little. He's the only person that could do that.

- In the other corner of the house -

The smell of wet plaster filled the hidden library. Lorenzo Moretti goes through the pictures he printed from the household cameras. Shuffling through to find the perfect one of his son's tearful faces. Prince was the kind of person who was a beautiful crier.

His normally hard expression morphed into something soft and timid. His almond eyes grew wide and puffy. When glazed over, they reminded him of the frost in Venice winters. They became snow globes of emotion that filled Lorenzo with the unexpected rush of arousal.

Around the library, walls were dried plaster perfect for his new project. His sketchbook held page after page of his most priceless memories of his son. His first addition would be Prince's apology and their cuddle session from this afternoon.

Just thinking of his sweet boy's apologetic features and approval-seeking eyes would be enough to keep him satisfied for a few months. If there was one thing he adored most about his little seraphim was his ability to absorb emotion. He was trained so serendipitously to sit, stay, and beg all, according to his father's moods.

Lorenzo finally finds the perfect flurry of photos for his sketch. He finishes his drawing in record time. He then goes to the section of the library holding shelf after shelf of sonnets written about Prince. He stops in the middle to take the graphite and go over the details on the wall. His mind wandered back to their bath. He thought of the way Prince's arm held him tight. His stomach pooled with warmth as he replayed the moment over and over. His seraphim's head tucked in his shoulder, the scent of sandalwood body wash, the way his being echoed I need you. How every following event did nothing to prove Prince wrong.

As he finished transferring the graphite to the wall, he wondered how hard Prince would take his death. He felt this inevitable glee knowing his lover would mourn him in every life. That the little home wrecker that was Theodore tried as he might never fill that hole. Theodore was too gentle and giving. Unaware that regardless of how hurt Prince was, he found the up and down of fighting for affection addictive. His Prince wasn't meant to be dominant and demanding his natural place was to be submissive and spoiled. He needed a thick whip and loving hand, neither of which Lucas or Theo was able to offer.

Lorenzo goes to add the needed plaster mixture to the wall. He applied thick lumps and then flattened them when he was finished.

He remembered the days of Prince used to watch him paint. His curious eyes would stare intently at his fingers as he created paradise out of paper. Lorenzo understood that only his Tesoro would feel gratified by the finished product. His Vermeer-worthy smile would be illuminated when he'd finally see his testament of affection. He wanted to create something that would outlive him. Something so branding that his son would know he could have whomever he wanted after his death, but Lorenzo would be the cut that always bleeds. No matter how far he pushed it down, all he needed was a smell, a sentence, a song, or any reminder to his boy of him and his breakdown would start all over again. Prince's subconscious would be tied to him like fine silk on ancient tapestries.