Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
It’s like we’re both uncomfortable in our own skin or something. Sometimes I don’t know how she can look at me after all I’ve done to her. I have a hard time looking at myself. I thank God that she survived everything I put her through but now that I’m not Tommy Ferrano, heir to the Ferrano family business, I don’t know who I am.
And her? She’s mine. She’s my wife, my lifeline, my life. I’m so obsessed with her that it borders on insanity and I too frequently breach that border.
We arrived in Costa Rica and Tia loves the house I rented. It’s got a billion-dollar view, it’s five thousand square feet, it’s private with ocean views and a pool on top of the roof, and it’s got every basic amenity we need just a two-minute drive or ten-minute walk away. It has a long dock that she can sit and fish from and we often sit out back around the outdoor fireplace while she cooks campfire concoctions. There’s no one but us. No one here knows who we are. I finally have her all to myself and there’s no reason why another drama should put her in danger again, but I know better than to become complacent. And I can’t handle having her out of my sight yet. I tried. I let her go to a fruit vendor while I was on a patio of a restaurant the day after the family all left to go back home and five minutes later, I had to find her. I was physically ill with anxiety about her being vulnerable.
She wants to explore and shop and try local restaurants and go deep sea fishing and do yoga and take dance classes and live life to the fullest, but I don’t want her out of my sight for the stuff I wouldn’t do and half the time I can’t be bothered with the stuff I would do.
I go along with her when I can’t find excuses not to keep us home. She keeps looking at me with sad eyes and when I catch her… she tries to paint on a smile, a fake smile. It makes me wanna put my fist through a wall.
I’m doing therapy over the webcam. I’d rather just forget it all instead of talking about it. I need distance from home, from the business, from ex-associates and enemies. I need distance from myself, my urges, my needs, my nightmares. That’s why we’re here. We don’t know if I’m in danger, if Tia’s in danger. We don’t want questions from the cops about any loose ends back home. I don’t know if I’ll eventually take us back or make a life here or somewhere else, but right now we’re supposed to be taking time to breathe, be newlyweds. But I can’t just breathe.
Every day brings breaking news of shit Pop was into that we were oblivious about. I have a standing weekly appointment with the fucking shrink, which I don’t wanna do but which I do because Tia needs me to do it so we both can hang onto hope that I’m not a lost cause. The shrink specializes in helping men like me. Is it helping me? I don’t fucking know.
Yeah, I shot my father when he turned a gun on her in order to punish me. But in hindsight, the time between when my father raised his gun to Tia and the time I fired my weapon, I wasn’t sure but thought I saw something in his face that told me he wanted to die. I don’t know if it’s hindsight or just my nightmares haunting me.
I have alternating dreams where his expression changes. Did he raise that gun so I’d kill him with no intention of shooting her or me? Did I save her life and my own life by killing the man who gave me life? Did I pass or fail the ultimate Tom Ferrano test? The fact that I’d killed my own father, did it mean I really was no better than he was, or did I just protect what was mine? His face haunts my dreams.
The blood-covered wedding dress he had someone leave on the balcony outside my bedroom just before he died taunts me, tells me he intended to kill her or at least wanted me to fear that he would. I was relieved it looked nothing like the dress she actually wore and I never told her about the bloody dress or a bunch of other shit that went down because she had enough to cope with. That dress continues to haunt my nightmares. Most of getting her out of that dress on our wedding night was about my desire, yeah, but some of that was probably about those fears and getting her safely out of it while it was still white, rather than stained scarlet.