Chapter 30

"I'm home!" I hear him scream from the other room. I ignore him and keep playing with my cars. I let them run around the house, past my dolls and onto a chair. He walks into the living room, where I am.

"Where's your mother?" He says. I don't like the way he speaks. It makes my heart jump and it makes me grumpy. So I shrug.

"She out?" He asks. I nod.

He kneels down, grabs my hand, the one with the red car, my favourite one, and brings it between our faces. "Aren't you a bit too old to be playing with cars?" His voice is too calm. I know he's in hurting mode. His voice scares me.

"You are a child, you behave like a toddler, and you expect to be treated like an adult. Now tell me, if you play with these stupid toys, how do you expect me to even treat you like a normal human being? Playing with boys' toys? Your mother is stupid, I don't know what she's doing, buying you this stuff. And your clothes, all blue. You look like a sad little boy." He throws me to the ground, grabs my arms and pins me down.

I don't want to. I want to scream, I don't want it to happen again.

He grabs my shirt and pulls it off, my trousers are next.

"You little bitch, you trying to be like the boys to get their attention? Dress like a whore then, maybe that'll match your personality."

He grabs the matches and for a second I think he's setting me on fire, but he opens the stove, stuffing my clothes in it along with the now burning piece of wood. He grabs my cheeks, forcing me to look up at him.

"Don't you fucking dare move." He stomps to my room.

I don't want to. I want to scream, I don't want it to happen again.

I hear my wardrobe open, I hear him moving things around. He comes back with a pile of clothes, all the boy-ish ones, all my favourites. He comes back with them and puts them in, joining the ashes of the ones I was wearing.

His face is cold. He scares me. Sometimes he looks like the men my mum tells me to look out for on the road, or the ones they show in TV, when they go to jail. The same dark features, the same stone cold face. He scares me.

"Now, if your mother comes home and asks you where your clothes have gone, you tell her we gave them to charity because you didn't like them, got it? If I find out," he leans over me and grabs me by the neck. "if I find out that isn't what you said, you are going to regret it. Understood?" I nod.

"One other thing, let your hair grow out. Short hair is pure shit on girls. Especially bitches like you, no boy would ever want a girl with short hair like yours. Next time your mum asks you if you want to go to the hairdresser's, you tell her you want to grow it out, otherwise there will be severe punishment."

He stands up, grabs his camera. He's a photographer, for models. He photographs celebrities. And me.

I don't want to. I want to scream, I don't want it to happen again.

"What's your promise, child?" He asks while preparing the camera.

"I promise I won't tell anyone anything about this." I whisper. I feel a tear fall on my hand. It always happens. Always one tear, alone like me.

"Otherwise?"

"Mum will kill herself from the pain."

"Good. Stand up, turn around, and bend over for me."

"Hello, my darlings." He says, entering the door with a smile. He kisses my mother and then my forehead.

"Hey, honey. Alright, I'm going to work. You two have fun!" She says, and walks out the door.

"So." He's still smiling. "Today is my wonderful daughter's sweet sixteen, isn't it? We're going to have a yes day. Means, as long as it's within reason, you can offer to do whatever you want and I will say yes."

Oh, hell yeah. I smile even wider.

"Well, first of all, find that restaurant and ask if they still need a waitress for this summer. Then, I'm thinking we could go to that Van Gogh art exposition, the one with all the virtual paintings and stuff. Then we'll go thrift shopping, then sushi."

"Love the plan, get dressed then!" He says.

This is going to be the best day ever.

We go to the biggest museum in Milan. They're hosting the 'Van Gogh full immersive experience' exposition. It's this thing where they have the paintings projected and you can interact with them in a way. At the beginning there are also a few of his originals.

We then go to Milan's town center, eat McDonald's in the castle's park, then go to look for a thrift store. We find a few and buy ridiculous stuff. My proudest purchase is a big fake-leopard fur coat, the kind rich grandmas wear. His is an 1800s vest. Like, the whole thing, trousers, shirt, suit, even the little pocket watch and monocle. Fun fact: lesbians in that period had monocles so other lesbians could know that they were lesbians. We should bring that back.

We roam around the city until it starts getting dark. We find a sushi take away and go back home, trying not to spill the soy sauce every time the underground train comes to a stop.

Things are getting better, but I haven't had that much fun with him in a really long time.

Once we're finished eating, my father says "So, the how's it going with the guy you're dating? Tommaso, was his name?"

"Yeah, Tommy. Meh, won't work. Don't like him that way." It would have worked out if I wasn't gay and didn't puke on his bare chest. Yes, I found out that eating a shitload of sweets and bouncing up and down on a guy (because, of course, I was a genius and decided to go on top even if he warned me not to) isn't such a great idea. He was sweet though, he took care of me and pretended that the whole puke incident was nothing.

"Well, in that case, I got a last present for you, since you're not having much luck with boys."

I don't know if I like where this is going. He stands up, goes to his studio. I hear him open up his cupboard, grab something, and come back. He stands there, smiling. My eyes go wide as I spot the camera.

I don't want to. I want to scream, I don't want it to happen again.