I've been back home for 2 months and I've never regretted my life choices as much as I do now.

It seems that Derek skipped town, leaving Natasha a mess. I don't even try to hide my surprise or joy over that.

My mind obsesses over Marcello more than anything else. My overwhelming want to be in his arms. To have my lips pressed against his.

With a groan, I shake the thought off.

I can't think of those things, not when they're so far away and pretty much impossible.

My heart deflates as my mind pulls itself out of my ass and manages to move my body off the bed into a standing position.

I have to leave for work in 20 minutes.

My body protests as I all but limp to the bathroom. I may have slept on my hip wrong, because a shooting pain makes it almost unbearable to walk.

Yet another thing to add to the list of bodily pains.

I make it to the bathroom and lean half my weight against the sink.

My appearance stares at me, looking exhausted. I remember the vibrance I had when I was Italy.

Now it's replaced with dark circles under my eyes and sunken cheeks.

I've lost an unhealthy amount of weight, almost to the point of Uncle Benny wanting to drag me to the emergency doctors.

I promised him that I'd take care of myself, but that was a lie and we both knew it.

It's hard to see the constant concern in his eyes. Tiring, almost.

But how do I tell him that if I eat, it would inevitably end up in the toilet?

That it takes all my effort to climb out of bed and keep up with my hygiene?

To even go to work?

I dread going to work above all other things. It was hard adapting to my hometown again.

To adapt to my normal routine I'd abandoned for an escape to Italy.

A part of me wishes I would have just stayed. But the other part of me knows that could never happen. I have a life here. Barely, but still a life.

A job, an apartment, Uncle Benny. How could I possibly leave Uncle Benny?

I couldn't.

But how could I have left Marcello?

I did, but it was one of the hardest things I'd done in life.

Never would I have thought that I'd see him she'd a tear in my entire lifetime, but it plays in my head over and over every single night.

Him on his knees, begging me to stay. But I turned my back, barely able to carry my bags myself.

He had to understand that Italy wasn't my reality.

Italy was too good to be true. A life in Italy for me is the equivalence of me living in a fairy tale. And to stay with an Italian mafia boss. How would that even work out?

To be in constant danger. Especially with Marcellos half-assed security.

I couldn't have led a normal life there.

But I can barely lead a normal life here.

My appearance is ghostly, my clothes hanging off my body. My arms are thinner than they were two weeks ago.

My shoulders are beginning to hunch.

I can barely look in the mirror without wanting to bawl my eyes out.

So I look away.

I go through my morning ritual, brushing my hair, teeth, postponing a much needed shower.

I put my greasy hair into a pony tail after drowning it in dry shampoo.

I feel disgusting.

But I only have 10 minutes before I have to leave.

My hip is still throbbing, but the pain is manageable.

I glance at my phone, considering picking it up and looking at my notifications, but decide to leave it in the same place it's been in for weeks.

My phone is no longer important. The only person I care to talk to is Uncle Benny, and if he needs me, I'm only a couple minutes away.

I walk past the kitchen with an empty stomach, but no will to eat.

The nausea is stronger than any hunger ping.

Grabbing my keys, I decide leaving 5 minutes early won't hurt.

But as soon as I open the door, my heart stops.

Literally, I don't feel a pulse for a solid 10 seconds. And in those 10 seconds, all I can do is blink uncertainly.

Is my mind finally too sleep deprived? Am I seeing things?

I can't fathom whether what I'm seeing is real or not.

Because right in front of me is a 6 foot something tall man with olive colored skin and a horrible gloss of what I could interpret as grief in his eyes.

I do think I might be going crazy. This is what I've been hoping an praying for.

Him to spontaneously show up on my doorstep out of the blue and drag me back to Italy with him.

He wears a black t-shirt and dark washed denim jeans. His frame is a bit bigger than since I'd last seen him, as if he'd taken his frustrations out on a punching bag, or even perhaps people who'd wronged him.

He's grown a shadow of a beard on his usual freshly shaven face, and his hair is ruffled and almost as greasy as my own.

We stand still, soaking in eachother's presence for another good 30 seconds before he takes a small step toward me, reaching his hand to brush my face.

Instead of pulling away like I'd normally do, I lean into his touch, letting the warmth of his hand soak into my cold cheek.

The touch sends a numbness through my body.

Dark spots cloud my vision, almost impossible to blink away.

"What're you doing here?" I ask in a faint whisper. My body couldn't possibly muster up anything louder.

The dark spots turn into TV static and I fear that I'll pass out. My ears ring loudly and I hear my quick heart beat in my ears.

Just as I think the cloudiness is going away, my knees buckle and my eyelids refuse to stay open.

°•°•°•°

There's a beeping sound.

Faint, but still enough to spike up my irritation. I know exactly where I'm at and I am not happy about it.

I blink my eyes open, feeling the crustiness in them for being asleep for so long.

Actually, I have no idea how long I've been asleep, but my muscles feel weak.

I couldn't squeeze my hand into a fist even if my life depended on it.

Speaking of my hands, something is latched onto both of them.

My right hand is interwoven through someone else's fingers, while my left hand is being gently squeezed.

The first thing I see is dimmed lights and a window overlooking a part of the town I hardly recognize.

Then my eyes find the owner of the hand wrapped around my own protectively.

"Uncle Benny?" I question in a raspy voice. I wince at the pain in my throat. The dryness is to the point beyond discomfort.

Then I recall the moment before my blackout.

"Marcello." I whisper, his form perking up, along with his hand tensing around mine.

"Brimmy." He breathes, as if he's dreaming.

Perhaps I'm dreaming.

I could be in a coma for all I know.

But my irritation spikes at the constant beeping and the needles sunk into my arm and hand.

My ass is asleep and at this point I've lost feeling in my legs, which also sport IPC cuffs.

Which leads me to question how long I've been here.

"What's going on?" I ask him, more aware of my surroundings.

I'm in the ICU. The room setup is one of a longterm stay, which confuses me even more.

Why am I here? I was perfectly fine before.

Well, not perfectly fine, but I was doing just fine with how I was.

But my weak body in the hospital bed says otherwise.

"Brim, you've been starving yourself for months." Marcello states sadly.

"Have not." I reply stubbornly, still fighting against the pain in my throat.

"Brimmy." Uncle Benny says sternly, "Now's not the time to be a smartass. 2 more weeks of this and you would have been dead."

Dead.

The word resonates in my skull harshly.

Maybe death is what I wanted. Maybe I was too much of a coward to go through with it so I decided to neglect myself to the point of insanity.

Or maybe I was stuck in a permanent pity party that I didn't want to leave.

Either way, he's right. I shouldn't be a pain right now.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly, still parched, "can I please have some water though?"

"I'll be right back." Uncle Benny says, getting up and leaving the room.

Just Marcello and I.

The familiar warmth of his hand seeps into my fingers. I don't have much feeling in them, but I can still feel his thumb comforting rubbing my knuckles.

"I never thought I'd see you again." I say honestly.

His breath catches, his eyes projecting pain.

"I meant to come sooner, but I..." He begins, but cuts himself off. "It was so hard. Italy is a harsh place for a man without his amor."

My heart melts at his words. I'm sure if I wasn't as dehydrated as I am right now, a tear would be sliding down my cheek right now.

His own eyes fill with tears, but none fall down his face.

"Marcello, I can't keep living like this. I can't." I struggle to speak.

"We will be together from now on. I will stay with you in America and we will have a life together." He says firmly, as if I'd argue with him.

I nod.

"I spoke with your uncle." He says after a moment of sitting in silence. "He approves, but I think I almost gave him a heart attack."

My smile stings a bit due to my cracked lips, but I still keep my corners upturned, "The poor man's heart is too frail for me to go and fall for you in particular."

"What's wrong with little ole me?" He frowns mockingly, but the happy gleam in his eyes is all I need to relax myself and feel at peace for the first time in months.

His presence alone is a relief I feel deep in my bones.

I can't believe he's real. He's in front of me.

It's almost too good to be true.

As a matter of fact, it is too good to be true.

What's the catch.

What's the other shoe going to be and when will it drop.

My mind races, but Marcello squeezes my hand, pulling me from any wandering thoughts.

The squeeze is firm, as if punishment for letting my mind get the best of me.

We lock eyes for a second, but the moment is interrupted by Uncle Benny yanking the door open and charging into the room with a bottled water in hand.

He must have gone to the soda dispenser downstairs and gotten a water.

"Uncle Benny, you know they have free water dispensers here?" I question as he hands me the cold water bottle.

He shrugs my question off, taking the bottle from my weak hands at the first sign of struggle.

He hands it back to me, keeping the lid between his fingers.

I feel the water heavy in my stomach immediately.

However, the cold temperature of the water soothes my throat and feels good against my chapped lips.

I almost ask if the hospital has chapstick or at the very least Vaseline, but I'd rather wait as to not seem as high maintenance as I feel.

I've already sent Uncle Benny to fetch me water, my lips aren't as high of a priority.

"So," Uncle Benny begins, "when were you planning on telling me about this?" He asks, pointing his thumb between Marchello and I.

"I-" I begin, but cut myself off. "I didn't think it was that important at the time.

"Excuse me?" Marcello raises a brow at me.

"That's not what I meant." I roll my eyes at him and direct my attention back to Uncle Benny.

"It felt unrelated to life back here. It never really came up in conversation." I ramble stupidly.

"Every time I called you, I'd asked if you met anyone interesting." Uncle Benny replies, unamused.

"That's beside the point." I reply, letting go of Marcellos hand so I can cross my arms.

"Brimmy." He says sternly.

"Benny." I reply mockingly.

"Brimmy." Marcello warns, uncrossing my arms to hold my hand again.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Stop being difficult." Marcello responds, sounding almost like Uncle Benny.

I huff, yanking my hand from his and crossing my arms.

"You guys are teaming up on me." I state, almost sulkingly.

My stubborn facade is broken with a long yawn.

"You should get some rest." Uncle Benny tells me, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze.

I nod, realizing just how heavy my eyelids feel.

I'd just woken up from a god knows how long nap, but exhaustion still creeps its way into me.

"It's time for me to go home and clean myself up." He pushes himself up into a standing position, leaning down to give me a bear hug.

He walks past Marcello, clapping him on the back, "I'll see you kids tomorrow."

We watch his large frame retreat, closing the door to the hospital room behind him.

"Once his footsteps are out of hearing range. I pat the space beside me in hopes Marcello will climb into the bed for cuddles.

Sure enough, he crawls next to me, lifting the covers and huddling into my smaller frame.

I melt into his touch, letting my eyes close and conscienceness leave me.