Final Chapter
“Lo Spezzatore Di Catene”
(Italy – 1989)
The sound of Dorian’s heels walking across the cold floor echoed through the cold hospital halls. His pace was swift, and his head stretched to the sides while he tried to read the room numbers. He suddenly halted as he reached a room with the 56th plate, barely visible, worn out, and slightly tilted to the side. He stood in front of the door, glancing around the corridor. Then, as he took a deep breath, he entered, closing the door behind him. He couldn’t avoid noticing the pungent smell of sanitizer and a slight note of unbathed skin. He took his fingers to his nose, trying to block the unpleasant odor. Dorian took his jacket off and sat on a dark green leather chair next to a small window facing the parking lot where he had left his convertible. He neatly placed his jacket over his legs, making sure not to press it. As he did, his head down, he heard a faint raspy female voice.
“I not expect you to visit, child,” the woman uttered, her breath irregular. Dorian lifted his head slowly as his eyes scanned the room, finally landing on the bed, where an old and frail woman’s eyes gazed back at him.
“Well, you know me. I’m trying to keep you on your toes, Nonna,” he voiced sarcastically. His eyes seemed uneasy as he stared at her.
“Always arrogant, you were. Tale padre, tale figlio.” The woman shot back, coughing mid-sentence, losing her gust as she breathed with difficulty.
“Don’t exert yourself,” Dorian replied, seemingly enjoying her pain, almost as if he took pleasure from it. He stuffed his hand inside his jacket and took out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter. He took one out and lit it, taking his right hand to the window and opening it slightly in his direction. “What do you want?” He asked abruptly.
“Fabrizio.” She named. Dorian’s eyes locked on her as he took a big puff and blew the smoke her way.
“You wanna do this now?” Dorian asked, surprised.
“I die. There is no later.” Nonna stated, waving with tribulation all the smoke away from her face. “I married with that man 40 years. I wonder for long time…” She said, coughing again and bringing her hand to her chest. “How is man look at woman when he love.” She continued, never breaking her gaze at Dorian, who sat there staring at the lighter in his hand. “I never get answer, until day I saw him look at you,” she declared as a single tear slid down the side of her eye. Dorian lifted his head and looked straight at her. “You were such beautiful boy, Dorian. Still beautiful today.” She uttered, breaking eye contact and glancing up, tilting her head backward. “I sorry for what he did. To you…and me.” She acknowledged.
“That boy you knew is dead. They killed him.” Dorian uttered, the words crawling violently through his grinding teeth.
“Sí, lo so. I guilty.” Nonna confessed.
“For what? Not knowing my father and your husband were fucking me instead of you?” Dorian questioned spitefully.
“No,” she said. “Lo sapevo…” she stated, closing her eyes in shame. Dorian’s eyes opened in shock, then rapidly reverted to his dark demeanor.
“My god.” He uttered, chuckling. “Then you are worse than I thought.” He stated as he slanted his head on the chair. “Fabrizio…he would have been happy with me. Instead, he drank himself to death next to you. What a fucking waste…” Dorian remarked, his hands fidgeting and his fingers grasping his coat. He got up and walked around the room for a while, then turned around and strolled over to the bed, sitting on its edge. “Take solace in knowing that Fabrizio spent his best years with me. His happiest moments were in my bed. And his favorite place was inside me.” Dorian disclosed, leaning even closer to Nonna. “I got to have his love.” He declared. “What did you get?” He asked.
“Lorenzo…” Nonna uttered.
“He doesn’t want to see you anymore,” Dorian stated.
“I try tell him truth. I tell boy stay away from you,” she said, her voice trembling. “He not listen. He arrogant. Come suo padre…” she apprised.
“What was that?” Dorian asked, stunned.
“Dorian, you promise. Hai detto che avresti aiutato il ragazzo. Not hurt him. What you do with that boy is wrong. It is sin!” she fired loudly, tilting her head forward as she coughed. “He love you like man…not like father,” she declared.
Dorian’s face turned away, eyes wide shut as he governed the pain running through his body.
“It’s too late now…” he muttered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. But I would never let anything happen to him. I…love him,” he confessed, his trembling hands gripping the bed sheets.
“You are cursed. You destroy all you touch. Bastardo…” Nonna murmured, her eyes glazing and her breath becoming dim and quiet. “You must tell him. Lorenzo merita di sapere…” She huffed, her hand reaching for Dorian’s. His head curved, his eyes looking at the woman’s wrinkled skin. His eyes glistened with tears that refused to reveal themselves. He leaned forward and took his lips to Nonna’s ears.
“He knows,” Dorian whispered as she closed her eyes, her hand falling gently on the bed.
Dorian calmly picked his coat from the chair and exited the room. As he walked away, his expensive shoes rattling through the cold floor, a flat-lining sound from Nonna’s room echoed through the hospital’s corridors.
(Italy – Present Day)
As he abruptly woke from his dream, Dorian’s chest shot from the bed like a bullet, his breathing moving at a volcanic pace. Sweat ran down his face and chest as he took his hand to his heart. He sat on the bed, his hands on his head while trying to gather himself.
“Bad dream?” Lorenzo questioned, rising from the bed where he slept next to Dorian.
“I’m okay. Go back to sleep,” Dorian assured, despite his body’s plea for comfort. Lorenzo swung his naked body to the side and off the bed, went to the minibar near the TV set, and poured a glass of water. He walked back to the bed and handed it over to Dorian. “Thank you,” Dorian said, chugging the water down, his hand shaking as he held the glass. Lorenzo’s hand slowly reached over and shrouded Dorian’s.
“Look at me,” Lorenzo demanded, his eyes searching for Dorian’s, whose head sank between his knees. You scare Lorenzo,” he admitted.
“You? Scared?” Dorian stated, chuckling slightly. His head lifted as he looked at Lorenzo, who smiled at him with a tenderness Dorian knew was entirely reserved for him alone.
“When I with you, I turn big scared baby.” Lorenzo teased, placing his hand on Dorian’s chest and pushing him back on the bed. He lifted his leg and arm and nestled his body over Dorian’s. His thigh rubbed against Dorian’s dick, and his fingers played gently with his chest hair. “Lorenzo only one who can calm you down.” He whispered.
“True,” Dorian confirmed, taking a deep breath and relishing the complete peacefulness of that moment. I wish…this was all there was,” he disclosed.
“Signore must be sick,” Lorenzo stated, lifting his head in surprise. “You never talk this,” he said, gazing at Dorian with an intrigued look.
“We need to go back,” Dorian said, his voice gloomy. My wife and the boys might wake up,” he noted.
“The boys are awake,” Lorenzo confirmed nonchalantly.
“How do you know?” Dorian asked, intrigued.
“We hang out. Drink beers. Watch game.” Lorenzo clarified. “They go visit Lorenzo. I think they bored,” he continued. Even though he couldn’t see Dorian’s face as he spoke, the Italian stud could sense the tension build in his chest, where he lay his head. “I think Oscar and Antoine are more than friends, capisce?” he expressed, waiting patiently for Dorian’s reaction. Instead, there was a substantial silence.
“I see.” Dorian let out, his deep voice vaguely audible.
“Is that problem?” Lorenzo questioned as another silence took place.
“No. I’m just surprised,” Dorian commented, struggling to hide his puzzlement. He doesn’t talk to me much…” he continued, a certain sadness taking over. Then, there was another silence. “Did he talk to you about it?” he asked vigilantly.
Lorenzo chortled, making Dorian visibly agitated. Dorian lifted his body from the bed, causing Lorenzo to slide to the side. He turned around to face him.
“Yes. Oscar is good boy.” Lorenzo replied, his eyes scanning Dorian’s face with concern. “But still child. Lorenzo help boy become man,” he stated, with a teasing look on his face.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Dorian interrogated, his tone filling up with bottled angst. Lorenzo seemed enticed by this as both men began gazing at each other in a powering duel. “Answer me, boy,” Dorian demanded.
“You want know if Lorenzo fuck Oscar boy?” The Italian stud uttered as he giggled wickedly. But before he could breathe, Dorian’s hand swung in front of him and grabbed his throat, knocking his back against the bed. “I kidding!” He hollered, trying to free himself from Dorian’s grip. Lorenzo was a powerful guy, but as he lay there, being choked by Dorian, he felt defenseless.
“Don’t you fucking play with me.” Dorian threatened, his hand pinning Lorenzo down. “Nothing is off limits between us.” He persisted. “Except Oscar,” Dorian stated. “You stay the fuck away from him.” He concluded, carefully releasing his grip. Lorenzo stood still, his neck baring the red mark from Dorian’s hand.
“Relax, signore.” Lorenzo coughed as his eyes became loaded with tears. Dorian glanced at him, realizing the damaging impact of his outburst.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Dorian apologized. “I’m under a lot of stress.” He explained, turning over and sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the window. Lorenzo followed him and embraced him from behind.
“Lorenzo understand. I joke. Oscar boy is like brother to Lorenzo.” He mocked.
“Jesus Christ…” Dorian murmured, chuckling at the dark and private joke. “I got to go.” He reported.
“I wait ten minutes. Then leave.” Lorenzo stated, falling back on the bed, his gigantic flaccid dick resting on his abdomen, still moist and sticky from all the cum. Dorian stood up and glanced back at Lorenzo.
“After all these years…you’re still the most beautiful boy,” Dorian contemplated, turning around and putting on his black tracksuit.
“I no boy. I man.” Lorenzo taunted as he wiggled his dick playfully. Dorian chuckled.
“Not to me,” Dorian said, his expression slowly uncovering his docile nature. They smiled at each other before he grabbed his car keys and walked out the door.
Outside, Dorian slowly walked to his car, got in, and slid the key in the ignition. But he suddenly halted. His arms went around the steering wheel, and his body collapsed forward, his forehead resting over his hands. He lifted his head and looked outwards, the sound of the ocean in the distance, barely visible as the nightshade insisted on forcing its presence. As Dorian stood there, gazing at nothing, he realized his future was becoming as bleak as the sight he beheld at that moment.
“What the fuck are you doing, Dorian?” He murmured, sighing as he turned the ignition on and drove back to the villa.
Meanwhile, back at the house, Oscar and Antoine had retired to their room, showered, washed all the sex and sweat off, and finally pushed their beds back together. Despite the inherent beauty of this symbolic gesture, they lay naked and spooning on Oscar’s side, closer to the window. They finally found their way back to each other and relished that wholesome feeling.
“À quoi penses tu?” Antoine asked, his chin nestled on Oscar’s shoulder.
“Nothing,” Oscar responded. He then wavered. “Lorenzo seemed sad. He always seems sad,” he expressed, his eyes fixated on the window to the balcony.
“He didn’t seem sad when fucking your ass tonight.” Antoine teased, giggling.
“I’m serious,” Oscar mumbled.
“Stop being so compassionate. Makes me love you even more.” Antoine rebutted, his arms squeezing tight around Oscar’s broad upper body. “But…” Antoine uttered, struggling internally with whether or not to proceed. “Now that you mention it, I found something yesterday in the attic.” He stated, letting go of Oscar and hopping from the bed, traversing to the other side of the room, and then over to his backpack. He took out the hidden Polaroids he had kept. He came back and jumped on the bed, making it squeak loudly. “Here.” He offered, extending his hand to Oscar.
Oscar took them in his hand. As soon as his sight crossed the photos, his eyes opened abnormally in shock.
“It’s him.” He stated, trying to govern his surprise.
“Yeah. He must have been our age. He was always hot.” Antoine complimented. Oscar glanced at him, denouncing his unreasonably shallow comment. “Quelle? He was. He is.” He reinforced, fighting not to chuckle at Oscar’s prudeness.
“What the fuck was this doing in the attic?” Oscar asked, his curiosity peaking.
“I know, right? And that’s not even the weirdest part. They were kind of…tucked away, like hidden or something.” Antoine explained with an almost over-the-top tone. “Étrange, non?” He questioned.
Both boys sat there in silence. Being his usual self, Antoine eventually lost interest and meandered off to the balcony. But Oscar remained there, lying on the bed with that Polaroid in his hand, his eyes scorching that piece of paper, trying desperately to uncover the truth behind that moment in yore. Deep down, he felt something was off. But what started as a mild suspicion became a less subtle feeling of absolute anxiety. Lorenzo’s presence had always been enigmatic to him. And this discovery made his fascination for the Italian stud even more pronounced. In his mind, Lorenzo had always been part of that house. But was he part of its history, he thought? Then, before he could delve his rambling mind into a fray of hypothetical scenarios, he heard Antoine’s voice.
“Is that your father’s car?” he asked in surprise. Oscar lifted his head just enough to see the SUV’s lights blink in the distance. “Out at this hour?” he asked.
“Yeah. He does that sometimes.” Oscar confirmed, unbothered. “Let’s just go to sleep.” He suggested.
The morning after, they all had breakfast in the backyard. Elena had truly outdone herself this time with all sorts of Italian delicacies to enjoy. Oscar and Antoine had eaten so much that they both decided not to go for a swim that morning. Afraid they might have indigestion or pass out under the blazing sun. They went inside and watched some TV. Dorian recluded himself to his home office while Oscar’s mother went into town with Elena. About an hour later, Antoine was snoring on the couch. Oscar rolled his eyes and slowly crawled from under his legs, freeing himself. He paced around the house, touching stuff randomly and eventually navigating closer to his father’s study. As the boy approached the door, he found it slightly open. He paced back and forth, gaining the courage to knock. As much as he knew his father loved him, Dorian could be quite stern, and Oscar still felt like a scared child around him. There was always just something unattainable and intimidating about his father.
“Stop pacing around, boy.” A deep voice broke from inside the room. “Get in here,” Dorian commanded. Oscar looked around like a kid caught doing something wrong. Then, finally, he hopped over to the door and entered.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” Dorian excused himself. He pulled down the book covering his face and smiled.
“You never bother me. What’s up?” Dorian asked.
“Nothing. I’m just bored,” Oscar responded as he shrugged his shoulders. Dorian dropped the arm holding the book and stared at his son. He sat on an ample couch, half his body sliding off the edge and the other half stretching over it.
“Sit down. I want to speak to you,” Dorian ordered. Oscar immediately complied as his heartbeat became faster. As he sat, Dorian recoiled his foot. “I noticed you and Antoine spent much more time together…alone,” he noted. Oscar’s hands began to sweat.
“Hum…I guess.” He answered, the words moving at an abnormally slow pace.
“You like Antoine, don’t you?” Dorian continued, his tone shifting to a more serene disposition. “You know, it’s okay to tell me things,” he said.
“I know,” Oscar mumbled unconvincingly. He could feel his chest tighten.
“Do you?” Dorian questioned. “Sometimes I feel like we’re strangers. I wish you would trust me more.” He commented. Oscar’s head was down as he twirled his fingers awkwardly.
“It just feels weird…talking to you about…” Oscar stopped abruptly. And for some reason, he needed to lift his head and look at his father. Dorian stood there, staring back at Oscar with a strange expression. Both men gazed at each other. Then, suddenly, they both broke out laughing. Not a chuckle, a grin, or a giggle, but a burst of laughter so infectious that it fed from each other, their bodies shivering as they held their stomachs with both hands. “Dad! Geez!” Oscar hollered between giggles as he tried to catch his breath.
“Come here,” Dorian stated, slanting forward and pulling Oscar’s body to him. Oscar’s build, slightly bigger than Dorian’s, felt small and light as he nestled between his father’s legs. Oscar finally relaxed, and his body caved in on his father’s broad chest. He could feel the scent of his perfume. The memories of his childhood and the sense of security this man offered him returned like a lost memory. “You used to sneak in here when you were little and fall asleep in my arms while I read a book,” Dorian commented as he grazed his hand on Oscar’s hair. “I miss it. I miss you.” Dorian stated, his voice faltering.
“I’m right here, Dad,” Oscar said, swathing his arms around Dorian’s legs. As he rested his head, sprinkles of liquid fell on his neck and shoulder. From the muffled sound of Dorian’s breathing, Oscar knew his father was emotional. “Dad?” he asked.
“Yes?” Dorian replied, trying to mask his emotion.
“Where did you meet Lorenzo?” Oscar asked. He knew he had hit a particular nail from the sudden jolt in his father’s chest.
“His grandfather worked for my father. I was friends with his mother in my youth. I wanted to help, so I gave him a job here,” Dorian answered. “Why do you ask?” he inquired.
“I don’t know…I just…” But his response was cut short.
“Oscar, I don’t want you hanging out with Lorenzo,” Dorian ordered, his tone retrogressing. Oscar’s body propelled forward almost immediately.
“Why?” He questioned, dumbfounded.
“Because I fucking said so!” Dorian shouted. Oscar’s eyes gaped as he looked at his father. He had never seen him like that.
“But I like him. He’s…my friend.” Oscar replied reluctantly.
“You have Antoine. Why the fuck do you think I let you drag him along every year?” Dorian confessed. And as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. The look of disappointment in Oscar’s eyes was tangible. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I like Antoine.” He stated, trying to backpedal. But, alas, Dorian had done the damage. Oscar rose from the sofa and walked to the door. As he reached it, he turned back. And contrary to what Dorian expected, he wasn’t sad or hurt. His expression was unwavering.
“Dad, I love you,” he professed. Then, his tone shifted and became more somber than usual. But one day, that sadness you carry around… will kill you,” Oscar noted, turning around, leaving the room, and closing the door behind him.
Dorian stood there, quiet and alone, a prisoner in the silence of his solitude. Oscar had managed to puncture his way into Dorian’s heart through his compassion, and that once stern and powerful man dismantled his veneer. And despite his best efforts, the tears Dorian had harbored for so long finally evaded their captivity. He sat there, one hand over his mouth as he tried to muffle the sounds of his wailing.
Oscar walked outside and took a deep breath. He went around the house, near the river’s edge, and sat between the water and the grass. The boy watched the river’s stillness and contemplated everything that had happened. As he sat there, he realized how much things had changed. Everything around him felt and looked different. He felt different. It was as if someone had placed the house and everyone in it under a spell. A curse that forced everyone to give in to their inner desires. As a rush of wind caressed his face, Oscar noticed how the water’s surface began to move with it. The small movements beckoned the sun rays to touch them, sprinkling their light across Oscar’s face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed its caress.
A complete sense of liberation washed over him as he stood up and opened his eyes. Oscar began to strip off his clothes until he was bare naked, his beautiful body coated with the specks of sunlight reflecting from the river. He walked forward and dove silently into the water, submerging completely. After a short while, his head broke the surface, the coldness of the water rushing through him. He stood there for several minutes, waving his arms over the surface, feeling the water’s current pass through his body, his groin and cock stimulated by the natural flow of nature. His body felt alive, and all his problems and concerns washed away with the stream, like tree leaves plucked by the wind. Like magic, that river was cleansing him of everything he feared to leave behind. As the feeling grew, his body levitated, and his feet stopped touching the ground. His head tilted up, and as he gazed at the clouds, he began to weep gently. His tears were effortless and understated, like a gentle voice calling to be released. He was learning to embrace his feelings.
He thought of his father’s anger, crawling on the surface of his skin, of Antoine’s pure heart, which he wore on his sleeve, and his mother’s infinite love and patience. But his mind lingered on Lorenzo. His heart ached for him as if an invisible string connected both their hearts. He couldn’t explain it, but despite his love for Antoine, his feelings for Lorenzo grew beyond his control. They had evolved from a child’s curiosity to a young man’s infatuation, mutating into adult savage lust. But after last night’s experience, something had changed. Whatever he felt before had transformed again. Oscar yearned for Lorenzo’s presence, his touch, and his smell. He missed the sound of his voice and the touch of his hands. Oscar remembered the look on that boy from the Polaroids. He recalled looking at that picture the night before and feeling as if he knew that look. And suddenly, it came to him. He saw himself in Lorenzo as if he were himself in those pictures.
Suddenly, he heard a noise, like a twig breaking. His body jerked forward and turned towards the house. Just a few yards away, where the green patch of grass began, Lorenzo stood quiet, his hands in his pockets, observing Oscar from a distance. Both men gazed at each other silently, and despite the strange nature of the situation, there was no awkwardness. There was a considerable distance between them, but Oscar could see Lorenzo’s understated smile when the sunlight crept through the tree branches and hit his face. Then, after a brief moment, Lorenzo turned around and started returning to the house. Oscar watched him fade in the distance, then slowly stepped out of the water, grabbed his clothes, and started making his way back.
During the subsequent days, Oscar felt incredibly restless. A sharp sense of anguish as if something was amiss. He told Antoine about his encounter with Lorenzo on the river. They visited the Italian hunk’s room daily for two whole weeks. But he wasn’t there, or he wouldn’t answer. Despite Oscar’s best efforts to conceal his uneasiness about the situation, it was apparent to Antoine that Oscar’s need for Lorenzo’s presence went beyond their pursuit of another sexual experience. As they lay in bed one night, he finally tackled the issue.
“Regardez-moi.” He said.
“What?” Oscar questioned vacantly.
“I think you should look for him again,” Antoine suggested. He then paused. “Alone.”
“Will it make a difference? It’s obvious at this point he wants nothing more to do with us.” Oscar muttered as he peered through the balcony.
“You’re doing it again,” Antoine uttered, rolling his eyes.
“What?” Oscar replied, confused.
“Pretending something isn’t bothering you when it is…c’est énervant!” Antoine vented. “Just fucking go.” He stated.
“You sure?” Oscar questioned.
“Yes,” Antoine replied, almost relieved, falling on his back on the bed. Oscar flinched, turned around, and leaned over Antoine, kissing his mouth tenderly.
“I love you.” He whispered. Antoine beamed at him.
“Je sais. Me too.” Antoine responded.
Oscar left the room and flew down the stairs into the kitchen. He knocked on the door that led to Lorenzo’s room, but nobody answered. Oscar went to the front door and trekked around the house from the outside. When he reached the annex, he put his ear on the door. He heard a faint sound coming from the old TV. Someone was inside. He knocked again. Then again. He was ready to do it a third time, his hand held open in the air when suddenly the door opened. Lorenzo stood there, tall, shirtless, with his twirly raven hair over his face.
“What you want, Oscar?” he asked. Oscar could immediately notice his effort to sound distant.
“I wanted to see if you were okay…” The boy uttered, his head stretching forward as he tried to look inside.
“Lorenzo okay. Go away.” The Italian stud responded as he gestured to close the door.
“Can I come in?” Oscar questioned, clambering the small stone step into the room. But Lorenzo’s giant hand pressed on his chest, and he fell back.
“Lorenzo go sleep now, sì?” the stud said, his eyes scanning the darkness covering the garden behind Oscar.
“Why are you like this? I wanna talk, that’s all.” Oscar rebutted, his eyes pleading for Lorenzo’s acceptance. “I thought we were friends…” He mumbled.
“French boy his friend. Now go…” Lorenzo stated. “Oscar boy…please…leave.” He pleaded, his eyes teary. Again, Oscar stood there looking at him, fearless, as if their roles had reversed. This time, Lorenzo looked away as he attempted to suppress his pain.
“You don’t mean that…” Oscar affirmed. “He asked you not to talk to me, didn’t he?” He bluntly questioned. Lorenzo’s eyes remained hidden, and his jaw locked in tension as words battled to stay hidden. “I guess he has a hold on everyone around here.” He concluded, defeated, his eyes still locked on Lorenzo. “Fine. I’ll leave.” He finally conceded, turning away.
But, instead of heading back inside the house, he began walking towards the front gate. Lorenzo watched, confused. As his frustration rose, so did the rhythm of his legs, and before he knew it, Oscar was sprinting past the gate, then into the dirt road and over the main road towards the villa. His stamina was steadfast as a swimmer, so the more Oscar ran, the faster he became.
He started decreasing the speed and eventually began to walk, his breathing struggling as he took his hands to his waist. He started looking around, finally realizing how far he had gone.
“Shit.” He uttered. He blundered to the side of the road and sat on the floor. As he looked around, the boy realized he had no idea where he was. He let his head fall between his legs, breathing heavily. Then, a piercing light started filling up the road. He lifted his head and noticed a car coming in his direction, slowing down as it reached him. Once it stopped, the window from the passenger seat flared.
“Oscar boy, come.” Lorenzo’s voice called from inside. Oscar remained silent. “Get in fucking car, adesso!” Lorenzo shouted. Oscar’s body shook in surprise. It was the first time he’d heard Lorenzo be assertive with him or anyone. He begrudgingly got off the floor, mopped the dust from his ass with his hands, and opened the door to the old jeep, sitting next to Lorenzo.
“Fine. Take me back then.” He mumbled, sounding like a spoiled child.
“We not go home. We go place and talk, sì?” Lorenzo informed, teasing Oscar’s curiosity. “What you call when get feeling something happen already?” he asked, his eyes focused on the road. Oscar looked at him momentarily, still deciding whether to talk or remain silent.
“Deja-vu. Why?” The boy replied as he scanned Lorenzo’s countenance from the corner of his eye.
“Nothing,” Lorenzo replied. With his eyes still on the road, he chuckled to himself.
They drove in silence into town. During the drive, Lorenzo kept his window slightly open, and occasionally, a breeze of sea air would sweep in and push his scent past Oscar. Every time it happened, Oscar’s groin would tingle, and his cock would grow a few inches. The smell of sweaty musk and lavender would punch through his nose, resembling Lorenzo’s thrusts when he was fucking his ass. The boy’s hole was puckering so much that he had to readjust his position several times during the ride.
Lorenzo drove past the town square and parked near the narrow entrance to a small street, which his jeep could not fit inside.
“Get out.” Lorenzo requested. Oscar sat there for a moment, examining him.
“Are you going to kill me?” He razzed, albeit apprehensive.
“Oscar boy funny,” Lorenzo replied as he shut the door.
He began descending the narrow street. Oscar hopped from the car and followed him. They walked a few yards until Lorenzo stopped and turned to his left. He grabbed a small key chain from his pocket and opened the small door. It seemed jammed, and he had to force it a few times to make it budge. Finally, the Italian stud ducked his head and went inside.
Oscar followed him, and as soon as he stepped inside, he felt a strong scent of moth balls and old, cheap perfume. The house was dark, and Lorenzo had gone to another room, so Oscar stood near the entrance. The lights came on eventually, but only from the three lamps scattered around the old living room. It was the smallest room Oscar had ever seen. Even smaller than Lorenzo’s annex at the villa. Once he returned, Lorenzo stopped near a small archway between the kitchen and where Oscar stood.
“Your father sit there the day we meet,” he said, pointing at the armchair near a small window. Oscar observed Lorenzo, noticing the melancholy in his eyes and the longing in his voice as he spoke of a time lost. “Nonna sit there, where Oscar boy is.” He continued, a certain wonderment taking hold of him. “Today is same day Oscar father meet Lorenzo.” He explained. Oscar followed his words with fascination. “He come, offer Lorenzo job. Lorenzo was boy.” He said before stopping as he battled back his tears. He glanced at Oscar. “È stato il giorno più felice della mia vita…” He said, his eyes glistening and his lips displaying a tender smile. “Lorenzo wish…” His voice sputtered. “…all happiness for Oscar boy, sì?”
Oscar wanted to run across the room and hold him.
Lorenzo’s vulnerability was finally piercing through, and he was thrusting Oscar to guard it. As he listened to Lorenzo open up about his life and himself, Oscar realized that behind that tough exterior, that emotional armor, that alpha male, resided the purest of hearts.
“Lorenzo has favor to ask Oscar boy,” he said. Oscar looked at him attentively.
“Okay.” The boy reluctantly agreed.
“Oscar boy promise to be happy, sì? Have love, family, child.” Lorenzo pleaded. “È l’unico modo per spezzare la maledizione di questa famiglia…” He confessed.
“I don’t understand, Lorenzo,” Oscar responded, muddled.
“Just promise.” Lorenzo implored.
There were things he didn’t understand, like the layers of Lorenzo’s past he had yet to uncover or how deep his wounds went. But he wanted to give him solace at that moment. Oscar wished for nothing more than to appease his sadness, so he obliged his plea, even though, at that moment, he didn’t fully comprehend what that odd request entailed.
“I promise,” Oscar responded. Lorenzo smiled and walked across the room, swathing his large, muscular arms around Oscar and drawing him against his chest.
“First time Lorenzo see Oscar boy, Lorenzo know you special. You angel.” The stud whispered as he sniffed Oscar’s hair and grazed his fingers over it. “I remember think…sarò più di quanto sia fratello…I will be friend,” he stated as he slid his hands down the boy’s neck. “Will watch over.” His hands reached Oscar’s shoulders. “Protect.” They continued their descent, and as they arrived at the boy’s lower back, Lorenzo tugged him closer. “Nutrire.” He whispered, leaning in and kissing Oscar’s forehead. “Amare.” He concluded, lifting Oscar’s chin and locking their lips with overwhelming tenderness.
Lorenzo’s tongue pushed inside Oscar’s mouth, which gladly and willingly received its presence. Their lips and tongues danced together as Lorenzo’s hands explored all of the boy’s upper body, sliding under his shirt occasionally. The boy rang his arms around Lorenzo’s neck, standing on his toes, lifting his body, and pulling himself closer to the stud’s body. The boy’s now hard cock rubbed against Lorenzo’s belly. Small shots of precum started erupting inside his pants as his tongue went deeper inside Lorenzo’s mouth, and their lips sucked harder on each other. Their thirst for each other’s spit was reckless, making Oscar nearly lose his breath as he moaned lusciously, and his nose breathing became audible.
Lorenzo took his hands to Oscar’s waist, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it up in one move, tossing it aside. Their lips unlocked momentarily, their motions perfectly coordinated. Oscar lifted his arms as the shirt went over his head, bringing them back down and around Lorenzo’s back, descending to his lower back where he grabbed the stud’s tanktop and pulled it out. Lorenzo’s curls bounced as they came off, beckoning Oscar to hold them, sticking his fingers inside and feeling their lushness. As their bodies collided again, their nipples touched, prickling in ecstasy as they rubbed together. This time, instead of locking lips, they rubbed their faces gently against each other, almost like an animal mating ritual, feeling their breaths on each other and the touch of Lorenzo’s rough beard against Oscar’s soft skin. Lorenzo’s head descended into the boy’s chest, and his nose nestled on his armpit, where he took a sizable sniff, taking in its potent scent. He licked it before continuing down over Oscar’s smooth and ripped stomach, sliding his tongue between every crack of his chiseled packs, halting as he reached his belted pants. The stud unlocked it and pulled it off with a whiplash movement. He unbuttoned the zipper and pulled the pants and white underwear down, unleashing Oscar’s cock with a snap.
The boy’s uncut dick was throbbing and pumping blood, with its veiny surface and a string of precum dangling at the tip. He looked down at Lorenzo as he petted his hair. The Italian stud looked up at the boy and smiled before diving his mouth into his dick. To Oscar’s surprise, with one swoop, Lorenzo was already gobbling all inches of his cock. Oscar quickly understood that Lorenzo was in a league of his own. Something extraordinary was happening to his cock inside Lorenzo’s mouth. The stud’s throat, the walls of his mouth, and his tongue were working together to produce the most scintillating symphony of pleasure in his groin. It was beyond anything he had ever felt. Lorenzo’s mouth clenched softly around Oscar’s shaft while his tongue swirled around its surface, lubricating it. As it did, his throat would widen progressively, puckering softly and sucking every drop of precum. Lorenzo didn’t even bother to move his head back and forth. Instead, he edged the boy for several minutes without ever taking his cock from his mouth. Oscar tilted his head back in total rapture, and it wasn’t long before he was signaling the stud, through his heavy breathing, the eminence of his orgasm.
Oscar’s eyes opened wide, and his hands grasped and pulled on Lorenzo’s curls as he started to unload. His loads fired mindlessly inside the stud’s mouth, and with every string he swallowed, Lorenzo would release a soft moan so sensual that Oscar’s pelvis would snarl forward involuntarily. Then, finally, his twitching started to subside, but Lorenzo’s mouth continued to milk his shaft. The boy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and as Lorenzo’s mouth finally released his grip, Oscar fell back on the couch, stunned.
“I’m sorry…I…couldn’t hold it.” He apologized, slightly mortified. Lorenzo swallowed the last drops of batter inside his mouth before looking at Oscar and smiling. Oscar glanced back at him, his body on the small couch, and started giggling with unbound satisfaction, his still stiff dick bouncing up and down.
Before he could recover, Lorenzo stood up, his massively broad body towering in front of Oscar, and stripped his pants, revealing his now iconic 11-inch monster cock. He kneeled on the edge of the couch, grabbing Oscar’s legs vigorously and pulling them into him. Oscar slid on the couch, completely subdued, with only his head on a small pillow. He watched as Lorenzo’s face disappeared under him, and the next thing he felt was the stud’s tongue feeding on his sphincter.
“Fuck.” He wailed almost instantly.
And as soon as he did, a revelation came to him. His moans fueled Lorenzo’s lust. His voice fed the stud’s passion. Each time sound evaded from his mouth, Lorenzo charged forward like a bull, pleasuring his body, offering himself, his experience, and technique as if Oscar’s body was a temple to worship. Lorenzo’s tongue chanted into his hole the most beautiful of songs. Oscar lost touch with reality. His left hand grabbed the stud’s hair, pulling him into his crack, while his right hand climbed up his body into his chest, where his fingers playfully teased his nipples. Lorenzo’s tongue and lips enveloped his taint as this new ritual of prayer he conducted on Oscar’s body began. It consisted of charged spits and slow tongue glides from his crack, stopping to tease and slide inside his sphincter, loosening it, then climbing into his balls, sucking gently on them. Never once detaching his tongue from the boy’s skin. While this happened, and following Oscar’s increased moans, Lorenzo’s right hand slid up to meet Oscar’s. Their hands cuffed together as Oscar’s moaning and Lorenzo’s grunting filled the room.
The stud’s head finally lifted, and as he rose, a small pool of precum lay on the floor at the base of the couch, where his dick had been. Still, a large string of it dangled from the tip, and without as much as a warning, he adjusted his position, brought his pelvis closer between Oscar’s lifted legs, touched his crack, rubbed the precum on its entrance, and pushed inside slowly. The gargantuan cock slid about halfway in. Oscar’s arms fell as he gripped the edges of the couch. His face contorted in pleasure. His eyes opened to find Lorenzo, who was already waiting to welcome them. The stud beamed at the boy. And momentarily, Oscar snapped out of his ecstasy state to marvel at Lorenzo’s expression.
The man that stood there, in front of him, was not the same man he had worshipped all those years. It wasn’t the same man that had fucked Antoine that night. Or the man that had fucked both of them weeks before. It was a different person entirely. Perhaps the “real” Lorenzo. An invisible string of intimacy was assembling through their gaze. Neither could explain or comprehend its meaning. Their mouths both opened, wanting to, yet unable to verbalize their feelings. There were simply no words. No language capable of describing what was happening between them.
Lorenzo pushed further, and suddenly, he was all in. His entire 11-inch cock filled Oscar’s insides, occupying a space that seemed meant for him. Lorenzo closed his eyes, trying to cage his orgasm. Despite all his experience, he was overwhelmed with a surprising reaction. The sensation of being inside Oscar and the newfound revelation of that unexplainable intimacy sent Lorenzo to an uncharted place beyond his control. Or merely someplace he had forgotten he knew.
“Mio dio… non posso.” He uttered as he began to seed Oscar’s hole. His cock twitched inside the boy compulsively.
Both men’s eyes gazed at each other as Lorenzo unloaded his batter inside. But his lust was too much to hold in one space, and soon, cum began seeping through the small cracks between Oscar’s sphincter and his dick. The batter slid outwards, landing on the floor and the couch. He motioned to retract, but the boy arrested him.
“No. Don’t leave.” The boy uttered. “Stay in me.” He pleaded.
Lorenzo blinked as he looked at Oscar. His eyes glistened, and tears started falling from them. They slid down his face. He didn’t look away or try to hide his fragility. He didn’t have to anymore. They were beyond that. Oscar grabbed his face, pulled him close, and kissed his lips, their spit merging with Lorenzo’s tears. The boy’s lips veered left and landed near the stud’s ear.
“You are more than my brother. You are more than a friend. You are my love, my heart,” he whispered.
Lorenzo’s head snapped back immediately as his eyes twitched in shock.
Oscar knew.
He knew.
The stud’s cock twitched inside the boy. He looked at Oscar, a serene expression emanating from the boy.
“Fottimi, Lorenzo. Sono tuo.” The boy begged, clenching his hole around Lorenzo’s shaft.
The world collapsed. Nothing was around—only a void. Comfortable, silent, safe, two bodies merged as one. Their names, kinship, skins, and everything that made them different were gone. Only their souls were left—two vibrant and intense lights in a dark plain, nurturing each other and expanding.
“Ti amo,” Lorenzo muttered.
“I love you,” Oscar whispered back.
Lorenzo lifted his body, his round muscular ass in the air, and started mindlessly pounding Oscar’s hole. Oscar’s body shoved into the couch with brutal force, but the sounds that burst from his mouth were soft and soothing. The pain was beyond pleasurable as Lorenzo’s dick punched against his prostate. With each motion, his hole queefed, signaling his readiness to fill. But there was not enough room inside Oscar’s hole to satisfy his lust for Lorenzo. The Italian hunk thrust his hips into the boy, and as the minutes passed, sweat began erupting from his skin, unleashing his potent manly smell, which seemed to entice Oscar’s senses. The boy pulled Lorenzo’s upper body closer to him and started licking his sweat-covered chest with his tongue, releasing these sharp and deep feline sounds. His bubble butt jiggled as Lorenzo’s pelvis slapped against his cheeks, and he could feel the bull’s massive balls smack the space between his crack and his lower back.
Lorenzo pulled away from their embrace with difficulty as Oscar’s hands latched firmly to his back. Oscar’s nails drilled through his skin once he began to force his retreat. Lorenzo screamed in pain. They both halted. Lorenzo peeked at Oscar, and to his surprise, there was no repent in the boy’s eyes. Instead, Oscar gazed at him with a reckless look, taunting Lorenzo to take control of him. The Italian bull’s eyes shifted immediately, and his hand went for Oscar’s throat, pushing and holding him down further inside the couch. He lifted the boy’s legs straight over his chest, the feet swathing and locked on his neck. He slid down and placed his knees on the cum soaked floor. He then began fucking the boy. Viciously. The thrusts were sharp and deep. No crescendo. The speed was intense from the start. The boy’s face flushed as he gripped his hand harder on Oscar’s throat, but a mischievous smile pierced through underneath the strain.
Lorenzo looked down at Oscar, realizing he had finally unleashed his younger brother’s dormant sexual nature. The boy was giving birth, in front of him, to the same insatiable lust inside Lorenzo. And there it lay, the unequivocal, undeniable proof that the same blood ran through their veins. Lorenzo snapped his head back in pure ecstasy as Oscar whimpered, his head bumping against the couch. As they fucked, and despite the frantic rhythm, their eyes kept coming back to each other. Oscar’s legs eventually fell sideways and dangled there, worn out and shivering as his hands caressed Lorenzo’s chiseled abdomen, rigid and sweating as he pumped his dick inside the boy’s hole. Finally, completely worn out, Lorenzo ceased pumping, his dick spasming as the walls of Oscar’s insides closed on it.
“Fuck, need break…Mi stai logorando…” The stud announced, his body collapsing over Oscar.
Suddenly, Oscar scissored his legs around Lorenzo’s waist with exquisite balance and flipped both their bodies around, Lorenzo now sitting under him. The stud used his arms to pull both of them slightly up, his dick still inside his brother. Oscar was now on top, riding 11 inches of dick. He had control. His hands came up and held Lorenzo’s neck, pulling his face to him. He gently licked the stud’s lips, grazing his tongue over them. He would then lick his lips, savoring Lorenzo’s taste. The Italian’s dick throbbed uncontrollably inside the boy’s ass.
He had finally met his match. Oscar was giving Lorenzo the most incredible fuck of his life. With his tongue out, the boy started making small movements with his pelvis.
“I’ll give you…” Oscar groaned as he tilted his head back. “Just a sec…” He uttered, lashing his head forward again and landing it on Lorenzo’s shoulder, taking his lips to his ear. “So you can catch your breath.” He whispered, and as the words unleashed, Lorenzo felt a rush of heat through his body as his arms grabbed Oscar and clutched the boy tightly. His brother’s pelvis danced, edging his dick into submission.
Oscar was taming Lorenzo.
“Please stop…non riesco a trattenerlo…” He pleaded.
“Shhh…Trust me,” Oscar responded as his voice became deep and commanding. He raised his ass, slowly forcing Lorenzo’s shaft to slide out of him. But just as the tip was about to pop out, Oscar stopped. With surgical prowess, he lingered there, his sphincter holding the edge of Lorenzo’s uncut cock hostage. Lorenzo closed his eyes. He knew what the boy wanted. They both waited for Lorenzo’s rush to diminish.
Oscar wasn’t done with him. And he was making sure Lorenzo knew that.
As he felt Lorenzo’s dick stop twitching, he rammed his ass down on it again. The stud let out a loud moan of pleasure and chuckled hysterically. Oscar released a soft giggle, almost privately. He then grabbed Lorenzo’s curls like a saddle.
“Now. Fuck me. Hard.” The boy ordered. Lorenzo smiled and obeyed. He grabbed Oscar’s asscheeks and thrust his cock inside the loose hole. The louder it queefed, the more their moaning increased. “Oh fuck…oh god…” Oscar mumbled as he bit on his plump lips.
“Feel good, boy? È questo che vuoi?” Lorenzo questioned between rushed breaths. All the muscles in his perfect body worked tirelessly to give his partner the pleasure he demanded. It was a sight to behold.
Oscar wanted to answer, but his joy muted his speech. He could only nod as his body propelled up and down, following Lorenzo’s pumps. The noise made by the stud’s pelvis clapping against his ass echoed across the room. The moment of recess Oscar had provided them was all the motivation Lorenzo needed to recover and resume his ravaging. He suddenly pulled out, loudly, Oscar’s taint queefing as he did. He turned his brother’s body against the wall, his knees on the couch, and stood behind him, admiring the boy’s hole. It was wet and gaping, releasing a musky scent as it puckered, trying to retract and close again. Anticipating this, Lorenzo leaned forward and shoved his hard cock back inside, making Oscar hit his head against the wall behind the couch.
“I not stop now,” Lorenzo informed.
“Don’t stop. Please.” Oscar begged.
Lorenzo tilted forward, grabbed Oscar’s upper body, and brought him up to him. He kept plowing his dick inside, holding the boy’s body with his arms. Oscar’s head dropped back and nestled on his shoulder. He turned his face around, opening his mouth. The stud spits inside it, kissing it passionately. Their mouths locked as they savored each other’s taste. Lorenzo felt himself reaching the verge and was about to say something when Oscar cut him off.
“I know…I can feel it…cum in my ass. Seed me.” The boy whispered between tired breaths.
Those words were like a whip, ushering Lorenzo’s orgasm to roar. He started unloading. His eyes rolled back as he felt the jolts of cum fire inside Oscar’s warm hole. The feeling was overwhelming. Beyond anything he had ever felt in his life. Not even his love for Dorian had been able to provide him with the magnitude of what he was experiencing as he seeded his brother’s ass. And suddenly, without warning, all of Lorenzo’s anguish and sadness bottling up broke free. Tears began to fall from his eyes. Nineteen years worth of tears. He collapsed over Oscar, his dick sliding off as cum spewed out and drizzled down the boy’s thighs. Oscar turned around, surprised and scared.
“Lorenzo, what’s wrong?” he asked, holding that powerful man in his hands. “Please, talk to me,” he said anxiously.
“I be okay…Lorenzo needs catch breathe.” The stud mumbled between sobs.
“Come here,” Oscar said, grabbing Lorenzo, enveloping his arms around him, and laying his head on his chest, his face facing up to meet his own. He stayed there, holding Lorenzo until he cried to sleep in his arms.
A few hours later, Lorenzo woke up, their clothes were back on, and they were ready to leave. They hopped on the jeep and headed back to the villa. Despite the profoundly intimate moment they had experienced together, the ride back was both soothing and comfortable. As they reached the gates, Lorenzo slowed the car to a stop. Oscar looked at him, confused.
“What’s wrong?” The boy asked. Lorenzo looked at him attentively.
“Oscar, go sleep. Lorenzo still need to take care of something,” he said. Oscar seemed unconvinced.
“I can go with you.” The boy responded. Lorenzo smiled.
“No. I go alone, sì?” He replied. His eyes glistened as he looked at his brother. Oscar seemed hesitant.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He questioned. Lorenzo nodded. He smiled and turned around, opening the car door. As Oscar slid from his seat, he felt Lorenzo’s hand grab his arm. He turned to find his brother staring at him.
“Tonight…Oscar boy make Lorenzo happiest man. I not remember…last time Lorenzo feel happy…like this,” He said. Oscar gazed back at him, his mouth struggling to speak. “Oscar boy, don’t forget promise you make to Lorenzo, sì?” he asked. Oscar finally smiled.
“I won’t,” the boy promised. He stood there momentarily, finally uttering, “I love you, Lorenzo.”
“I love you, Oscar boy.” Lorenzo shot back without faltering.
Oscar hopped off and closed the car door. He walked to the small gate and turned around. Lorenzo was still inside the car, looking at him walk away. It was still dark, but Oscar could see Lorenzo’s face. He was smiling. He seemed at peace. Oscar turned around and stepped inside.
Lorenzo started the car, made a U-turn, and drove back to the town square. He parked the car in the same spot Dorian had in the past, near the peer where he used to stare at the ocean as a boy. He walked along the sidewalk until he reached some stone stairs that descended toward the sand portion of the beach. The Italian stud took off his shoes, walked a couple of yards further, and sat down on the sand for a few minutes, gazing at the sea. Tears ran down his face, but he was smiling. Perhaps contemplating on that night’s events or the hardships he had been able to overcome in his life. He stood up, slowly stripped off his clothes, and walked naked toward the ocean. He never stopped until the water was up to his neck, and he had lost his footing. He stood there for a moment, his head hovering over the water.
He took a deep breath and let his body sink.
The surface stood still.
And that stillness remained unchanged.
Lorenzo’s head never broke the surface again. He was gone.
That night, the sky was particularly dark, the air was still, and the only thing heard in that small Italian town was the waves crashing against the shore.
(3 weeks later)
The house became increasingly empty during the last few weeks, and the summer became cold and bare. Elena left the villa and went to live with her family in a town near Milan. After Dorian’s progressively reclusive and destructive behavior, Oscar’s mother decided to cut the vacation short and leave in advance. Antoine and Oscar were in their room packing the rest of their stuff.
“Is that all?” Antoine asked.
“I think so,” Oscar replied. A profound sadness had taken over him since Lorenzo’s disappearance, and not even Antoine managed to heal his broken heart.
“Where is he?” Antoine reluctantly asked.
“He’s probably in his study, drinking,” Oscar commented. He then paused. Will you take this downstairs? The transfer car should be here any minute,” he suggested. Antoine looked at him, knowing what was about to happen.
Oscar stood alone momentarily before exiting, descending to the ground floor, and walking towards his father’s study. But this time, he didn’t pace around. Oscar marched in unannounced.
“I see you’re still here.” He said, looking at Dorian, who sat on the chair, his body sunk and back bent forward. There was an unpleasant smell in the air, and he seemed to haven’t showered for weeks. “You look like shit.” Oscar acknowledged. Dorian remained still, his head down, one of his arms extended over the table, holding a glass of scotch. “Antoine and I are leaving.” He continued. He then stopped and stared at his father. Oscar was capable of so much compassion, and yet, as he gazed at Dorian, he couldn’t help but feel rage and anger. He knew it would cause pain to both of them, but he had to say it. “I kept his clothes. The ones he wore that night.” He confessed before pausing as he mustered the courage. “Nothing will bring him back. But I think you should know. I know the truth. I know everything.” He uttered. Dorian lifted his head slowly, eyes drowned, puffed, and grieving. “I think I always knew…”
“Oscar…” Dorian mumbled incoherently. But his son cut him off.
“You murdered his innocence. You tarnished his spirit. You broke his heart beyond repair. And I will never forgive you for that.” Oscar stated. His voice was strong, clear, and truthful. He turned around to leave but suddenly stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to face his father. “Still… I believe everyone can be saved. Even you.” He stated before turning his back and closing the door behind him.
As he walked away, he never looked back. He met Antoine at the front gate, where a car was waiting to take them back to the airport. Back home.
Dorian lifted his heavy body from the chair, screeching the old wood. He dragged his feet around the house for hours, touching everything, the drapes, the wood on the doors, the portraits and photos scattered. He walked to the balcony in the boy’s room and stood there, his eyes closed, attempting to hear the river. But it was still. It had been still since Lorenzo’s death. He turned around, walked to the first floor’s corridor, and stood in front of the door to the attic. He went up, his hand holding the rail to aid him. Upon reaching the top, he immediately leaned on a small cabinet to the left. He stared at the old mattress lying on the floor. There was no light coming through the windows. He tumbled over to the desk and sat down. Dorian opened the drawer and took out the Polaroids. He scrolled through them considerably fast, occasionally stopping, mesmerized by some of them. In particular, one where he stood next to Fabrizio. Then, the ones he took of Lorenzo. His hand covered his mouth immediately. Even then, Dorian attempted to silence his pain and internalize his feelings. There was just too much despair inside for him to bear. He slid all the Polaroids inside the drawer with his hand and kept the one of Lorenzo.
“Il mio bel ragazzo…” He whispered as he smiled. Then, he clutched a piece of paper and a pen from one of the drawers and began writing.
“My son, my Oscar.
You will eventually understand my decision, and maybe you will forgive me one day. You were right. The sadness I was carrying finally caught up with me.
You told me that everyone could be saved. I would love for that to be true, my sweet boy, my Oscar.
But what I’ve done.
What was done to me.
What I ultimately did to your brother…There’s no saving from that. There is no happy ending for people like me.
I hope one day you find the peace I never did.
Love, Dad.”
Dorian placed the pen on the table, folded the letter, sealed it, opened the drawer, took out a gun, and put it under his chin. The sound of the shot fired traveled across the villa. But there was no one there to hear it.
(23 Years Later)
The car veered into the dirt road and slowly approached the large metal gates. Nature had laid waste to the villa, and that once unsoiled house was now covered in weeds. The car stopped beside the tall metal gates, where another vehicle was waiting.
“Prêt, mon amour?” Antoine asked.
Oscar looked at him and nodded. Both men had aged gracefully, and Oscar was now 43 years old. They descended to greet the real estate agent.
“The buyers are inside. Shall we meet them?” She asked, looking at both of them, waiting for an answer.
“You go ahead. I’ll meet you later.” Oscar suggested. He then looked inside the car. “Where’s Lorenzo?” He asked, looking around.
“I think he sneaked inside,” Antoine replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Je t’aime.” He mumbled to Oscar, moving his lips but with no sound.
“I love you too,” Oscar replied the same way. They both beamed at each other. Antoine went inside and took the chatty woman with him.
Oscar followed but trekked toward the back of the house in the opposite direction. He eventually reached the spot where Elena served the meals. Oscar advanced a couple of yards further and halted. He stood in front of Lorenzo’s annex. He heard a noise, propelling him to go in. Inside, scavaging through a collection of cards featuring soccer players from the 80s, was the most beautiful boy, roughly 19 years of age, and the spitting image of Lorenzo in his youth. Oscar beamed as his eyes became bright and teary.
“You can keep those if you want,” he said. The boy looked at him and frowned.
“Nah, they smell like mold,” the boy replied. Is this him?” he asked, grabbing a frame with a photo of Lorenzo. Oscar nodded. “Good-looking guy…kinda looks like me,” the boy commented.
“You were named after him. And yes, he was the most beautiful man I knew.” Oscar professed.
“Don’t let Dad hear that.” Lorenzo teased, and they both chuckled.
“I’ll take a stroll. Will you be alright?” Oscar asked. The boy nodded, his back already turned as he perused through the cards.
Oscar turned and left, walking down the grassy patch towards the river. On his way there, he stopped to look back at the balcony. A sweet melancholy took over him. He descended further, removed his shoes, and walked over the dirt patch, drowning his feet in the cold river water. As soon as he did, he felt it. All the remembrances returned as if they had been stored there secretly, waiting for him to return and recall them.
And just like that, on that river’s shore, Oscar wept. But now, his tears didn’t stem from his pain or hurt. Instead, they were born from his joy. Finally, he had found himself, his true self.
His body and his mind healed.
He was happy.
He was at peace.
He understood the weight of his oath, that sworn declaration he had made all those years ago. Though he would never be able to forget everything that happened in the past, Oscar knew, at that moment, that the curse Lorenzo fought to end and died for had been lifted. The chain of abuse had been broken.
Lorenzo’s soul could finally rest.
As Oscar closed his eyes, a scent of musk and lavender rushed through him.
“Dad, is everything alright?” Lorenzo asked. Oscar turned around, looked at his son’s face, the boy’s dark curls blowing with the summer breeze, and smiled.
“Yes. I think it will be.” He assured.
THE END