Roberta Mezzabarba - The Confessions Of A Concubine

I blushed instantly at that news and my heart seemed to go like a galloping horse.

Meanwhile, Pietro had already prepared two chairs in front of the pc.

As he began to explain to me how that new

program worked, I kept my gaze fixed on the screen trying not to notice the scent coming from his skin, and his warm breath on my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Please God save me," whispered my mind, to try to distract me from the man who was a few inches from my skin.

"Please God save me."

But it was not God who had to save me from that web which awaited me, I could have done it very well myself, and instead I did not.

His hand slipped naturally onto my knee, squeezing it a little, and I slowly turned to him.

It was if my face had turned frame by frame, it seemed so long before I met his gaze.

His eyes searched the space around the desk we occupied, then with a small smile, he made me understand that there was no one there.

And then it happened.

It happened, and I don’t know exactly how it

happened that I found myself with his lips resting on mine, in a light kiss.

It happened, and I thought the sky would collapse on me if I did something like this, but instead nothing happened.

Embarrassed I quickly turned my gaze to the video on which a small dash was flashing waiting for someone to decide to tell it what to do.

How could this have happened?

How could I have allowed something like this to happen?

How would I be able go home to my husband that evening?

As soon the "lesson" finished, I went to the bathroom, and stayed there for a good quarter of an hour: I spent it almost entirely in front of the mirror, looking at myself, to see if something had changed in me, if you could see that I had kissed another man, who was not my husband.

I washed my lips with soap, rubbing hard as if

they were really dirty, and then I rushed to take the bus home.

As I ran my thoughts were galloping too.

I was a married woman, and Pietro also had a wife, even though he never talked about her.

What had I been thinking?

***

Filippo had not arrived yet.

Good.

I would prepare the hunter's chicken that he likes so much to be forgiven for what he will never know, and to seal my mute promise that I would never do it again.

How would I be able to kiss him?

Would it still be the same or had something changed, that afternoon?

He arrived when it was already dark and giving me an apathetic kiss on the forehead got me out of

the bind of finding out if he would feel the taste of Pietro on my lips.

***

A confession.

The first.

The words come out in drops, digging into recent events, too recent for them not to still hurt.

I have to shape my will.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned."

Forgive me.

Forgiveness.

"I desire another woman's man."

Forgive me, O father.

The confessional is dark and through the grate I glimpse a figure intent on listening to me, his head bowed.

"My girl, the flesh is weak."

Forgive me, O father.

"My flesh is not weak, I want his soul, I want his words, I just want a little sweetness, a little affection, a little love."

Forgive me, O father and tell me what I can do: my dark existence has found that glimmer that gives color to everything, but he cannot belong to me and I cannot belong to him.

"My child, I know, it's hard."

Forgive me, O father but I can't help but have him in my thoughts in every second of every minute of every day.

"Forgive me, O father."

My knees begin to ache, as if the wood on which they are resting had suddenly become very rough.

Act of contrition... I repent of and I am sorry for...

my sins... I promise with the help of your Grace...

and to avoid the next occasions of sin.

I had never understood what I was reciting from memory, until now.

I promise, I promise.

I promise.

A saddlebag that was too heavy.

And my shoulders are too weak.

6

Small steps

With small steps I walked towards horizons forbidden even just to my imagination.

All the fears that Filippo would find me out dwindled day after day, drowned in our lives like poor devils, in every absent glance, in every click on that damn remote control.

Even his fits of anger, his words of accusation, his derogatory statements in my regard, did not hurt me so much anymore.

Every day that passed I was becoming more confident that I would be able to take what little happiness I deserved.

Pietro caressed me with his eyes in the long hours of work, whether I was among the shelves,

or if I was called to his office, and in doing so he unequivocally gave me to understand that the kiss we had exchanged, could, indeed should have a sequel.

One Friday evening, I had almost finished entering the suppliers’ invoices that had arrived during the week into the accounting management program. There were a lot of them.

All the other colleagues had left.

The manager came to the door of the office to say goodbye.

Pietro was putting on his jacket, and was about to leave.

"Miss Mysia, have you finished entering the invoices? Good, that means I can work on it tomorrow morning... Pietro will you wait until Mysia has finished? I don't like her being alone in here. I have to run. Have a good evening guys."

Pietro nodded yes, taking off his jacket again.

The door was closed.

We were alone.

I panicked at the mere thought.

Try as I might to concentrate on the work my head was in flames and my hands were shaking.

He sat down opposite me, his legs crossed, his arms folded, his big, dark eyes fixed on me, and his lips posed in a smile.

I couldn’t breathe, and there was a weight pressing on my chest.

"You want to kiss me, right?"

"..."

"Right?"

He was already on his feet with one hand resting on the desk and the other busy stroking me under my chin, the flesh yielding and quivering.

Nose to nose, with my eyes fixed in his, I felt his lips brush mine softly, like a touch of butterfly wings,.

He was so delicate, unhurried, as if we had all the time in the world.

"You wanted it too, baby, didn't you? I felt it, you know?"

I was unable to say a word.

Now we were standing and he was holding me in his arms, with my face pressed to his chest.

In the silence he caressed my hair, kissed me on the nape of the neck, made me feel as if I were the center of the universe.

And I wanted to weep.

I was clasped in the arms of what I had wanted so long.

And I didn't have him.

He could never be mine.

Unless a very small part perhaps.

But at that moment it didn’t matter: the only important thing was having Pietro a few inches from me.

He helped me finish entering the invoices, and at the door of the office we said goodbye.

With my cheeks red with excitement, I ran

happily towards the bus that was waiting for me under a lamppost of the space used as a station.

As if I were in a trance I sat down on a seat, still feeling his touch.

His perfume had stayed on my hands: the road ran quickly by, I closed my eyes and breathed him in from the palms of my hands.

7.

The Scarlet Notebook

Perhaps a part of me would have liked Filippo to discover my relationship with Pietro.

I wanted to wound his indifference, reduce it to shreds, and respond with facts to his constant offensive statements when he said that I was worth nothing, to see even one emotion scrape his face.