As Chiara listened, it felt like with every word, a brick was being flung at her. With every sentence, every jab at Chiara’s apparent lack of intelligence on the subject, the flame burning inside of her grew. Anger crept up her veins; frustration, confusion. Her whole life, she’d never felt so strongly for someone - it was always casual, always for pleasure rather than purpose. She looked at Amelia - fiery, beautiful, passionate Amelia, the very Amelia that she’d met all those years ago, the one she’d thought would be like all the others. The first person that made her feel loved from within rather than thriving off of her attention.
She loved her. God, had she loved her.
But once those final words crept from Amelia’s lips, Chiara felt her chest constrict. Her fists tightened, her jaw clenched. A new fury surged through her like none other, and alcohol be damned, she was making a bee line for her in seconds.
“How–” She choked through gritted teeth, pointing an accusatory finger at in her direction. “How fucking dare you say that. Do you think– Do you think I asked to be born into that hell hole? Did you think I enjoyed having a father who didn’t give a damn about me, about Fiore, whether we were dead or alive? Loved having a mother that would rather drown her sorrows in alcohol than wonder where her fourteen year old daughter was at three in the morning?
With each word, the volume escalated, and she jabbed at Amelia until they were both backing up a few steps. “I learned what love was without their help, and - haha - guess what! It only took me eighteen years! Because that’s when,” A jab. “I met–” She pushed her backward onto the bed. “You! You selfish, stupid idiot, you f- fuck, you taught me what love was. And I hate it, and I hate that you made me realize what it was, and it’s not fair, and you’re not fair, and–” Frustrated tears pricked at her eyes, and she knelt down before the bed, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you. You did this to me.”
