allemir writes | shorts: The villa next door
“Catch you tomorrow, Elise!” Pedro waved goodbye, barely able to walk straight towards his car. I waved back eagerly, smiling even though I couldn’t feel my face anymore. I met Pedro and his friends during a winery tour in Florence, and they were kind enough to drive me home when they learned I lived about an hour away. That saved me a fortune on a ride!
As I entered my villa, the caretaker welcomed me with a glass of water. “I’m sure you’re drunk, so I prepared some refreshments to cool you down,” Marco said, gently tapping my shoulder. “You’re too kind, Marco. Thank you,” I smiled, appreciating the gesture. “I’m sorry about next door. There’s a group that came earlier while you were away. They’re from Korea, and the tour guide mentioned they’re famous. They might disturb your sleep because they’ve been filming all day,” he added, looking worried. I shrugged it off and nodded. No amount of noise could drown out my own thoughts anyway, so it wouldn’t be a bother.
He was about to close the door when I called him back. “Marco, instead of water, do we have any wine?” I suspected he could see right through me, asking for more alcohol after a day of drinking at the winery. “I’ll stay on the balcony. It’s a shame to miss the stars tonight, right?” He nodded with a smile and gently closed the door.
I changed into comfortable clothes, quickly removed my makeup, and tied my hair up. The bottle of Chianti I requested—my favorite—along with some cheeses, was already set up on the balcony. Marco knew my preferred setup; after nearly two months in Italy, it felt like home. It was hard to believe how long I’d been here. It still felt like yesterday when I arrived in this country with a heavy heart, burdened by the 15-year relationship I’d left behind. Just thinking about it felt like a blow to my mind, and speaking about it shattered my heart into a million pieces. But that was a story for another day.
Laughter and chatter floated through the air as if they were right beside me. “Famous Korean group, that’s what Marco said,” I typed weakly, my mind racing ahead of my fingers. It felt as if I’d drunk an entire winery and was still going.
Suddenly, my eyes widened. Apparently, the biggest South Korean K-pop group, Seventeen, was in Italy for their Nana Tour. I’d watched them win a prize on Game Caterers and grew up following PD Na’s Youth Over Flowers. For a moment, I felt tempted to sneak a peek at what they were doing, but I wasn’t a sasaeng fan. I decided to let them be while I soaked in my own alcohol and the pain I couldn’t seem to drown.
Untouched cheese. Stars lighting up the sky. I was in awe of the beauty of the night. I took a sip and realized I’d already finished the bottle. Frankly, I felt I could drink more, but I didn’t want to bother Marco anymore. It was already 3 o'clock in the morning.
Suddenly, the loud chatter stopped, replaced by a soft, fragile melody. I attempted to get up but decided to listen for just a bit longer.
The singer’s voice started shaky, likely from all the laughter and shouting. But slowly, as I immersed myself in the song, despite the foreign language, tears began to well in my eyes. My heart tingled with emotions I had pushed down since that day. The alcohol finally got to me, and his beautiful voice drew out my feelings so quickly. I gripped the balcony railing, clenching my hands so tightly that my nails dug into my skin—a slight pain to distract myself from the urge to break down. But it didn’t work. I couldn’t understand the words, but they understood my heart.
Abruptly, I stood up to escape the music, forgetting how drunk I was. My leg bumped into the table, sending everything crashing to the ground. The music stopped, and I think I heard a gasp—my own included. The glass shattered, and shards met my leg. It took a moment to realize I was bleeding.
Heavy footsteps rushed towards me. It was Marco, the caretaker. “What happened?! Are you okay?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around my wound. “I’m fine, Marco,” I tried to assure him, but he shushed me and lifted me in his arms. I shrieked in surprise, “Put me down, Mar…” but I couldn’t finish as I vomited on his back. He was unfazed.
More footsteps rushed towards our villa as staff from the neighboring villa came to check if Marco needed help. Before I knew it, a paramedic from the standby ambulance approached with a first aid kit in hand.
Embarrassment washed over me, feeling like a burden from the commotion I’d caused. I didn’t want the spotlight or attention. I came to Italy to escape the pain and be away from the people who hurt me. But now, I was the drunk girl who made a mess and hurt herself.
Being drunk had its perks; I didn’t need anesthesia to numb me. I was already numb without the alcohol. The Italian staff surrounded Marco, all speaking in their language, likely about me. I turned my head and saw familiar faces checking the scene—Seventeen. I covered my face in embarrassment, wondering what they thought of me in this state. But then I heard, “Is she alright?” Ah, right, not all of them are fluent, but most know some English. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a small cut,” one of Marco’s fellow caretakers replied.
“All set, miss!” I smiled in gratitude at the paramedic. Marco looked worried and caressed my hand to see if I was okay. “Let’s go home, Marco,” I uttered silently.
But before we could leave, someone approached us, extending his hand toward me. It looked like herbal juice or something similar.
“This should help with the hangover,” he smiled sweetly. I recognized him instantly. “Thank you, Joshua.” He seemed surprised that I knew his name.