I know about s*x. About what it is, after all I am old enough for that. But the upbringing of a Sicilian woman is so restrained that no one has ever spoken so openly. I know the biology, I know nothing about love, but I will leave this night educated in cruelty.
Bruno approaches her, lowers his pants to his knees, and spits into his hand, stroking himself. I cannot look at his intimacy and keep my eyes fixed on Alexandra. Her eyes are desperate.
She had already been abused that night. My brothers did that to her, so now she only seems resigned. Begging, no longer for it not to happen, but for it to end.
Her eyes shed no tears, while a single one slips down my face.
“I am sorry,” I whisper.
I feel guilty. Bruno is right, this is my fault. Maybe this situation would be less horrible for
