"Run, before I meet up with them again!" he screamed, violently shaking his head.
"But you are my savior! I don't need to climb the tower; I have already found you!" This time I was shouting joyfully.
"Run!" he repeated. Then his eyes changed, turning red and ravenous, and he ran off, foaming at the mouth. I stood there, at the foot of the tower, my heart shattered.
22 March 2002
My parents went away for a week and will return tomorrow. For days I've had the house to myself, and I have come and gone as I pleased. At the beginning, I thought of inviting someone to spend the night with me, perhaps Daniele, who contacted me a couple days ago, or Roberto, or perhaps I would dare call Germano or Letizia-someone, in other words, who might keep me company. Instead I enjoyed my solitude; I stayed by myself and thought about all the beautiful things that had recently happened to me, as well as the ugly ones.
I know, Diary, I've hurt myself, I've had no respect for me, for my person, which I say I love so much. I'm not so sure I love myself as I once did: a girl who loves herself doesn't let her body be violated by any man whatsoever, without a specific reason and without even any pleasure. I tell you this as a prelude to revealing a secret, a sad secret that I foolishly wanted to hide from you, deluding myself that I'd forget. One night while I was alone, I thought I'd cheer myself up and get a little air, so I went to the pub where I always go, and after a few beers I met a guy who chatted me up, in a way that was neither nice nor courteous. I was drunk, he turned my head, and I gave him free rein. He brought me back to his place, and when he closed the door behind me, I was overwhelmed with fear, a tremendous fear, which my drunkenness enabled me to repress immediately. I asked him to let me go, but he wouldn't, compelling me with his tiny crazed eyes to undress. Frightened, I did it, and then I did everything he ordered me to do. I penetrated myself with a vibrator he thrust into my hand, and I felt the walls of my vagina burn, felt the skin tear. I cried as he offered me his little, flaccid member. He was holding my head, and I couldn't avoid doing what he wanted. He couldn't come; my jaws, even my teeth were aching.
He threw himself on the bed and abruptly fell asleep. Instinctively, I looked in the bedside table and expected to find the money he would've owed a good whore. I went into the bathroom and washed my face without deigning, even for a wretched instant, to glance at my reflected image. I would've seen the monster that everyone wants me to become. I can't allow myself to become that, I can't allow them to want it. I am dirty; only Love, if it exists, can cleanse me again.
28 March
Yesterday I told Valerio what happened to me the other night. I expected him to say, "I'll come right away," to take me in his arms and cuddle me, to whisper that I mustn't worry about anything, he would be there with me. None of this happened. He told me in a bitter, reproachful tone that I'm stupid, a fool, and it's true that I am-no shit! But it's already enough that I blame myself, I don't want sermons from other people, I just want someone to hug me and make me feel good. This morning he was waiting for me by the school entrance; I would've never imagined such a surprise. He arrived on a motorcycle, his hair in the wind and a pair of sunglasses covering his splendid eyes. I was chatting away in front of a bench where a few of my classmates were sitting. My hair was a mess, my book bag heavy on my shoulder, and my face flushed. When I saw him arrive with his sly, captivating smile, my jaw dropped, and I was tongue-tied for a moment. I quickly said "Excuse me" to my mates and ran into the street to greet him. I threw myself against him in a childish manner; it was spontaneous and said a great deal. He told me he was longing to see me, he missed my smile and my perfume, he thought he'd fallen into some sort of crisis of abstinence from Lolita.
"What are the clones looking at?" he asked me, nodding toward the kids in the piazza.
"Who do you mean?" I asked.
He explained that this was his term for young people who all look identical, each of them a member of the same great, enormous herd. It's their way of distinguishing themselves from the adult world.
"You have a strange way of defining us. Anyway, they're looking at your bike, they're intrigued by you, and they envy me because I'm talking to you. Tomorrow they'll ask me, 'Who was that guy talking to your
"And what will you say?" he asked, certain of my response.
His certainty irritated me, so I said, "I might or might not answer. It depends on who asks and how they ask."
I looked at his tongue wetting his lips, looked at his eyelashes, long and black as a baby's, and his nose, which seems a perfect copy of mine. Then I looked at his penis, which swelled when I drew close and whispered, "I want to be possessed, now, in front of everybody."
He looked at me and smiled, nervously clenching his lips as if to contain his feverish excitement. Then he asked, "Lo, Lo, do you want to drive me crazy?
I answered yes with a slow nod and flashed a smile.
"Let me smell your perfume, Lo."
I offered him my pure white neck, and he nuzzled it, filling his lungs with my musky vanilla fragrance. "I'm going now, Lo."
He couldn't leave. This time I was ready to play all my cards.
"You want to know what panties I'm wearing today?"
He was about to start the motor, but he stared at me, shocked, and with his mind befogged he answered yes.
I hiked up my trousers, unbuttoning them at the top, so he could see that I wasn't wearing panties. He continued to stare at me, searching for a response.
"I often go pantyless. I like it," I told him. "Remember that night we did it the first time?"
"You're driving me crazy."
I drew near his face, keeping a distance that was very close and therefore very dangerous. "Yes," I said, looking straight into his eyes, "that's my intention."
We gazed at each other without saying a word for a long time. He would occasionally shake his head and smile. I again approached his ear and told him, "Rape me tonight."
"No, Lo… it's risky," he replied.
"Rape me," I repeated, at once bossy and wicked.
"Where, Mel?"
"The place where we went the first time."
29 March
1:30 A.M.
I climbed out of the car and closed the door, leaving him inside. I set off down those dark, narrow streets, and he waited a little while before following me. I found myself alone crossing the jagged pavement. I heard the noise of the sea in the distance, then nothing more. I looked at the stars and felt as if I had to catch their imperceptible sound, beings that twinkle intermittently. Then the engine and headlights of his car. I stayed calm; I wanted everything to unfold as I had planned it: he was the executioner, I the victim. Victim in body, humiliated and subjugated. But the mind, mine and his-I command it, I alone. I desire all this; I am mistress of it. He is a fake master, a master who is my slave, slave to my desires and whims.
The car pulled up. He switched off the engine and headlights and climbed out. For a few moments I thought I was again alone, as I heard nothing… There he goes; I heard him. He was walking at a slow, calm pace, but he was breathing fast, panting. Unexpectedly, I felt fear. He started to pursue me more vehemently, he ran toward me and, seizing my arm, threw me against the wall.
"Signorinas with lovely little asses shouldn't wander around the streets alone," he said, his tone of voice changing.
With one hand he held my arm, hurting me; with the other, he pushed my head toward the wall, pressing my face hard against the rough, muddy surface.