Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is stupid. I should have gone to therapy maybe. Maybe took the offer the school counsellor gave me when I was 10. 

I was in high school when I was 10 who is in high school when they're 10 this is fucked up. 

Stop. Rewind. Maybe I should have gotten Moody Blues instead. Instead of this freakish monster but don't you know it Pannacotta don't you know you are a freak.

I would not have gone to therapy anyway. Can you imagine? Picture perfect Fugos' only son associated with the insane and the degenerate. What an heir you are. Stop. Cut. 

You could cut. I could. I am not afraid of blood. 

Maybe I should pick up something to do with my hands instead of beating up people for any small reason I can find. Take up smoking maybe. I know Bucciarati smokes. He does not want me to know but I do. I have seen the way his hands shake. Not in the way my dad smokes, no. No. Him with his rich friends. Smoking expensive cigars and laughing at the way our world runs. Bunch of lowlifes on their high horse and the scent of Cuban tobacco mixed with good brandy. And I should have been there as the centrepiece of the table and look how smart my boy is and- 

I am derailing. What a show pony. I have been since middle school. Smoking? Bucciarati would kill me. Maybe.

Alcohol? There seems to be a strange comfort in the way Abbacchio holds the neck of the bottle. As if strangling it. He could, probably. He is strong. Not mentally, he is like me in that regard. Pathetic. But at least he tried to do some good in this vile world. What did I do? It was not his fault that he failed. It is just how we are wired. Pick up alcoholism. He would kill me too. He would actually. And would Bucciarati kill him for killing me? Would anyone actually care? My own sister does not know of my existence. 

And they will never like her the way they liked me because what happens when you lose a son? I do not believe in a God. But I pray that she will be smart. Smarter than I have ever been. Am I dead? Or can they just erase me from the records? Will I pick up my sister from the streets 15 years down the road? Will I actually see the light of the day that long? Probably not. Not that there is light in my days.

I am tired. We had a mission today. The three of us. And it is weird no? Being part of a team? I have never been a team player. Lone wolf, mum would say. How ignorant. A wolf would die alone. Or kill someone. Almost that is. Maybe the wolf should have been smarter. Actually commit to what he was doing. Half-done jobs. Half-life. Half-life sentence and nameless, faceless attorneys. Almost. Half. 

That is not what tired me in any case. I quite like just being the muscle. Or liked. Now we have Abbacchio. And I was doing okay too. I am strong too and he just barges in and. Well. It does not matter. I have a gift as mum used to say. I should use it. Father used to say that. He did not believe in gifts. He did believe in God however. His God was unforgiving and cruel and this world is cutthroat Son you should know how to rise above the common people. Stop. 

I succumbed to the darkness at a very young age. Maybe it was always inside of me. Who knows? Where does this dark seed come from? 

My hands hurt. The freak is trying to claw out of me. There are no razors in my apartment.

Chapter Text

Nothing happened today. So why do I feel such uneasiness? It is like an invisible smoke going in and out of my lungs. Slowly suffocating. It feels weird. There is a thin fog between me and the world. Like I can see it but I cannot reach out. Cannot touch it. Life flashes by in a flurry of colours and sounds. A cacophony of laughter and tears and shapes and vague nothings. Have days always bled into each other and I just did not recognise it because there was something waiting for me every time I opened my eyes?

I am starting to understand why Abbacchio likes 'Paint it, black' so much. I do not like it. I do not want to understand him. He carries himself like an old man devoid of emotion. I see through his façade. He is so young and lost and oh by some divine being, why are we so young? Even I? I suppose.

He tells me I speak like an ancient scholar. And maybe I was, in a past life. I think I am starting to believe in Father's God. Which life am I on the Samsara Circle? I must be paying for the crimes of another life. There is this ache in my bones that has settled so very deep. I could not remove it even if I had the strength. It is a part of me now. When I die, it will sprout like the parasitic spores of a mushroom. I have no control over who it will corrupt next. I can only watch and hope it will not be someone pure.

I cannot die, I decided. This is my curse to bear. There are no martyrs in Passione. Only fools who die believing themselves to be strong. I have not done anything worthwhile in my life. Maybe that is better. I dread the day the fog around me dissipates. 

Maybe I should go for a walk. The clock reads 2 in the morning but who would be foolish enough to touch the freak? Clear my head. I can never be clean. If someone messes with me I could just beat them into a pulp. Bucciarati would not like that. I can just clean up whatever is left of the body. I am sick. No wonder I was disowned. Stop. A walk. Yes. I have some shopping to do.

Chapter Text

I found a boy today. Maybe saying boy is erroneous. Apparently he is sixteen. Older than me. Two years older. He looked much younger though. Malnourished. His left eye was under bandages so at first I assumed he had lost it. I took him to Bucciarati, he is in the hospital now. I have no way to explain my attachment to this stranger but I think I will visit him tomorrow. Maybe it is a sense of kinship. He told me he could not return to his house. I did not press. I can only assume he had been kicked out. On second thought, maybe not. He seemed naive, in a way. Stark difference to my tainted self. I am rambling again. Abbacchio tells me I am prone to that. Something about "being too eager to go down a spiral of self pity". Hypocrite. I will not listen to him. I can feel myself getting angry. I should go out. The freak is even more dangerous in closed quarters. But who am I kidding? I could not get away from it even if I wanted to. Maybe I should go somewhere? I am tired. So very tired. Writing helps, I think. I haven’t been lashing out as much recently. Which is good, I suppose. Abbacchio and I got off the wrong foot, maybe I can salvage it somehow. I doubt he would be able to see past my corrupted nature. As if there is something beyond. Rambling? I wouldn’t know. I do not exactly care for talking. Bucciarati says I could confide in him. He has this heavy aura around him. I know he has been with Passione for some time but he is very secretive. I would have assumed around when he was fifteen but from what I can gather he has been active for longer than just two years. Polpo trusts him. That takes serious skills but also seniority. I do not want to overstep his boundaries, his past is his to tend to after all. To think he joined early on his teens or possibly even younger though? I have no clue as to his past. The only thing I can say is that he deserved better. A person as kind as him cannot be deserving of this fate. He even took pity to the likes of me. Sympathy. Sympathy I meant. He is adamant on that. Then again, he said the same about Abbacchio. Which is telling. Both of us agree on it being pity though. Nevertheless, that sort of kindness takes strength. It is derived from seeing all the ugliness this world can offer. He will always have my utmost respect for that. 

Should I bring something with me tomorrow? I got no clues as to what the boy might like. I do know hospital food is disgusting though. I could perhaps bring some food. I am still not sure about visiting. I assume he would not like to be associated with the likes of me. It means trouble. He sure has seen enough of that. Just once maybe. He can tell me off if he wishes so. 

Chapter Text

I went to visit the boy. Narancia. His name is Narancia. Also he is not sixteen. He told me since his birthday is in two months it “definitely counts” and he is fifteen. Alas, if he can be sixteen, I can be fifteen. I did not tell him that of course. He does not need to know I am younger. Weirdly enough, he seemed happy? I assume after being on the streets the hospital fared lonesome. He also reacted in a manner I can only describe as ecstatic in response to the food I brought. I was worried it would be underwhelming, considering it was just pizza but he clarified that it was his favourite. He is an interesting person I have to say. He did not seem bothered by my presence and he likes to talk. A lot. Which was… unsettling after months of associating with Bucciarati and Abbacchio. Unfortunately I could not stay for a long time after Bucciarati called for a meeting. He did not say what was going on but I assume we have a new mission that requires all three of us present. I am certain Narancia has already figured out what we do anyway. He is not the brightest but it would not take a genius to connect the dots either. I still have more words I want to get out of my system but I am dangerously close to running late. Maybe later.

Chapter Text

Fuck this. Fuck everything. I hate it. I hate everything. I hate myself. I almost died. Abbacchio almost died. Why is he so eager to fucking die? If he wants to die he can do so on his own fucking time. Why does he want his blood to be on MY hands? Fuck this. Fuck this. FUCK THIS. Okay. Okay. I am calm. I am not. No, no I am. At least I am back on my feet now. Well, almost. Bucciarati is handling things. He told me and Abbacchio strictly to stay out of it. But of course I am the only one who has to stay out of it because he cannot fucking contain Abbacchio. He would not be able to contain me as well if Abbacchio did not also intervene. I do not get it. We both almost died. He was far more grievously injured. I had to patch him up and he was a few centimeters short of spilling his guts onto the floor of some dirty ass storage house AND he has the audacity to tell me I should stay out of it?! Shit. I am going to spiral if I keep this up. Breathe. 

I am back. I got out to get some fresh air. At least Abbacchio’s flat has a balcony. Oh, another thing. I am being held in his place. Apparently he wants to make sure I do not attempt “anything stupid”. They let me go back to my flat just to retrieve a few necessary belongings. UNDER SUPERVISION. Fuck. At least I managed to grab my journal without Bucciarati noticing. He would definitely snoop through it. No matter what he says I do know that he is nosy. Also at first he demanded I stay with him until Polpo sorts things out. Like fucking hell. I demanded that I at least stay with Abbacchio. Which serves me no purpose than to be petty since he lives directly under Abbacchio. Still. I am going to count my small victories. Abbacchio looked incredibly shocked upon my request so that is another victory in my book. I intend to inconvenience him as much as possible. I am not above it as I once thought. Especially because again, they are making me stay in his fucking flat while they go talk with Polpo. When I tried to argue that leaving me unsupervised was far more dangerous Bucciarati had looked pensive for a few seconds and Abbacchio just got all in my face and said that I was to stay right there and talk to no one. I do know where they are getting at but their whole plan is stupid. It is obvious that if Testoni’s men were so stupid as to come get me -from Bucciarati’s quarters no less- they would get me alive. He just wants to keep me someplace with less foot traffic so if I were to go missing he could track me down more quickly. 

Also maybe he thinks that I do not have eyes but I saw him replay me from a few months ago with Moody Blues. It is obvious that he is trying to create the illusion of me accompanying them. Fuck. Everything is so stupid. At least Canarini’s daughter is back with him. I assume Testoni is pissed about that too. Why did we have to get caught between a stupid rivalry between two capos anyway? Abbacchio said it was a two birds one stone deal and Bucciarati is backing him up. Stupid. I do not doubt the reasoning but the end conclusion? It should be obvious to anyone with critical thinking skills that while my stand is far more lethal Abbacchio is a far more valuable stand user just on the premise of being able to ACTUALLY FUCKING CONTROL HIS STAND. Whatever. I do not want to deal with the consequences of getting out of here anyway. I am far too tired for it and my leg is still fractured. I would have wreaked havoc in his flat just to get back at him but I believe he “child proofed” the place. I have never met someone who did not own a single kitchen knife. Apparently he does not shave either. Honestly I am offended he thinks I would be so unstable. Maybe I can still break stuff around his flat. Or maybe I will go through his wine stash. If he has not drunk it all already that is.

Chapter Text

I dread

to adጠit. That he been riໃht. This wa not a goood 

               idea. 

Camot see the paዖe.

Chapter Text

I have a horrendous headache. My eyes are still blurry and the room is spinning but at least I can actually see what I am writing. Bucciarati was pissed at me. At Abbacchio too. Unfortunately I do not think last night was the end of it judging by my cloudy memories and less than stellar handwriting dating back 10 hours or so. I remember Bucciarati screaming at Abbacchio about leaving alcohol in my vicinity. I remember someone carrying me from the kitchen to the bedroom? I could not tell who it was. I think Abbacchio responded to what Bucciarati said (screamed, more accurately). I remember hearing a conversation. I can assume they resolved it because I woke up in Abbacchio’s bed. My journal was on the nightstand with water and painkillers next to it. I do not know who found it. I just hope it was not Bucciarati. From what I can hear Abbacchio is cooking and the knives are back. I think I broke a few plates last night as well. I do not want to go back out there but I do need to change my clothes. The ones on my back are in a disgusting state. They are also the ones I have been wearing before all this. I do not know what to make of the situation. I just want to go back to my usual routine. Frankly, I embarrassed myself. 

Chapter Text

Everything is resolved for now. It has been a week since I last wrote. Polpo put a target on Testoni’s back. Canarini requested to meet with Bucciarati to personally thank us. It would have felt good if nothing else had happened. I can stand on my leg with minimal pain now. Fuck. My thoughts are so tangled. After a long lecture from Bucciarati (and a shorter one from Abbacchio) about my actions, I was allowed to go back to my place. The one who found my journal was Abbacchio at least. He said he has not read it but I do not believe him. He said I could “talk to him”. Which. I do not know where that came from. As far as I am aware we are strictly acquaintances. Something must have prompted this bizarre and awkward reaction. 

Fuck. I don’t know. I visited Narancia again today. I wanted a sense of normalcy I guess. He was angry. I was as well. We yelled at each other for some time. I thought it would have been helpful to get some of the anger out. I am not exactly in a position to get mad at Bucciarati right now. Or even Abbacchio. I need to prove I am not some child. I need to gain back the respect I lost after drinking myself stupid in one of my teammates flat. How did Abbacchio even get out of this? Even I saw him in far worse states than I was in. I am sure Bucciarati has seen it more than me. So why the fuck does he actually respect Abbacchio? I feel pathetic. No. I feel worse than that. Apparently Bucciarati visited Narancia before I did. Makes sense, since he is close to being discharged but..Fuck. Narancia wanted to join. He wanted to join and Bucciarati yelled at him. Told him to go back home and back to school. And. Of course. He is just a teenager.

And fuck. I know I do not have any right to be mad but.

I have no clue what else to feel. I did not confront him about it. I did not say anything to Narancia either. We just talked after calming down. Or after he calmed down. I stayed until they kicked me out. He told me to visit him again. Even if he was discharged. I do not believe I would have the strength to do so. I could not visit him again and come face to face with the fact that even Bucciarati himself saw no future in me. He.. I was younger than Narancia. I was thirteen and he saw no light in me. Just the degeneracy and the corruption that plagues me. He knew I could never have a normal life. I knew all of that already. I knew that I was beyond saving. Fuck. It still stings though. I did not like the reminder that I have always been a black stain on this world. Is this really just my nature? It must be. Even the very reflection of my soul is a freak. A disgusting disease ridden freak whose only desire is to kill. I should have died before I was born. At least my sister will be safe. At least my parents can start over. I was just a mistake of nature. I should not have been born. Fate must really like to joke around. I wonder if I die will my corruption just bloom out of me? Is my flesh ridden with darkness and disease? Maybe I would just start rotting even before I hit the ground. Despicable. Pathetic. I had the chance to die and I did not. But I already knew I was a coward. Father had said so before. Is it so unbelievable that Bucciarati also saw it? At least he took pity on me. 

Is it possible to carve one’s soul out? I know it is believed to be located in the lungs or heart. Descartes thought it was located in the pineal gland. Which I have no idea how to reach. Even if I did, what if I trigger something in my brain and the freak is let loose, detached from me? I could not risk it. Plato believed the thymos to be in the chest cavity. That is probably my best shot. Not detaching the soul entirely but carving out the rage. Yes. Yes that must be it. Just one of the three. I still have the necessary materials.  

Chapter Text

It hurts. Nothing is dying. I am still angry. I do not understand. I asked Bucciarati about it and he confirmed that a stand is the manifestation of one’s spirit. That must mean a soul, right? So why isn’t it working? I’ve been carving for weeks. At first I waited until the wound healed but I am losing patience so the incisions are getting shakier. It is not even in a straight line anymore. It is furcating. Am I somehow anchoring the freak into myself even more? Like the roots of a tree. Growing, settling. I do hope that is not the case. Or perhaps I was too late. Maybe it has already settled in and tangled into the dark essence of my soul. Narancia got discharged. We have not heard from him since. I believe he left an address with Bucciarati. I did not ask. I could not face him. I feel so alone. I thought it was for the best but I am selfish. I want to have a connection. A connection with the outside world. I know I am undeserving of it. I cannot face Bucciarati either. I know he has noticed. He is not very subtle about it. I hear conversations that get cut short when I walk in. I am spiralling. I know. Abbacchio tells me I am prone to that too. He is a hypocrite. I told this many times. To his face as well. He did not comment. Although he is better now I suppose. Bucciarati trusts him. More than he trusts me. I need to face him. I need to prove myself. 

How could I face him, knowing that he sees me as nothing more than a lost cause? No, no that is not right. I can still be useful. But then again, to be useful I also need to free him from the burden of worrying about me. I thought I was getting better at controlling my anger. Instead all I can feel except numbness is anger. Bloodlust. I do not want to be a danger to Bucciarati. Or Abbacchio. Despite what he might think about me, he has been acting kinder towards me since the incident with Testoni. If you can call it kindness that is. He is not exactly a kind man. Almost the stark opposite of Bucciarati. Not quite though, no. I see it in the way he carries himself. When he thinks no one is looking. All of us are broken in so many ways but I am the only one who is to blame for their demise. I know Abbacchio likes to blame himself but that is just it. He likes it. What I am to anger he is to sadness. Is it better? I cannot help but feel jealous of it. Sadness seems manageable. Containable. Although mine is innate. I was born defective. They both got their scars along the way. Only thing I can do in solidarity is acquire some of my own. The freak is ever consuming, sucking everything in before I can even get my fair share of scars. I have never met a tragedy that was not my own doing. I cannot even be angry at my old professor anymore. How can I be? He is a vile human being, just like me. I brought this upon myself. I drew him in. Abbadon wants Apollyon at his side. Where does this end? I cannot see light at the end of the tunnel. 

Chapter Text

Narancia is back. Permanently. He passed Polpo’s test behind our backs and requested to work for Bucciarati. He is fuming. Narancia told me at first he did not even believe it and refused to let him in so he stood at his door and shouted he was there under orders from Polpo until Bucciarati could not stand him disturbing the neighbours anymore. He caused so much commotion Abbacchio went down to investigate what was happening. Narancia did not know who he was, obviously. Even after I filled him in he is adamant about calling Abbacchio “the grumpy guy”. It is fitting. 

He is staying with me for now. Bucciarati dropped him off and briefed me about the situation. Not that he needed to. I was informed of every little detail afterwards by Narancia. As I previously stated, he likes to talk. Bucciarati said he was going to help Narancia get a place later. Which was supposed to be an olive branch I assume now that I think about it but considering how his eye was twitching and how he spat the words out through gritted teeth it sounded more like a threat. Narancia did not seem bothered by it though. If anything, he looked amused. He has got a stand as well. He named it Aerosmith. I believed it to be a little bit childish at first but it is a shooter so I will hold my tongue. I would like to avoid any unnecessary conflict. I am having enough trouble keeping the freak in check as it is. I doubt Bucciarati would appreciate it if I killed our newest recruit. A part of me is glad that he is here but I am mostly irritated. He did something very stupid. He threw away a perfectly good chance at a normal life. A chance I would kill to have. Stop. I am a lost cause. There is no need to overcomplicate things. I was never going to get that chance. Whatever. He is sleeping right now. Which I am surprised about. Especially after I threatened to kill kim because he wanted to see my stand but he just shrugged and said -and I quote- “Ooh! Touchy subject, got it.”. Maybe I should not be so surprised about it. For a chatty person such as himself he is very cagey. He does not like to talk about anything related to himself or his past. I can get the sentiment. You do not end up in the streets or Passione if you have a pleasant past. Afterwards he asked me if I had any food. Apparently we are going shopping tomorrow. I was not aware I did not have anything suitable to eat. I find the motion of eating tedious anyway. For today we had bread. Well I had bread and he had bread and pickled cabbage. If I was him I would not trust that since I have no clue how long that has been in my fridge but I kept my mouth shut. After all, when we first met he was eating out of the trash. Surely this was not the worst meal he has ever had. Nevertheless, I need to clean up. I would not want him to stumble upon any razors. Well I guess the clean ones are fine. They should be in the bathroom as well. That is the appropriate place for a razor. He might not ask but I would like to avoid any and all weird interactions. I am so tired. Company is more trouble than it is worth.  

Chapter Text

I am alone again. I was not able to write while Narancia was with me. I had so many thoughts I wanted to write but I lost count of them. I feel numb. I helped Narancia settle in his new place. He is closer to where Bucciarati and Abbacchio live. I assume he wants to keep an eye on him. He went on a few minor missions with me and the others. Just for him to get a hold of what we are supposed to do. I must admit seeing him interact with Abbacchio is amusing. Narancia is still calling him the grumpy guy. I have never seen Abbacchio look so lost. I guess it is expected after having me and Bucciarati as teammates for almost a year now. The most talkative between us is Bucciarati who is no rival to Narancia’s energy nor chattiness. Narancia also told me I was welcome to visit any time I wanted to. He says he gets bored with all the adult stuff from Bucciarati and Abbacchio. He has also discovered he is older than me and is delighted about it. I quickly shut down any and all comments about me being a “pipsqueak”. We might have been in a fistfight until Bucciarati broke it up but that is irrelevant. I am still his senior. I have been in this gang longer than him. My flat feels hollow now. I do not know what to make of it. I bought cigarettes on my way back. Also new razors. Narancia pocketed the rest I think. I am not worried though. He does not seem the type. He has a pocket knife too, so I assume he intends to use them as a self defence measure. He seems to have a liking for anything sharp. It was about time I bought new ones. My wounds are scabbing over. I have given up on getting rid of this rage but maybe it will help in keeping it under control. Maybe it will chip it away bit by bit. I got a tie to hide the scars. It is black so if the wounds were to open I think it will be able to hide it. If not, the red of my suit could disguise the rest. The tie also has purple strawberries on it. I quite like it. Even though I feel like I have gotten used to it. I Have been doing it long enough for the skin around it to be caving inwards. I need something else to ground me as well. I have not smoked before but I do know people who smoke get desensitised to the smell. I bought the same brand as Abbacchio so he will be even less likely to pick up on it. Bucciarati too. I hope it will be able to ground me. I will try one now and report back. 

They taste disgusting. I feel like I would have to drown in mouthwash to be rid of the taste. On the other hand, I understand the appeal. The first few made me cough so hard but now I feel pleasantly dizzy. Bucciarati and Abbacchio do know what is helpful. I wonder if they also have their own razors or knives or whatever it is. Rambling. I am rambling. I feel lightheaded. 

Chapter Text

I have been alone all week. A few missions. All solo. Now that Testoni has been “taken care of” I am allowed to do solo missions again. His right hand man has been assigned to a different team. I would argue he is far more dangerous but Polpo does not ask for input from the likes of me. I assume he has been recruited by someone who is even more high up in the ranks. Maybe even the boss’ special team. He has an interesting and powerful ability. Too bad he is so prone to being manipulated. Then again, that must be one of his appeals. Solitude does weird things to my brain. I blame Narancia. He came by today so I guess I was not alone for the entirety of the week. He dropped off some “groceries”. I was confused at first but he told me he got paid for the first time and wanted to get me some stuff as payback for helping him initially and because he ate my food for his first week in the team. Surprising and I am inclined to say thoughtful but his definition of groceries is very loose considering he got me orange juice and various crisps. Scratch that. Definitely thoughtful. He stayed for about an hour but I am not so sure about what the first ten minutes of our interaction consisted of since I was blindsided by his decision to come to my visit and I was trying my hardest to keep him out of my kitchen. That is where my cigarettes are. 

We ended up watching TV and ate some of the crisps he brought. He was very insistent about not having any orange juice though. His reasoning being if he had any at all he would finish it before I could get to drink some. I ended up making him herbal tea. I assumed he would like cranberry tea and I was right. Well, he liked it after dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in it. I did not complain. I do not use much sugar after all. It was a weirdly calm day. Calmness itself feels weird. Like there is something waiting behind the corner for me to drop my guard. Nevertheless. I think I could get used to this. Bucciarati says I should not strain myself too hard anyway. I think he is afraid that I will break. I would not. Then I would not be useful. I should not sully this day by thinking too hard. Cigarettes maybe? Seems like an appropriate way to end the day.

Chapter Text

I got caught the second I interacted with Abbacchio. We had a meeting and nothing was awry whatsoever but five minutes after I entered my flat Abbacchio let himself in. Bastard used Moody Blues to open the door. I want to scream. I wish that motherfucker would just get out of my house but I hear him walking around. If he tries opening my bedroom door too I swear I will use my stand and I will kill us both. I think he can hear me writing because the pen is about to go through the entirety of the journal with how hard I am pressing. Who does he fucking think he is?! Coming to MY house and confiscating MY cigarettes?!! He is not my fucking brother. He is no one. Fuck. I could not even pretend as if I did not know what he was talking about because he caught me with the lighter in my hand and halfway through a cigarette. I think he is smoking right now too. Fucking hypocrite. At least I can hear him limping. He is dragging his feet. Good. I hope I broke it. I hope they have to amputate. Fucking bastard. I am shaking. At this rate I will only kill myself. I cannot do anything without my stand either. I am no match for him barehanded. I wonder if Bucciarati would be too mad if I murdered him. I have nothing sharp here. I could hit him on the head with something heavy. There are a few books h

We talked. The thought of hitting Abbacchio with a book made me think of that vile man back at the faculty. He actually had to come get me because I was screaming and clawing at the wounds on my chest. I learnt all of this afterwards. Since my memories are blurry I am taking his word for it. But.. well. He saw the scars. He saw the cigarettes. He said I was having a panic attack. I am at a loss for words. He.. we talked a lot. I am ashamed of it but I did cry. The panic attack helped. I think. When I came to it I was too tired to attack or kill him. He has scars too. They are not as fresh as mine. And they are on his arm. In different places. Not overlapping. Not that it matters. I wonder if I called it into existence. I should not have written about Bucciarati or Abbacchio or their scars. He apologised for handling it poorly. It is the first time I have ever seen him so..open? Vulnerable? It was bizarre. He did not say it but I think he was worried. About me. It is awkward. I never wanted anyone to worry about me. Let alone him. Weirdly enough it brought me some small semblance of comfort. He also assured me that Bucciarati does not know. In the end he took my razors and cigarettes but he let me smoke one. He said “withdrawal is a bitch” so I can have a few, lovering the amount until I am able to quit. I have to talk to him and he has to see it though. It feels weird. Technically I do not have to listen to him. He does not have any power over me. I can just go out and buy new ones until he gives up but I am too tired to argue about it. It will do me good in the end I think. I hope. I was spiralling. He also said I could come and fight him if I wanted to cut again. I found it hard to believe but he was serious. I do not understand why he is doing this. 

Chapter Text

I feel a weird sense of calmness these days. I visit Abbacchio from time to time. Narancia comes to visit me. Nothing interesting happens. Maybe calmness is the wrong word to use here. It feels like the calm before the storm. Like something horrendous is lurking behind the corner, waiting for me to lower my guard. I am not used to the feeling, if the danger is out in the open and I can see it, I can also assess it. I do not like being cast to the shadows by fate. Wait and see, Narancia said. Says it is his motto of life. I could not grasp how someone can live like that but it seems to be working for him. Hah. It is funny, really. He is.. A friend. Possibly my best friend. A few years prior I never would have imagined being friends with the likes of him. Not because he is not a good person or because I see myself above him. Just that he is.. Brazen. Loud. So far from the calm and collected intellectual crowd my parents wanted me to associate with. 

I saw my sister the other day. From far away, of course. She does not know of me. She is about two now. It felt hollowing, knowing that I will be nothing but a stranger if we were to meet when she is older. That was actually the first time I took Abbacchio’s advice to visit him. He has a sister too. He says he is estranged. I guess this is the life we lead. Wait and see. Take life by day, as Bucciarati said. Funny how Narancia and him are so similar in that regard. I think that is what happens when you grow up on the streets. I learnt recently that Bucciarati has been working for Polpo since he was twelve. I cannot imagine a life like that but he cut me off when I tried to give my sympathies. Makes sense that the past is painful for all of us. Narancia rarely speaks of his family. He only ever told me about his mother. The pleasant memories. The painful ones are reserved for particularly lonely days where he does not want to be alone in his apartment. He told me how she died and how he ran away. I told him about my sister. He said.. He said that he could be my brother, if I wanted to. I would like that. I did not say anything to him but I think he knows. The stillness in the air is suffocating. Nevertheless, I feel less alone with them around. “A ragtag team of losers” as Abbacchio so eloquently put it. Maybe tomorrow will be okay. Who knows. Wait and see. 

Chapter Text

Bucciarati brought in a new member today. I cannot believe I am saying this but he is even louder than Narancia. I did not think that was possible. I guess the universe likes to surprise me. They got along pretty well. Which I am not surprised about. I heard Abbacchio mutter something about being forced to work with kids which is quite hypocritical but I did not call him out. We have an agreement. I do not get on his nerves and he does not get on mine. Although I am better at upholding my side of the agreement. The new recruit is called Guido Mista. He prefers to go by his last name. I can understand that. It makes you come across as more respectable. Come to think of it, I do not think I know Narancia’s last name. Perhaps he does not want to be associated with his father. I would not either but sadly my last name still holds a certain power. Also I am Bucciarati’s right hand. I would like to be treated as an adult. 

I still have complicated feelings about this new recruit. Mista. I should use his name. He is also older than me. Thus far I am still the youngest. Nevertheless, I am still their superior. I should act like it. Abbacchio has been helping me with keeping my temper in check. I cannot make a fool of myself again like the last time. I am not sure about getting any respect from Mista though. I certainly do not get any from Narancia. Both are very obnoxious people. But also very interesting. Mista said something about bringing luck into the team because he is the fifth member. Also remarked how he “can't believe we're not dead already”. I do not pry, but I cannot help thinking he might be of eastern asian descendance. This superstition of his is truly absurd. When I tried saying that I got a really stern look from Bucciarati. So for now my opinions shall be bound to this journal, albeit correct. I must get going, Narancia has invited me to his apartment this afternoon. Says he has something to show me. 

Chapter Text

This is a bad day. I cannot even begin to express how angry I am. However, this anger feels different. I feel.. Hollow is a good way to describe it I think. Empty. I do not feel the usual all encompassing anger that makes me feel full inside. It is as if I am burning pieces of myself just to sustain it. I hate how everything around me is happening. I hate how irrational I am being. I do realise that I have been given a second chance at living. I do realise that logically, I should want this chance. I have no one but myself to blame for my initial downfall. Sooner or later, I would sully a comfortable life with my cursed presence. That is just my nature and a mere human such as myself cannot defy nature itself. No matter how hard I try. And I know this. I know all of this. So why do I feel like giving up? I keep having visions of myself in flames. I know it will hurt. I am strong. I could persist until my nerves fried. Go with a flash, a crescendo that puts an end to my pitiful and cursed existence. And maybe if I burn, my soul would burn too. I would not endanger anyone. I am unable to keep my emotions in check. I am not even sure if I am angry or not. This is all for today. I am going to go for a smoke.

Chapter Text

I find myself writing less and less in this journal. Does this mean I am better? I don't know. I do not cut. I cut less. To be honest that was a lapse of judgement on my part. I do not believe one's soul can be carved out from the flesh. You would have to start from the soul itself. After all, the injuries on a stand is reflected upon the user but I Am yet to see a stand bear the marks of its user. However, I do not wish to test my hypothesis. I don't think I am ready to be looking at Purple Haze for prolonged periods of time just yet. Nevertheless, I have reduced my smoking as well. Abbacchio said he will soon have to smoke alone again, that he grew accustomed to my presence. Then I believe he panicked because he said I do not have to smoke to talk to him. Then he made it even worse by saying “besides there is Bucciarati“, after that he promptly shut up. It was so foolish that I couldn't help but laugh. I assured him I knew of course. I would not want to cause an argument between them again. They seem close. Bucciarati would never admit it and I would rather die than compliment Abbacchio so openly but I believe he needed someone like Abbacchio in his life. They have a different bond, I can't quite put my finger on it but somehow.. How to say it? As if he does not feel the same kind of responsibility towards Abbacchio. I do not mean that he does not care for him. The opposite actually. But. Different. maybe because he's an adult. Frankly, I stopped being bothered by it. I am his second in command and I know I do my job well, but I'm still one man. I am glad he has someone to help with more personal darknesses. Perhaps I am growing sentimental. I blame the influence of Mista and Narancia. I will admit that they get on my nerves more often than not. I still need to work on that. Still, I find their company to be . pleasant. I would not admit that to their face either. I think they can tell though. The thought of having friends is weird, after all I have been through in the last three years. - Not that I had many before. - I could not say I object to it. Mista has proven to be a worthy addition to the team. And he talks almost as much as Narancia. Which is great on days I do not feel up to the task. They get along great. His stand is a shooter type too. Maybe you get them out of more explosive personalities. That isn't quite the right word. Chaotic? Energetic? Something like that. It doesn't matter. I am simply hoping things will be calmer for a while. As much as they can be, with the lives that we lead. Especially after that last mission went awry. It wasn't even official passione business, just courtesy of Bucciarati. Mista was supposed to go in alone. He called me in a frenzy, something about Bucciarati being in danger. To this day, I am lost on the exact abilities of that Stand, Rolling stones. Mista says Scolippi said it tracks those who have run out of time and that it's powered by fate itself. Maybe fate can be changed? Bucciarati came back unscathed that day after all. Besides, isn't the fact that we all have survived so far a proof of that? Why didn't I die in a cell? Why haven't Narancia or Abbacchio died in the streets? Why did Mista survive the shooting? Why didn't Bucciorati die two weeks ago? No, it must be possible. Fate can certainly be forged by our own hands.

Chapter Text

FUCK MY LOUD MOUTH AND EVERYTHING I SPEAK OF. I WANTED ONE FUCKING MONTH WITHOUT NOISE. ONE. SINGULAR. MONTH. Bucciarati was attacked today. Yes, he has been worse - as he said so himself -. Yes, we all have been worse for wear. But. I saw his eyes. I KNOW him. He is hiding something. He looked like he saw his death today. I am not taking his bullshit. Abbacchio isn't either. Something isn't right. On top of everything, the guy who attacked him is supposed to be our new recruit. Fuck that. I'll kill the bastard the moment I see his face. I have no idea what Bucciarati is thinking, but this cannot be right. Bucciarati is a smart man. There must be more to the story than "he is a formidable fighter who will be a great addition to the team”. fuck. Is the order from high up? Why wouldn't he tell us if that were the case? Nevertheless, we do not trust this "new recruit”. None of us. Bucciarati said we will meet him tomorrow. I will get to the bottom of this. I am going to Abbacchio's. I need a smoke. I will talk to the others too. 

Chapter Text

They are gone.

They . fuck.

I fucked everything up. I ruined everything. They are all going to die. They are all going to die and it will all be myfault. Bucciarati betrayed the boss. Giorno did. That was what he was hiding. They planned this way before the mission. He said it was because the boss wanted to kill Trish, and he could not forgive him after that. Liar. Why did Giorno know all of this? He was outside with us the whole time. He said “We need people on "our" side”. Why is that? What did he plan? How much did he plan? I didn't go with them. This is a suicide mission. Fuck. How could I follow them? I can't believe how carelessly they followed him. Abbacchio did not even hesitate. Mista neither. Shit. I believed maybe Narancia would stay. That we would go back together. He jumped in the canal. Why? All this for a stupid dream? Narancia? For a girl he just met? Bucciarati said "I did this all on my own.” As if I don't understand. As if I am a mere child. What are they planning to do? They cannot survive. Passione is too powerful. The boss is too powerful. How could I not go with them? I doomed them. I sent them to their graves. Purple Haze could have protected them. What did I do. Oh god. I am going to die here too. I am going to die like a despicable coward, on my knees begging like a dog. Instead of dying while protecting my friends. I need to get out of here. There is no hole small enough in all of Italy for me to hide in. We will all die. We will all die traitors and I will be the worst of it. 

I wish to write more; but my hand fails, disabled by a weight of chains; and ill-boding fears deprive me of the power of reflection.