Necromania

The windows of the Italian restaurant Etna overlooked the train station and the underground metro entrance at M. It was eight o’clock and already dark outside. Giuliano and Lorenzo sat at the table by the window. Earlier that evening they had watched yet another horror film.

Giuliano was slender and elegant, with bright blue eyes and short dark-blond hair always swept neatly back. His features were finely drawn — well-formed nose, sharp cheekbones, thin lips, a moderately oblong face. Everything about him was precise: the way he moved, the way he sat, the way he held himself. His white shirt was open at the collar, revealing a dusting of chest hair and the small golden crucifix that was the only jewellery he ever wore. Dark-blue trousers, perfectly tailored, followed the line of his legs and waist. He favoured classic pointed black shoes; they made his silhouette more angular, more elongated.

His best friend Lorenzo was handsome, too, though he cared far less for fashion’s latest dictates. Nearing thirty, he still looked younger than his years. His black wavy hair was cropped short, one loose lock falling across his forehead. Beneath thick, dark brows, deep-set brown eyes regarded the world with quiet compassion and a trace of perpetual sadness. A Roman nose, an oval pale face, full sensual lips, and an intelligence that seemed to understand more than it ever said. At that moment he was staring, almost entranced, at the shimmering white petal of the single orchid on their table.

They were waiting for their drinks and food. Giuliano rested his chin on his hand and studied his friend with concern. They hadn’t seen each other in far too long. Work, life, endless small complications — it was no longer the effortless closeness of a decade earlier, when they had met at university and the world had seemed careless and bright.

Giuliano had once believed that lifelong friendships were forged at university: shared interests, shared struggles, shared youth. Yet their own path had diverged. Different courses, different cities, different graduation dates. Life grew kinder for one, harsher for the other. Women came and went. Friends proved less steadfast than expected. And still, ten years on, the two of them remained — somehow — the same, still each other’s closest confidant.

Giuliano sometimes wondered what held them together. Their tastes overlapped, yet they were opposites in temperament. Lorenzo was intuitive, inward, almost too gentle for the world. There was something luminous about him, something Giuliano sensed but could never quite name. Whereas Giuliano himself was a storm — restless, sharp-edged, cutting through whatever stood in his path.

Giuliano leaned forward. “What did that bitch do to you?”

Lorenzo gave a small, bitter laugh. “She betrayed me. Said she wasn’t ready to live together. Preferred her own space, a huge villa with sky-high rent just so she could flash it at her family and friends. I was fine with that — I wanted my own place anyway. Something sensible, near work, within budget. A real opportunity.”

Giuliano nodded. “Exactly. These days you can’t just wait around hoping you’ll buy somewhere together one day. That’s naïve. I’m looking for my own place, too — independent of whoever I’m seeing. She can move in if she wants. Or not.”

“That’s what I told her,” Lorenzo said. “She even came to view the house with me. I started the paperwork, made the appointment with the agent, moved some things in. All I needed was the bank’s approval. It usually takes a week. I had to go abroad for that week, Giulio. One week. I came back and my stuff was at my parents’ place. The agent told me both houses had been sold. The buyers? Her. And her sister.”

Giuliano’s eyes narrowed. “The sister — the one who ran that fake cosmetics scam?”

“Yes.” Lorenzo’s voice dropped, hard and low. “God, I hate her. I’m convinced she couldn’t have pulled it off without that sister. She doesn’t have the cunning.”

“You underestimated her,” Giuliano said. “They’re well matched. So, what did you do when you found out?”

“I rang her. Demanded an explanation. She blamed it all on her sister, then had the nerve to say I could live in the house if I wanted… but I would have to pay her rent. The other place would be let out, too.”

Giuliano gave a short, incredulous laugh. “So, both houses get paid off by tenants. Shameless bloody genius. You really did underestimate her. And what did you say?”

“I told her I wouldn’t be her tenant. I cut contact, blocked her number. I’m not even sad she’s gone. I don’t want people like that in my life. Thank God there were no serious financial or legal consequences for me. But she betrayed me, man. Behind my back. Like a rat. That’s what broke me — not losing her but realising I let someone like that close enough to stab me in the purest, most deliberate way.”

Giuliano exhaled. “I never liked her. She treated you like dirt. And sixteen years older, for God’s sake. Sixteen years, Lorenzo! Most men look for someone sixteen years younger. Not you. What were you thinking?”

Lorenzo shrugged, almost sheepish. “I like older women. They understand more of life. They’re gentler, more compassionate. More… experienced in the ways that matter. They have this inner peace, you know?”

Giuliano raised an eyebrow. “Inner peace? You’re going to have to explain that one.”

“I don’t know how to put it better. They just… see me. They understand what’s going on inside, how hard it is for me to connect with people my own age.”

Giuliano stared at him. “None of that sounds remotely like her.”

“I know.” Lorenzo looked down at the orchid again. “I suppose I stayed because I’m decent. Or because I wanted to believe I was.”

“Decent, my arse,” Giuliano said, voice softening despite the words. “You know what I think? You decided ages ago she wasn’t right for you. So, her leaving didn’t hurt the way it should have. What really cut was that she — and her bloody sister — stole the house right out from under you. And you know what else?” He leaned in, eyes glinting. “You need to get laid, Lorenzo. Preferably by someone younger. And preferably stupid. This hyper-perceptive thing you’ve got going on — it’s driving you mad. And it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.”

Lorenzo gave a tired half-smile, reached for his cigarettes, and flicked the lighter. The small flame briefly lit his face, softening the shadows under his eyes.