The cold night air seeped through the large window of the dimly lit room, yet Matteo barely noticed it. He lay on the soft mattress, his body sinking into the unfamiliar comfort, but his mind refused to rest. His stomach was warm from the food he had just eaten—food that tasted almost too good, too familiar, too painful.
His mother's cooking.
He had always complained about it, pushing his plate away, making faces, demanding something else. But now, he would do anything to taste it again. His heart ached, a sharp, relentless pain that refused to fade. Tears pricked his eyes, sliding down his cheeks before he could stop them.
The room was silent except for his ragged breathing. Darkness pressed against him from all sides, but inside his mind, everything was alive. Faces swam before him....the principal's smug grin, the jeering laughter of his tormentors, the cold, indifferent stares of those who had watched and done nothing.
His body trembled. His fingers curled into the mattress, gripping the soft fabric as rage twisted his insides. How could they? How could they destroy everything and walk away as if nothing had happened? His nails dug into his palm, his breathing quickened, and his whole body shook as dark thoughts clawed their way into his mind.
The door creaked open.
Matteo flinched, his thoughts scattering like ashes in the wind. The doctor stepped inside, carrying a glass of water. His movements were unhurried, calm, almost as if he had expected this. He placed the glass on the bedside table and sat down beside Matteo, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.
Matteo didn't speak. He didn't trust himself to.
The doctor exhaled, his gaze heavy with something Matteo couldn't quite place.
"Drink," he said simply, nodding toward the glass.
Matteo hesitated, then reached for it. His hands were still shaking. He took a sip, the cold liquid grounding him, reminding him of where he was.
"You're angry," the doctor stated.
Matteo swallowed hard. "Of course, I am."
"You want revenge."
His grip on the glass tightened. "Wouldn't you?"
The doctor was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I won't tell you not to be angry. I won't tell you to forgive. But tell me, what would your parents want?"
Matteo flinched at the mention of them. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"They wanted me to be happy," he whispered, voice hoarse.
The doctor nodded. "And they sacrificed a lot for that, didn't they?"
Matteo swallowed hard, the weight of those words pressing against his chest.
"If you go down this path," the doctor continued, his voice steady but firm, "everything they did for you will be in vain."
Matteo's eyes snapped up to meet his. "That's not true..."
"It is," the doctor interrupted. "Because revenge won't bring them back. It won't change what happened. It will only take you further away from what they wanted for you."
Matteo shook his head. "I can't just do nothing."
"I'm not asking you to do nothing," the doctor said. "I'm asking you to fight."
Matteo frowned. "Fight?"
The doctor nodded. "Not with rage. Not with your fists. But with your success."
Matteo stared at him, his breath uneven.
"A coward lets anger control him," the doctor continued. "A warrior controls his anger."
Matteo's hands clenched into fists.
"If you want revenge, let it be by proving them wrong. Show them that they couldn't break you. That their cruelty didn't define you. That your parents raised a warrior, not a coward."
Matteo's throat burned. His vision blurred with fresh tears.
"I know it's hard," the doctor said, his voice softening. "I know the pain feels unbearable. But think about what your parents would say if they saw you now. Would they want you to throw your life away for revenge? Or would they want you to rise above it?"
Matteo bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
"They took everything from me," he whispered.
"No," the doctor said firmly. "They only took what you let them."
Matteo's breath hitched.
"You're still here," the doctor continued. "You're still breathing. You still have a future. And as long as you have that, they haven't won."
Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.
Matteo closed his eyes, his mind spinning. The faces of his tormentors still haunted him, but now, his parents' voices joined them. Their laughter, their warmth, their dreams for him.
Slowly, he exhaled.
"I don't know if I can do it," he admitted.
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then take it one step at a time."
Matteo nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Sleep," the doctor said, standing. "Tomorrow is a new day."
Matteo hesitated but finally lay back down. His heart was still heavy, but for the first time in a long time, there was something else there too.
A spark.
A warrior's spark.