Chapter 3 .

"Sofia!"

hearing those screams, she knew she had done something.

In three years, her mother's behaviour had worsened and she made it clear that she did not want any mother-daughter relationship with Sofia. Maria was a woman in her thirties now who had never shown any interest in life as a wife and mother, but welcomed with open arms anyone who offered her a worldly life. Beautiful as hell, the woman went from one (rich, of course) man to another, completely forgetting about her daughter's needs.

But Sofia did not care.

At thirteen she had learned to fend for herself and thanks to her father's support she had nothing to complain about. All she needed was to keep in touch with him, who, when he could, gave her guitar lessons from a distance and let her talk to her grandmother, who never forgot to remind her of her origins and her lessons.

How could she forget them? She had practised so much in the World of Dreams that she could materialise her beloved guitar, her books and sometimes she would imagine so intensely the character of a particular book that she would find it in front of her!

The only one she could not call was her father, and that displeased her. Babacar loved her terribly, but as Fatou had explained to her, he had lost touch with magic, completely removing her from his life.

"He must not know that I told you the truth. Okay?" she nodded slowly and hugged the elderly woman.

"I called you half an hour ago. Where were you? Always playing that stupid guitar! "

She was tempted to give vent to her pre-adolescent anger but the 13-year-old held back and remained silent to endure her mother's lecture. As Maria spoke, Sofia's mind began to wander, thinking about things that made her feel good: music.

Thanks to her father, music had become her world, her companion and perhaps the only one who stood by her in times of need. The rest didn't matter when she was playing, singing or simply listening to Music. It was as if the two of them were there and --

"Sofia Alima de Francesco!" jolted upon hearing her name associated with her mother's surname and her cheeks flushed, showing her current state of mind.

"Mom! My surname isn't de Francesco, it's Diouf! "she said.

"You dare to contradict me, brat? " Maria, with a threatening air, approached the girl. She grabbed her by the collar, slapped her and pushed her, causing the young girl to fall, who began to tremble realising what was going to happen next. It had been like this for years, beatings during the day and beatings at night; yet Sofia remained silent when they asked her at school about the bruises she could not hide, because they might have been on her face or hands.

How could she say it was her mother who beat her up?

"You are a fool if you think you can disrespect me. Your surname is de Francesco and that's it. You're under my roof, you'll call yourself whatever I want and do whatever I say. And if you ever try to disrespect me again, you little brat, I swear I'll throw that guitar you're always strumming in the rubbish. Now get up, I have to get ready, Luca is on his way"

Staggering, she got up and tried to escape to her room, crying. Those bollards hurt and she cried, forcing her to sob against her pillow.

What had she done wrong to deserve this? Why couldn't her mother see her as a daughter, why did she mistreat her?

Why did she not love her?

She sat down and violently pinched the skin at the level of her collarbone until she felt the small flap of skin tear and throb from the pain; she let it be and moved her fingers close to it, repeating the operation to soothe the sadness, the anger. She hated her mother and pinched herself often to keep from shouting it in her face.

She curled in on herself, hugging her knees and squeezing them tight, almost as if she wanted to crush her ribs.

She tried to close her eyes in order to forget that day, Maria's heavy words that were unfortunately difficult to erase from her mind; but Sofia fought with all her might to eliminate those demons until she won by falling asleep.

Her world was different from a few years earlier: a bit more colourful, always fresh and what was never missing, of course, was the music, which remained in the background.

However, the girl did not feel like calling anyone. She wanted to be alone and concentrate on the music, so she closed her eyes and tried to transport that sweet melody into the real world, so she could always play it.

"Fawn Eyes?"

She didn't know that voice, and with a furrowed brow, Sofia opened her eyes curious as to who she would find in front of her.

Did she really know that boy?

He was tall - taller than her for sure - with short, curly, raven hair and eyes of an emerald green that seemed unreal. No, she had never seen him. Maybe it was the character from the last book she had read?

"It's me, Mateo!"

The girl's forehead remained furrowed until she remembered that child who on her seventh birthday made her feel like the happiest child in the world.

She had lost sight of him, however. After that visit Mateo had never come again, leaving the girl feeling abandoned until she forgot about him.

"Mateo...?" she asked incredulously.

The red eyes from countless crying dilated and the thirteen year old felt the need to jump on top of him to hug him; the boy was surprised by that gesture but couldn't help but giggle and stroke that mane, wrinkling his nose. Those simple gestures made Sofia's heart beat fiercely as she could not and could not explain exactly what was happening to her. Because despite that strange feeling she felt good, she felt wanted and protected.

Was this perhaps the meaning of 'affection'?

Since she no longer saw her father, it had become difficult for the girl to give meaning to that word. It was something she never felt, neither at home nor at school: Maria despised her and she had no friends.

Apart from Mateo.

It was as if the boy had an alarm that warned him when Sofia was sick. How had he appeared in her time of need for the second time?

The thirteen-year-old girl clung to the boy in silence for quite a while: she was so well that she wanted to stay that way for the rest of her life. But that would have been... embarrassing for her and maybe for him too.

Suddenly she turned away from the young man, looked down and began to torture her hands. Mateo, for his part, found the girl so tender that he couldn't help stroking her hair again. He could not explain why he had done it either, but he had just felt the need. His heart skipped a beat as he saw her clench into herself and keep her gaze down, as if she were hiding something: no, that was not the Sofia he had known long ago.

Something had happened and he absolutely had to find out what.

"Hey, little one" touched her shoulder and those big eyes worked their magic, making him lose his breath. He shook his head slowly and bit his lower lip before resuming speaking: "What's going on, why are you so sad?"

The little girl lowered her head again as in her mind fought the Little Angel and the Little Devil who are usually depicted one on her right shoulder and the other on her left, perhaps representing the heart and rationality, confusing her whether to tell the boy the truth or not. Could she trust him? Maybe he had only asked her out of politeness, not because he really cared how she was. But the boy's green eyes screamed honesty and Sofia decided to trust him: she told him everything, from her father who had decided to return to Senegal to her mother's abuse, physical and psychological. In fact, the girl hid her hands in the handles of that sweatshirt and shrugged her shoulders to avoid being seen by the boy who felt his own heart break for the first time.

What mother could treat her daughter like that?

He clenched his fists in anger and clenched his jaw at that thought. But being angry with Sofia's mother was of little use, he had to think of a way to lift the little girl's spirits. After all, he had a brother the same age as her, maybe it would be easy.

"Why don't we think of good things, Fawn Eyes?" she asked, giving her a sweet smile.

Confused, the little girl slightly parted her lips, not knowing what to reply.

"Something nice?" she thought.

"What makes you happy?" the young Catalan asked again.

Sofia thought about it for a while and smiled before singing "Hey Jude" by The Beatles, the only song that came to her mind at that exact moment. Mateo gasped as he heard her sing and blushed with emotion. Her voice sounded like the sweet call of a siren (not the mythological monster, but the lovable creature the world has taught us to love) and he couldn't help it.

He had never heard such a pure voice, and it was only a thirteen-year-old girl singing!

It amazed him even more that, after she also sang Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven', he clapped happily.

"Mi Dios, you're great! Congratulations! "

All of the girl's confidence disappeared because of all those compliments, and like a frightened turtle, she hunched her shoulders for the umpteenth time, hunching over.

But she smiled. Sadly, she was smiling though.

"Dad says that when I was born, the first thing he did was make me listen to music"she explained, "it's something that's been with me since birth and it's the only one that hasn't left yet...

Dad is in Senegal, Grandma is gone, for Maria I don't exist. But Music is always here to console me when I am sick; to laugh with me or get angry with me. She is a mother, a father, a brother or a sister. It is part of me and I hope I never lose it.

Singing is the only way I can thank her and it seems the least I can do, you know? "

Mateo was amazed at how mature a thirteen year old girl was. He, at her age had - still has - a head for the ball and Rafael only thought about playing and making trouble!

But perhaps it was the different environments in which they had grown up that had such a strong impact on their behaviour: Sofia, despite her young age, was forced to embrace responsibility and maturity at an early age, while he and his brother had nothing on their shoulders and were able to grow up quietly, thanks to the family's tranquillity.

A sense of sadness pervaded the young man who this time lowered his gaze and released that tight fist just now. Sofia, sensing his thoughts, put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. And this time it was she who smiled at him, a smile that would remain etched in the sixteen-year-old's mind for a long time.

"Uhm...I have to go" he murmured with embarrassment.

"You promise you'll come back? "

That question hit him full in the chest and the boy smiled nodding, before holding out his little finger to her.

"I promise, Fawn Eyes."