The Midnight Mafioso [#2]

47|his dark desire

My chest ached. The heaviness in the depths of my fragile heart destroyed me in ways I could not explain. I could not take back what I saw. Inhumanity, heartless men, ruthless human beings, they were all just monsters.

Alina's voice kept ringing in my head. The way she cried for her mother to help, while her mother couldn't move a finger because of how injured she was.

I never even watched the whole video. The pain was agonizing. I wondered how Dmitri felt.

I got answers to why he hated talking about his family. Grandma was right, his past was shity.

I had walked to the bedroom where Dmitri walked into. He found me watching the video that he maybe did not want me to see. I knew he was probably mad, but I just wanted to hug him.

I could heed the shower water falling hard on the floor. He was inside the washroom. I needed to talk to him.

I was anxious as I stepped into the washroom. Was he mad at me for sneaking into his stuff and seeing things he never cared to show? I saw how he looked at me earlier, there was anger in his eyes.

He was in the shower chamber. I could see him standing in one position as he let the water flow on him.

I settled with going in. I slid the door open and I nearly lost my breath from the steam inside. His hands were resting on the wall, the water was falling on the back of his neck. He was lost in his world.

"Dmitri," I called and he moved. He ran his hand through his hair and then turned to me.

"I need a minute." That was not his voice. It wasn't my Dmitri.

"It's been minutes now an-"

"I said I am coming." He roughly uttered and I nodded as I stepped away.

I closed the door but I never moved an inch. Something forced me to walk back in and I did. I never took my clothes off as well.

I went to him and wrapped my hands around his torso. My face rested on his back as we both got wet. His shirt was clinging to him, just like I did.

His muscles moved. We lasted a moment in a quiet position until he shifted. He dropped his hand from the wall and held my hands.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against his back.

"For what?" His low yet rough voice echoed.

"I did not know about it."

The grip on my hand tightened. He hated the topic. He hated remembering the past.

"They did not deserve that," I whispered again.

He moved and I realized he was turning to face me. There was a monster behind his eyes. A monster that hated the whole topic. It probably peaked because it wanted to run loose and hunt.