𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲- 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

~TRIGGER WARNING~

~November 18th, 3:26 am ~

I woke up surrounded by the darkness and the scent of booze and fresh sea air. Giving my eyes a second to adjust, I sit up glaring around at my surroundings. The open door sends a shiver down my spine, wasn't it locked? My head pounds with the mistakes of the late night. I was in the same clothes as I was before, passed out on top of my bed when I fell asleep. My throat was scorned for any liquid but alcohol. 

I stumble towards the balcony door, my head scrambled with emotions, alcohol, hangover, drugs, and even tiredness. 

My eyes struggled to stay open as my body threatened to fall to the floor once again, but I maintained balance, shutting the door and bolting the lock shut. I press my hand to my forehead and groan sharply, I need a painkiller, a strong one, and a maid. 

Vincenzo had tried so hard to hide the sleeping pills from me, yet he failed so carelessly. I craved for them so much that my skin ached on my bones as I yearned for the pill. 

I head to the bathroom, grabbing a glass by the sink and turning it the right way up before filling the glass with the same water that had made me sick the first few times I tasted it, foreign people, foreign water. 

I swallowed the water in one large gulp before leaving the bathroom untouched and heading toward the bedroom door. 

I hiss in desperation, clinging to the handle and unlocking the door. I throw it open and storm down the corridor of unnecessary, untouched bedrooms. 

I craved the bitter-sweet pills, I was so ready to treat myself too. I flew down the hallway like a crackhead racing for his next hit or an alcoholic racing for the bottle of rum. 

I finally reached the kitchen, searching around the servant area for the medical cabinet. I hated it here, the smell, the fear, the protection, the lack of escape. Maybe I could. Escape. Be free to live a normal life. To be able to get a job and live how any other person would. But he'd find me, they all would. Nothing will ever change nor improve between me and Vincenzo, we knew each other so well, yet we are strangers. 

He used me for pleasure.

I let him.

I felt so sick that I had allowed him between my legs time and time again, and let him continue to treat me like an animal.

It wasn't my fault.

I swear.

He acted as if I had been devoured and swallowed by hell itself and spat back out. But no one was that evil, not as evil as the devil himself. Sometimes I thought about all the ways Vincenzo resembled Satan. I suppose he could be the devil in his human form. But the devil isn't capable of love. But Vincenzo had. Maybe he couldn't again, but he did. Pure love, an emotional attachment to his baby sister, his best friend, his reason for survival.