Lost in Darkness

Chapter 5: Nostalgia

"I hate you and for that I love you," -The Author

Lorenzo at the top with his 'Gym' headphones^

For two hours, two long ass hours I've been sitting in this chair in front of my desk while staring at this design. The two-piece black set looks great but it's missing something and I can't pinpoint what. The black sheer fabric goes from the ends of the skirt to the arms and upper necks, this set was unique and perfect for Paris and yet I can't see what missing.

And yet I'm exhausted of designing in this quiet house, and of not doing anything with my life.

It's nine in the morning and the hours are going way too fast for this house to be so quiet. Two weeks, a long tiresome time since we've been here and we haven't talked much. It's not like I didn't want to, it's because the more I think he could be Enzo the more it worries me.

It's killing me, the fact that my first love is twenty feet away and I can't understand how or why he's here acting like a new person, like he's a stranger, like he's never seems me at my worst. He's lied to me so many times, hurt me, he abandon me. I can't trust him anymore. I'm still not even sure if it's really him. Yet there are so many things and details that tell me he's Enzo, the second I saw him I knew their eyes were the same, his hair was the same way I remember but he wasn't a kid anymore he was a man now had been through so much without me.

He's lived without me while I tried not to. Rude.

I knew he had changed, I can see it in his eyes. The way he moves and the way he talks is different. He's not the person I knew and that also scared me. I knew this would come but now that he could be here, I'm not sure what to do.

That asshole was back, bipolar but that itself seemed normal to me right now. But why now? why was he really back and how did my father know it was him?

Why would he be in the mafia when he was a normal kid? Or was he? He always had scars on his body. He was known for playing with knives and I had once found two guns under his bed so was his name even Lorenzo Amoretti?

I should make sure he's alive right? Or did I only want to make sure he didn't leave me here again?

Over the two weeks, he tried to talk to me, text me, and even face-timed me to come down the hall and talk to him. But every night he would make us dinner and pick a movie yet I didn't look at him I couldn't because looking at him would mean seeing a new him. I had to understand he was different. We aren't kids, were both adults. But for some reason, I felt like I was still that sixteen-year-old kid in love with him.

Before I could stop my thoughts I was stepping into his room. The room was dark but in the morning it was normally a cozy white color on the walls with tall long windows in front covered in the window, the wooden queen bed in the middle along with the green sheets I picked so many years ago when I was nineteen. The room had plants and black colors with a desk and sheets to display items around.

"Ah Fuck," He groaned from the bathroom that had a small amount of light showing.

I stood in the middle of the room with my hands gripping my big black oversized hoodie as he dropped something and open the door.

"Cheeking up on me now?" his eye makes contact with mine, and his light grey eyes seemed more positive now as he open the door.