The jolt of a belt slashing at my back wakes me up, the crash of my body's pain overcomes me and I can feel every ache. Rye actually listened to the doctor that day, no one has hurt my stomach. But now they've turned to my back and done anything else painful.
The lashes keep coming but I don't make a sound. The pain I've been brought to for months has finally become something I like.
Crazy right?
I let the two people in the room with me at the moment do what they've been ordered to do whilst I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep.
My arms ache from being tied above my head but I try to get a little comfortable. The cell door opens and everything stops, the two sets of footsteps walk out of the room and the door closes.
I stay with my eyes closed, feeling my blood drip down my body, and one pair of footsteps makes it's way over to me.
"Hello gorgeous." Rye's voice taunts.
"Goodbye ugly." I mumble.
He presses his finger into one of the cuts they made on my arm but I just open my eyes tiredly and stare at him.
He pushes harder and I yawn. "What?" I ask when he looks a little confused. His hands make their way to my hands and I feel how warm they are.
Some people may like the touch of a warm hand because it comforts them in a way a jacket cannot. But I've always loved the touch of a cold hand because I have warm hands and the cold touch is something I could achieve by myself.
Carlo has cold hands.
I miss the shock his hands gave me when our fingertips would meet. But even though he had a cold touch, he was never cold.
My Carlo holds a warmth in his smile and his laugh. But now we're separated. And it feels as if a swarm of waves have crashed upon the seas.
As I am too busy thinking about Carlo I don't realise Rye handing me clothes until he splashes water in my face.
I gasp and breath heavily at the freezing temperature. Rye must have taken the rope off my wrists and set me down.
"You have a fight tonight. Go train." He orders and walks out.
I struggle to put the clothes on with shaking hands. Limping towards the gym I find it hard to breathe properly, I haven't had a fight in a few weeks. Rye has been cancelling them and I've been getting beat harsher.
"Fuck." Axel gasps in horror as he sees me, he runs over to my side and makes sure not to touch my back or my arms.
He sits me on the floor in a corner and runs towards a first aid kit. When he comes back I've closed my eyes struggling to keep them open.
"Hey!" Axel warns. "Keep those greys open."
I open my eyes slowly and stare at him working on my arms, it's times like this when my ears are ringing and my vision is blurry when I actually have time to look at Axel.
He's a light skin that likes it to be known by everyone and he has these brown eyes that shine in certain lights a color of red. It might sound unbelievable but trust me, his eyes go red a little. My breathing shallows and Axel quickly looks at me with tears in his eyes.
"Hey red." I smile. "Why are you crying?"
He doesn't say anything but wipes his face and rolls me onto my stomach slowly. I feel him lift up shirt and pour alcohol onto my back making me scream loudly and kick my legs and bang my fists against the floor.
"Shh." He shushes as I hear the door swing open. "You're going to be okay."
The stinging lessens not a lot but enough for it to only feel like pins and needles.
"What's wrong with her?" A voice sounds disgusted, but I can make it out to be Rye.
"I'm just cleaning up the blood." Axel mutters clearly annoyed at Rye.
"Well she has a fight in half an hour. Hurry up."
Rye leaves the room and Axel brushes my hair out of my face looking at me. "We're going to get you out of here okay?" He whispers and kisses my forehead. "I just need a little time."
Unsure about his meaning behind his words I close my eyes and lift myself up onto my feet. He comes in front of me and holds onto my shoulders so I don't fall.
"What are you doing?" He seethes.
"Getting ready for my fight." I mumble and take a deep breath before grabbing a clean shirt that was on the bench.
I pull my shirt off not caring if anyone is watching anymore and pull the clean one over me.
"Let me bandage you up first."
I pull the shirt up just enough for him to get to my back and stomach. He wraps bandages around me and tries to stop the little bleeding that is pouring out of me.
****
Moving my body as far away from Rye's sleeping body next to me I wince at the pain shooting through my body.
I won the fight. Surprisingly.
If that's what you even want to call it. He wouldn't let me fight back from the start and towards the end I couldn't let my opponent beat me. I was in too much pain and I was just being tossed about.
So I stood up on my shaky legs and ended the fight with a few punches. I don't know how long I would've lasted if I hadn't finished it. But winning that fight made me have a few more punches downstairs. Rye is still forcing me to sleep in the same bed to him tied up.
And I really fucking hate it.
I'm so tired. So fucking tired.
It's got to the point where I don't even think anyone is coming for me. Why would they?
I'm my own downfall and push people away that get too close. I killed my unborn child.
Yes, maybe I didn't want the kid but it still hurts. I might have not been a great mom but I could've at least tried. It might've saved me from my own destruction.
At least if I'm here, I won't have to watch Carlo's face when he finds out about the child. I'm sure he saw the tests in my bag that day.
I'm too fucked up for him. For Rose. For Izzy. For Giovanni. For Alessia.
Shit, I'm too fucked up for this world!
But sooner or later I'm going to end up dying. Whether it be by Rye and one of his guys or by my own hand.
Because I sure as hell know I'm not leaving this world from old age.
That's not how my world works. You ether kill yourself to stop everything. Or you get killed by a horrible, painful death from someone else.
Right now I don't know which one I prefer, just as long as it happens soon.
YOU ARE READING
Carlo : Ti salveró amore mio
ActionBook two of Carlo. I think I've figured out why I always dwell on the pain so much; because unlike the happy moments, which are few in itself, the suffering leaves scars that make it hard to forget the pain. They serve as reminders you're forced to...