𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐘 | 𝟏𝟖+

22

Lorenzo's POV

TW: Mentions of abuse

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I couldn't quite wrap my head around the concept of love as a child. How could I? My father abused me, and my mother lived in a different country. I knew the love my mother tried to give me was genuine, but it never felt like it.

I knew not to blame her for my father's behavior, and still, I did. Whenever his hand would make contact with my skin, I saw her face. Laughing at me. Like I was a game for the both of them to play. I did love my mother. With everything in me at that, but I felt forced to do so.

When we finally connected, Volkov took her away from me. He didn't only steal my mother, but he stole my ability to love. Or so I thought.

As a teenager, I opened my heart up to Love. I not only admired her physical features, but her mental ones, too. I wanted to know exactly what was going through her mind at that moment, but at the same time, I loved the mystery.

I loved the enigma of her body and mind.

She only showed people what she wanted them to see. I got to witness the real Love Romano. The good, the ugly, the gray area in between. She didn't have to hide herself with me, and I despise myself for hiding myself with her.

Love was nothing but an open book with me, yet I neglected to tell her about the most important parts of me. Though past experiences don't shape a person, actions do.

I left her, and that showed her the opposite of what I wanted to. I wanted her to believe that I'd always be there for her, that if she didn't love herself, I would.

Every night that I spent without her, I convinced myself what I did was in her best interest, but as I grew older, I realized I was hurting her more than I was protecting her. I tried shielding her heart, treating her like she was some kid who couldn't grasp reality, and I was wrong.

I would've ran back to her. I was going to run back to her, but my father threatened her life. I knew she could handle herself, but could she handle trained killers? I don't want to know the answer to that question. I didn't want to accept the fact that I just couldn't handle seeing her again after the heartbreak I inflicted on her pure heart.

And she did have a pure heart. A heart of gold. I take the blame for ruining it with my poison. I was no good for her, yet I let myself bask in her affection. I didn't get the familiarity during the important stages of my growth, so I let her nurture me like a mother would her child.

It sounds worse than it is. I never used her for my own benefit, I appreciated her. Maybe it was too late, but I never let myself accept one of those many truths.

Seven years and six months ago

I just returned to my father's villa after long hours of extracting information from a terrorist.

As sick as it is, I took pleasure in ridding the world of scum. I wonder what Love would think of me right now. I'm taking great pleasure in liberating a life from someone. It's now my role to play judge, jury, and executor. Just like my father.

I'm becoming him. And there's nothing that can stop, or change that.

I've already welcomed the darkness. It's now my friend. It doesn't keep me up at night anymore, and it sure as hell doesn't flood my mind as it used to.

Looking back on the many men I've killed, I manipulated myself into thinking, 'better them than me.' I sit on my high horse not taking accountability for the asshole—the monster I've become.