THE POV WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FORRRRRRRR... DUN DUN DUNNNNN..!!!
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I've never felt so overwhelmed in my entire existence, I've never felt like I had to express my feelings, instead I wanted to. It was so hard to mutter those two words, just for me to apologize felt like the biggest step from hell to heaven. I could notice her face drop after every word that wasn't sincere waste out of my mouth.
I hate that she knew when I wasn't trying to be sincere, I hate that she made me want to be sincere. I just wanted to say everything that was on my mind but if I said anything, even one part of what was running inside this hell that feels so gated that even a key cannot open it. It would scare her, make her run away, and fuck I don't know if that's what I want her to do.
I once asked myself who is my worst enemy, the world may have asked me that question and I always pinned it on that dick of an ruined leader of the American Mafia. I've realized multiple things that maybe she didn't realize, I feel that she thinks she has failed as an therapist and hasn't been doing her job yet she has already helped me all too well.
I am My Worst Enemy.
I look at her and I feel all of the oldest feelings of her flushing down on me, until I notice that it is not the woman that I met years ago, she is an different person with completely different personalities. I try to forget, and I do for a little while, and it causes me to act weirdly, apologetic.
I fucking hate it. It's best to distance, to keep away. I don't want to get close, I don't want to express, I don't want to waste her time and that's exactly what's wrong. I never cared about anyone but myself for so long, so so long.
I don't know if I want to go to this therapy session tomorrow.
———————— Translation: Where's Alessio.)
"Dov'è Alessio!?" I yell as my phone rings from yet another one of his girlfriends. My most trusted bodyguard, Marcelo gives me a worrried look before clearing his throat.
"In the room with your therapist Capo." He mutters as if he was almost scared to say it. I swear to hell he better not try to make her one of his stupid girlfriends or I swear. She's my therapist! Not one of his pathetic little fuck toys that he can run around with.
"Bring her to me!" I order as he gives me a curt nod walking out and closing my office door before I sigh pulling out the "folder.".
I look at the name attached to the paper clip, although I've read it multiple times something just hasn't added up, 3 years ago she was admitted into the hospital with terrible injuries, life threatening to say the most. The man that would visit her once a week, was unknown which is a little suspicious.
I hear a small knock on my door and I hurry and put the folder under all of the other stacks of paper on my desk. I mutter an come in, watching as the door opens slowly, I could practically see the knobs twisting and turning in slow motion before she walked in.
