STOLEN || 18+ (Monsters #3)

.98. Safety

"I am dead and despise anyone who isn't."

- Franz Kafka

. . .

Leyla Campbell

There was a calmness in me as I lay there, listening to the rain. Life was peaceful. It was beautiful.

The sunroom was the most wonderful part of the mansion. I could lay on the couch here for hours, doing nothing.

This may be because I was lazy.

I looked at my journal, I hadn't written a word in days. I wanted to write a lot.

I picked up a pen, an expensive pen I had gotten from Fabiano's office.

Ever since I was a child, I've had a rage inside of me, the burn to do something which would free me from everything.

But nothing ever frees you. Freedom from thoughts is not for people like me.

So I think, and hopefully, I'll write as deeply as I think one day. There are things which I can't write, things that blue my eyes every time I think of them. It'd take courage to write them. It'd take courage to accept them.

I hesitated.

I never used to have courage - I didn't expect to get it from two of the most dangerous men I've ever encountered. Gabriella may never understand why I love them, maybe I myself will never understand why I love them, but all their broken pieces fit into mine as if our agonies were destined to combine.

As I sit here, with rain and beauty surrounding me, I find it nothing in front of their green eyes.

I've cried in this mansion and I've loved in this mansion. I am to go away tomorrow, but I will return to this mansion. To them.

I don't believe in God. Faith fails to provide comfort when you encounter evil so many times. But if there is someone out there who accepts wishes, all I want to wish for is safety for all those who require it as desperately as I did once.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. I had barely slept. I could not sleep since that conversation with Gabriella. How had I not noticed?

I felt them before I saw them.

They sat down on either side of me and I closed my journal.

"I checked," Giovanni said. "He's dead, rotting away in a cell. That was bound to happen, he didn't get food or water for weeks."

I sighed. "Yes...thank you."

"Don't thank me," Giovanni said. "Just kiss me, hm?"

I pressed a kiss to his lips.

"That pen is mine," Fabiano said.

"Ours," I corrected. "And it's pretty."

"I can't have pretty things, hm?"

He pulled me on his lap, kissing my palm. "How's the poetry book coming along?"

"It's shit."

"I'm sure it's beautiful, amore." Giovanni shifted closer.

"Nah," I said, chuckling. "Just too many poems on the moon."

"You have all the time to make it how you want it," Fabiano said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.

I hummed, setting my head against his shoulder.

He rubbed my back soothingly.

My father was dead. The biggest monster in my life was dead.

A weight lifted off my chest, making breathing a little easier.

Later that night, as we slept on the same bed with them pressing to my sides, I felt the weight lifting further.

I wasn't okay. I was better.

I guess I'd have to settle with that.

I kissed their foreheads, nestling myself closer to them, and stared at the window against which rain splattered.

Fabiano kissed my shoulder and Giovanni kissed my forehead.

I smiled.

Life would never be perfect for me. But, with them, it'd always be beautiful.

And that was all a shitty poet could ask for. 

. . .

Smol chapter Ik

I love writing the journal parts. I imagine her writing style to be like that - old-fashioned and emotional.