The next morning, I groan, slowly opening my swollen, teary eyes from a night of crying.
Sunlight streams through the window, and casts a shimmering light, announcing the start of a new day, and that I am still inside the devil's den with the devil itself.
Trapped.
Held.
Damn, my life is fucked up, and it pains me.
A sudden throbbing pain shoots from my neck, reminding me of the uncomfortable position I'd unwittingly assumed during my nap when I was having an meltdown.
Wincing in discomfort, I survey my body, taking note of my bruised thighs resulting from me slashing myself in anguish.
Where I am seated has dried blood stains, a reminder of the slashes my thighs took.
It's not shocking that I didn't bleed much this time; my body got used to it over the years. But there was a time in the past when I passed out in my home bathroom, which upset my mother a lot.
The room smells strongly of my blood, with a sharp, overpowering odor that fills the air, and although my legs are in intense pain and shaking, I hold back my cries, as I always do, determined to bear the overwhelming despair.
I am used to it.
Standing up and growling at the pain, I fix my gaze on the reflection in the expansive mirror before me, taking in the sight of my tear-streaked and blood-stained face, the stains bearing the mark of my own fingerprints.
With trembling fingers, I slowly reach for the bathroom faucet, my hands betraying my lack of control.
Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open without warning, causing me to swiftly turn my head in alarm to face Giana, shocked by her unexpected presence when I am in such state, but I manage to maintain composure as I meet her gaze.
"Sorry, sorry, I... oh, what happened?" Giana rushes in, her worried eyes quickly focusing on my injured state and the bloodstains. "Oh, goodness, are you alright?" She rushes to my side, filled with panic, shock, and sincere concern, immediately tending to me, and I sigh.
"Don't panic, I am fine," I explain to her, washing my hands and looking at her through the mirror without an expression.
"But there is blood... and your thighs, they were bleeding," she exclaims, her grip tightening on my shoulders as she spins me around, her gaze scanning my body from head to toe. Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops in shock. "You did this to yourself?" She whispers, horror evident in her voice, as she observes the fresh wounds and faded scars on my bruised thighs.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Why did you barge in?" I inquire, feeling a sense of helplessness. There's nothing I can do now. She has already seen everything.
"After... after everything that happened yesterday, I was worried when I came up here and knocked on your door twice with no response. I thought you had drowned yourself or something..." Her eyes once again drift towards my thighs, making me feel slightly uncomfortable. "How long have you been doing this?" She asks softly, still trying to comprehend the sight before her.
I let out a sigh, recalling the first time I inflicted harm on myself. I was so young, burdened by so much. "Since my dad passed away," I confess, closing my eyes briefly before reopening them, the pain resurfacing.
He was my world.
My everything.
"And that," she beckons her head to my shoulder where a scar lays to the naked eyes.
My body shudders, and my heart drops to my stomach as I remember.
The blood...the blood. His blood, my blood... The memories of that night come flooding back to me.
YOU ARE READING
Alessandro 16+ / Book 1
Romance"You do know I respect you, right, Adriana?" His voice comes out in a low whisper, hot, sexy, and dangerously provocative. Being confused by his query, I gaze up at him questioningly, creasing my eyebrows. "Yes, uh, why?" My voice comes out confused...
