𝐧𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞 (𝐧.) that which chases sorrow away.
In their painful past, they were childhood sweethearts that sought comfort with each other.
Years later, the two broken souls are pulled back together by fate in an alliance that will save their...
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His frail body shivered at the freezing breeze as he trudged slowly across the icy blanket of snow that had smothered the ground.
It was only early morning and the sun had began to break through the sky, its rays of light starting to shine across the wide horizon. The white field was tranquil and silent; the only sound he could hear was the faint noises of his ripped trainers crunching against the wet snow which began to soak his thin socks underneath, icing his toes.
He was usually up quite early as a way of protecting himself at home. Tired as usual, he shuffled through the thick snow. Once upon a time, he did love the winter but as he grew older, he lost the sense of purpose. The days went on and on and either way, whatever weather he was still living the same, dull life so the seasons didn't matter to him anymore.
The snow was falling heavier than usual, each snowflake attaching and quickly dissolving into water against his clothes, landing on his long eyelashes and swirling around him. It soothed his bulging, swollen bump on his cheek, the crisp feather like flakes healing the burning sensation spreading across his face. He trembled at each touch of the snow that mixed with his tears, it was painful moving with the bruises scattered across his face but simultaneously it alleviated some of the discomfort his father had caused him.
It was unbearably cold outside. His lips were chapped and his face was drained of all its colour, leaving him with the tinted marks of abuse on his face. His small fingertips were pale and reddish. He tried to ease the feeling of cold by putting his hands into his small pockets however it was in vain as there were holes bringing the chill into his useless coat. Sniffing, he wiped the snot with the back of his sleeve that dripping out of his nose as a response to the frosty weather. All he could think about was how much his body hurt, especially his stinging ears. They were pulled upwards earlier and now victim to the horrible weather surrounding him, ice cold.
He quietly whimpered and winced at the stinging pain inflaming his cheeks. Once again, he had been beaten by his drunken father for not perfectly remembering and reciting the omertà, as well as not being 'respectful' enough to his father's standards.
The boy was covered in bruises, his skin lacked any smoothness or clearness, splotches of chaffed patches took over him. He wore long sleeved shirts and long trousers every single day to cover his scars. That particular day, he even wore a turtleneck top to cover up the signs of strangulation his father had embedded onto his skin. Even in the steaming, hot summer, he would wear those heavy, dark clothes to hide the crimes of his father.
Despite his young age, he knew what he was doing and where he was going. In his throbbing mind, the only thing he desired was peace which he sought for that early morning.
