Marina Vettle
I heard the same fucking alarm that penetrated my ear every fucking morning. I groaned, rolling over, and when I opened my eyes I saw the cloudy, cold morning. I saw that the street lights were still on, as every morning. I grabbed my blanket, and wrapped it around my shoulders, and I walked to the bathroom. After doing my needs, I walked through my minuscule apartment, and saw if I had anything for breakfast. I opened every cupboard, and saw that they were empty. I opened the fridge, and saw that I still had a bit of orange juice that I bought some days ago. I served myself a glass.
I walked with my glass and sat next to the window, but I walked away, remembering that it was broken and the cold air filtered through the crack. I covered it with a fake plant. I walked to the couch, and as I didn't have a TV, I looked to the front, looking at the stains and spots on the wall. I looked through the cracks all over the wall, which the last time was painted was before I was even born.
I stood up from the couch, and walked to my wardrobe, which was basically the boxes from the clothes Giovanni bought me, with everything inside. I put on a pair of loose jeans, and white top, with a pair of comfortable shoes, and I put on a leather jacket. Grabbing my phone, and my keys, I walked out, making sure I locked the door.
As always, I walked through the darkness of the morning, while hugging the jacket towards my body. Yes, I was the intelligent one who forgot to take the coat, knowing we were in winter.
When I saw the breath coming out of my mouth collisioning with the cold air of Chicago, it reminded me that I hadn't used any drugs for almost two months. To be honest I hadn't missed them much, as when I spent time with Giovanni I didn't think of anything else than him. But during those two weeks that we couldn't see each other, I had some urges of going and having some. But I held back.
Many people usually, when they got their knowledge of my addiction, they had three typical questions: Why can you just stop using them? It's not that hard, just think they are bad. It was not easy. And I didn't have the motivation to stop using them - I did have it then. Why don't you go to rehab? Well, unfortunately I lived in the United States of America, and everything was private, and I was poor. Did you know that it can kill? Yes, I knew that, and that was one of the reasons I started using them. There were so many more questions they asked me, but those three are the most obvious and most annoying ones.
I walked into the alley, where the back door was, but when I patted the pockets of my jacket, I realized that I forgot the keys in the other jacket. So, I walked to the front door, and with the key that we left under the plant, I introduced the key, and twisted it open. I frowned when I saw the lights were on, but my eyes widened when I saw a lot of people here. But it was not what caught my eye. I almost dropped the keys to the floor at what my eyes were seeing.
I gasped when I saw Giovanni leaning back against one of the wooden chairs, with his shirt off, and he was full of blood, cuts and bruises. I looked at everyone around the room, and he was the one who looked the worst. Angelo just had some blood on his shirt, and just looked tired.
"What the fuck?" I exclaimed, dropping the keys in their place, and when I turned around, I saw Giovanni looking at me with his eyes widened. "What the fuck happened to you?" I almost whispered, pointing at his chest; at his cut trousers; at his bruises, with my hand.
"Tesoro..." He trailed off.
"Nein." I stopped him, with my index finger up. "I don't want you to tell me some story, I want the truth. Now." I demanded, looking around. They all looked away from me, when our eyes connected. "What are you all hiding from me?" I asked. "Why are you hiding something from me?" I looked back at Giovanni. I continued looking at him, as the rest of the people found some kind of excuse to leave as alone. "Wait," I stopped when he was about to speak. "Let me help you with everything. Let me clean you, and then you will tell me." I walked to him, and saw a first aid kit on the table. "I want everything. But your health is more important." I said.
YOU ARE READING
Addicted
RomanceMarina Vettle had struggled all her life with abuse from people who were meant to care for her, driving her to become almost dependent of substance. This until one day she crossed paths with the handsome Giovanni Liotti. They clicked instantly. But...