Facing Reality

53)"What have you done to me?"

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Thalia POV:

He’s dead 

I killed him 

Konstantin, is finally dead and I was the one to kill him 

The horror in his eyes and the screams he gave out as I slowly slaughtered him. It warmed my previously frigid heart.   

I immediately boarded a plane and headed to Italy. I was considering moving to Italy. But my mother is in America, and I don't want her to be lonely. I didn't have the opportunity to see her while I was here because I didn't want to let my rage spill over into her room. 

I was in the car now, allowing my driver to drive me to the hospital. 

Atticus and the trios stayed in America to keep an eye on the girls and to make sure they were settling in properly. They were terrified of Atticus, so they let Zoe keep an eye on them. 

I couldn't blame them either. 

I sigh and rub my palms on my thigh, attempting to slow down my bouncing leg. 

I felt both nervous and excited. 

 I was excited to see him. Everything I did was for our benefit. So we can be okay and live peacefully. 

He comes to a halt in front of the hospital, and I notice a line of paparazzi trying to get a look inside the car.  

Do they have no respect?

I exhale a sigh of frustration at people's disregard. We will never have privacy. How would you feel if someone was flashing photos at you all day and followed you home while you were just trying to relax? Or having to monitor what you do so that the media doesn't take it out of context.   

It’s not fair 

It's insane that people have no respect. I never asked to be famous, and if I did, it was by accident. I'd rather people accept my decision when I say no paparazzi when I'm doing something private. Now I understand if I’m at an event and you want to take pictures and ask questions, because that’s different. But I'm at the damn hospital, for God's sake, trying to see my man.   

"Grazie," I say to the driver, and he nods.

I open the door, putting my shades over my eyes to protect them from the glaring lights. 

They are quite fucking close. 

As I climbed up the stairs and into the hospital, they surrounded me. 

“I don’t have time to answer any questions at this time” I say respectively. 

But they appeared not to care and continued to shove their cameras, recording devices, and microphones in my face. 

"Is that a ring on your finger, Ms. Larisa? Are you engaged?" 

"How is your relationship with Mr. Esposito going?" 

"How did he end up in the hospital?" 

 "What is your reaction to Mr. Liam's date proposal?"