Tied to the devil

A new friend?

Since I had already seen most of the house Lorenzo left me after showing me the garden and a bit of the office area, apparently he was not allowed to show me more since I'm not trustworthy enough to know all of the important stuff. Not yet. Lorenzo's family was not back from the meeting, so we had the whole house to ourselves. Which I found oddly sad. I needed the loud voices and all of that to keep my mind off my father and my old life back at home. But apparently I can't get a single thing I want in this goddamn house.

☾ Lorenzo ☽

The meetings are over and my father and his crew have arrived home. Delia hasn't shown her face since I left her after the tour and I'm bored. I get up from my desk and make my way out of my depressing office. And without thinking I find myself walking towards Delila's bedroom. I stop in front of her door, thinking of how my last visit ended. A grin forms on my lips as I push open the door. At first sight the room seems to be empty. I walk further into the room. A door opens and Delia comes out of the bathroom door, her eyes wide as they meet mine. I look her up and down. She's wearing a pair of tight lace shorts along with a black crop top. Every piece of clothing hugged her figure perfectly. I turn around, not wanting her to see the redness creeping up on my face.

"What are you doing, Lorenzo?" She asks, moving closer behind me. I turn around keeping a calm expression resting on my face. I cross my arms over my chest keeping my eyes on hers. "As I said before, do I need to want something?" I ask, raising a brow. She looks at me skeptically, and just as I'm about to open my mouth to say something she takes a step closer lifting her hand to my chest. I furrow my eyebrows, looking down at her hand on my chest. As much as I don't want it to, my heart starts to pound harder in my chest. I've been with a lot of girls. We can say my father thought it was a good idea to introduce me to the adult life at a young age, and apparently that didn't only involve guns, if you know what I'm saying. Yet I'm standing here with a red face and a pounding heart. Why am I letting this pathetic girl do this to me? She slowly moves her hand further down my body with an innocent smile on her face. My breathing becomes heavier and as much as I want to take a step back, I can't. She drags her finger across the hem of my pants, teasing me. I can feel the warmth of her body against me and her breath fanning my neck. But then the innocent smile on her face turns into a grin and her hand falls to her side as she turns around and walks toward her bathroom, swinging her hips as she does. This did not go as planned.

➳

I turn my music on and start punching the punching bag in front of me. Each punch harder than the last. I often workout to keep my mind off things, but this time it wasn't helping. I can still feel her hand on my body and her warm breath tinggil my neck. I punch the bag harder.

☾ Delia ☽

That may have been the biggest mistake ever made. Now he will probably make my life a living hell, like it wasn't already. I splash the cold water on my face, I then take the towel beside the sink and wipe my face dry. The girl I see in the mirror looks like the same girl I was a few days ago, but I feel like a whole different person inside. I need to get my mind off of things. Often working out helps me focus, but I don't even know if that is going to help me this time. Either way I put on my sweatpants and my top, I put my hair up in a ponytail and make my way out of my room. The gym was one of the first things I asked for when I came here, Elenore told me where it was, so now it's just up to me to find it. I walk down the stairs and take a left just as Elenore told me to do. I'm then met by several doors. I open the first door, on the other side of the door isn't a room, it's a staircase leading down to a dimly lit room with concrete floors. I take one careful step down the stairs, I hear a faint sound of pounding coming from the room beneath me. I make my way down the rest of the stairs and at the bottom of the stairs I'm met by a big room. In the mittel is a boxing ring placed, weights and boxing bags are placed out randomly in the room. I walk further into the room and the pounding gets louder. I take a glance behind the boxing ring and of course Lorenzo is the one punching the bag. His gray T-shirt is sticking to his back and his usually fluffy brown hair is now stuck to his forehead with sweat. I take a deep breath and tear my eyes off of him and instead I start to walk towards the stair again. I came here to get my mind off of things, him included.

"Going so soon?" A dark voice says behind me. I turn around and am met by two brown eyes. The young man is leaning against the wall with a water bottle in his hands. I open my mouth to answer him but nothing comes out. A smile forms on the man's face and he pushes off the wall and starts to walk towards me. I stand up straight and cross my arms in front of my chest, creating an invisible wall between us.

"My name is Aiden, I work here. I'm a trainer." He says and takes a sip of his water. He can't be more than 27 years old. That means he's good, no one would get such an important job unless they were the best. I mean I can see that he is a trainer by his looks. His broad shoulders, muscular arms and small waist speaks for themself.

"Hi Aiden. I'm Delia, but I guess you already knew that." He smiles even bigger and nods slowly.

"If you want help with anything just call my name and I will be there, I'm happy to help with anything." He grins as he backs away and disappears into a different room I didn't see before. I take a deep breath and turn to go back into the center of the room again. His eyes are already on me when my eyes fall on him. He's holding the punching bag still with both hands and he's breathing heavily. Has he been watching me this whole time? Slowly I walk towards another punching bag, away from Lorenzo's burning gaze. Back home we had similar equipment, but I don't think I ever practiced anything on a punching bag, usually I fought with my trainers. Or my father.