𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ( 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞)

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲 - 𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place.
                         ~Sarah Dessen~

               

𝐌𝐚𝐱

Nobody ever prepares you for grief. And nobody ever learns how it feels unless you experience it.

It renders you speechless. It takes over your body, crams it and twists it like a small ball. It brings with it loneliness, and tears— uncontrollable tears that drip down your face like an overflowing stream on a rainy day. Sleep becomes a stranger because everything in your body is controlled by pain.

It's torturous. You walk around like a zombie wishing you could sleep and wake up when it's easier to wade through the emotions of anguish. But grief will not let you. It wants you to feel every second of torment. It's so diabolical it breaks some people into tiny pieces they end up in therapy for years seeking help on how to handle it, but the lucky ones learn how to deal with it.

I'm not sure which one of those I belong to yet. My heart was in pieces and something told me I would never have it whole again for as long as I live.

I will never again look at the world through the same coloured glasses.

I didn't know how to deal with this sadness, or who to tell. Dino and his friends told me talking about it wouldn't help, but I can't stop this intense pain in my chest. I haven't called my father, neither has he called me. You would think a father would be comforting to his son at this time especially since my name was all over the news and not just entertainment news. CNN has been running it every hour since the news broke. I was sure he knew I was in trouble, at least my siblings called. Ken wanted to fly over and be with me, but I didn't think having him around me would help.

He wouldn't understand.

I gave a humourless laugh, swiping a lone tear out of my cheeks as I thought of the unyielding man that was my father. Knowing his secret changed how I saw him—his hypocrisy —the way he pretended to loathe same-sex relationships, or perhaps he did. Maybe he hates himself for it too. I no longer crave his affirmation, I stopped a few years ago when I realized he would never love me. Sometimes I wonder whether he even likes me. But I never stopped from believing that I'm a Vanderbilt, that every woman I want should therefore want me back whether willingly or unwillingly as my father had me believe until Lia's father descended upon me like the devil, killing that presumptuous belief and leaving debris of destruction within me that would take a lifetime to repair if ever.

He not only scarred half my face, but he took away a life to punish me. He let me live knowing I would forever blame myself for Chris's death. I might not have pulled that trigger, but I might as well have. I can't stop smelling his blood in my body, the way his lifeless body looked on the floor beside me.

I was to blame. He was dead because I screwed up with the daughter of a Mafia don. I still couldn't believe it had happened. A part of me had still wanted to believe it was a dream right until TMZ broke the news that my bodyguard had been found dead.

I have been operating on perpetual adrenaline since that night. My face was swollen, the paparazzi had photos of me in a bucket hat, a scarf wrapped around my neck, a tiny part of it hiding my swollen face.

I had been questioned by cops about his death, and I said exactly as Lia's father through one of his family lawyers had told me word for word. He had said messing it up would take me to jail and I believed him.

Sitting in the dark in my apartment, my brain, without my consent allowed the memories to flood my mind.

The face of Matteo up close. The man Luca Bianchi's fans called his shadow. I wasn't aware he was a lawyer, Lia's family attorney at that. He was different in that room, he wore a grey Tom Ford suit, I knew it because I had several. A white shirt and black shoes. He looked like he was ready to step into a courtroom.