Kidnapped

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

TATUYANNA TORRONO >

I didn't know where I was going until I ended up at the private burial grounds of my father. Whenever I cried he was there to console me. He was always there to embrace me. When I lost Rhaegar. When I saw the warehouse mass murder. When he asked me for a chance to be my parent. He was there. 

Ever since I somehow came into his life, I wasn't lonely anymore. I had a parent who dropped work, to be there with me. Illegal or not. Murderer or not. He was still a dad to me.

Now he wasn't here, and I've never felt so pathetic. Leaning against his headstone, in a desperate attempt to feel that security again. The safety I felt when he had his fatherly arms around me. 

Now he's gone. 

And I don't want to, and I literally can't but I want to hate him for it. 

For leaving me. 

It's like I'm back to square one. But this time, I might be an orphan for real. If my mother is alive, I think it's best to leave her wherever she is. I wanted to search for her before, but if she dies one day because of me, I don't think I'll be able to handle it. Then again, would she have loved me like my father did? If she so willingly left me and went about her life, I think it's best to leave her be.

There wasn't a reason she couldn't keep me. Since she was a doctor, I'm sure she made enough money to support two people let alone an entire family. My mother just plainly didn't want me. I wasn't wanted then, and I won't be wanted now. Wherever she is, I hope she's happy. 

I was used to compartmentalizing my emotions. Then, those barriers were broken down. Now I feel raw and vulnerable, and the ruins of the wall I built long ago, do not know how to rebuild itself. 

Emotions are exploding within me. Feelings I'm not used to having. The intensity and the effects of them. I mean, I've felt spite before. Hatred I've felt, and resentment was a constant feeling for the people I used to be around. Now I feel pain. The constant kind. The kind that feels like sharp teeth in my chest, heartlessly gnawing at my heart. 

I'd do anything to stop this. I tried to drink until my liver failed me. But the only thing that gave was temporary happiness. Temporary freedom from the thoughts that kept me captive. It's been at least 4 months since the accident, and so far I got acceptance from some of my family and a shit ton of assets. 

I guess I had money now. The realization never occurred to me, even when I met my dad. The money was his, and I wasn't interested in using any unless I had to. Now there was enough money in my bank to swim in. For some reason, I'm not proud of it. I didn't earn any of these assets, yet my father was so determined to hand them over. 

He would've wanted me to be strong. But I feel far from strong. I feel defeated, and I have no idea what battles I've fought.

At this point it's humiliating. Running away from my past and ending up where my father's buried. I could've gone to a club. I could've massacred my lungs or liver. I could've gone to the gym and exhausted my muscles to the point of a blackout. To use my pain as a drive and somehow be productive while I grieve. 

Instead, I chose to pathetically cry simultaneously leaning against my deceased father's headstone, yearning for fatherly touch. My eyes shut, as I decided to imagine at least what it felt like to have him comfort me. 

"I knew I'd find you here," A deep voice spoke from a couple of feet away. I clutched my knees tighter against my chest, staring into the abyss of blurred trees in my field of vision. 

Seconds passed until footsteps could be heard against the gravel stones up until they were silenced by the softness of the grass leading up to my dad's headstone. The weight of him dropped beside me.