close to my dialling heart

5🌹panties

🎶lovin' me ain't easy, if you leave I don't blame you. Trauma got me fucked so I'm mentally unstable🎶
                            ~Polo G~

XAVIER 🥀

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the only sounds being the raindrops hitting the car. I sat with my elbow propped against the window, my finger absently nibbling on my lower lip. For some reason, I couldn't help but think about Dove.

When I arrived at my dorm, I let out a sigh and parked the car. I sat there for a moment, tapping my fingers on my lap and pressing my lips together. I was feeling exhausted, overwhelmed by the tasks my dad had assigned to me. He didn't trust my brothers, thinking they were incapable of doing anything right, which is why he'd made me the heir to his mafia empire. It wasn't a good idea, though - it had only created tension and chaos within the family.

As I turned to reach for my duffel bag on the back seat, I let out another sigh and rubbed my eyes with my index finger and thumb. Just as I was about to get out of the car, I noticed the rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something white with a playful watermelon pattern.

Curious, I picked it up between my index finger and thumb, and my eyes widened in surprise as I realized it was a pair of panties. My lips parted in shock, but I quickly pressed them together, trying to contain a smile. They must have fallen out of someone's bag by mistake. The youthful design made me think of my young cousins, but given the circumstances, I knew they could only belong to one person - Dove.

I stepped out of my car and removed the key from the ignition, knowing full well that cars weren't allowed at the dorms. But I never bothered to follow that rule, and besides, I rarely spent time in my dorm room anyway. Today was one of the rare exceptions.

As I entered my dorm, I found Miles sprawled out on my couch, remote control in hand, fast asleep. The popcorn he'd been snacking on was now scattered all over the floor, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. Sometimes I wondered why I even left my keys with him - he'd turned my dorm room into his personal lounge! Normally, I would've teased him by stuffing some popcorn in his mouth to wake him up, but today I wasn't in the mood for playful antics. My neck was throbbing, and my bones ached from the long day. All I wanted to do was collapse onto my bed and rest.

I dropped my bag onto the small remaining space on the couch, wincing as I heard a few bones crack in protest. Next, I headed to the tiny laundry room to toss the panties into the dryer. As I entered my room, I was taken aback by the mess that greeted me. Clothes were scattered everywhere, and the usually tidy space was now a chaotic mess. I preferred my belongings to be organized and my room spotless, not because I had OCD, but simply because I appreciated the aesthetic of a well-ordered space. As I began to undo the buttons on my black button-up shirt, I surveyed the room, taking in the disarray that Miles had left behind.

Just as I was about to head into the bathroom for a warm shower to ease my aching muscles, my phone chimed, making me groan in frustration. Balancing my mafia life with school was a constant struggle, but I was determined to make it work. My dad often told me to quit school and focus on running the mafia, but I was resolute in pursuing my degree in economics. And then, of course, there was the added pressure of finding a suitable queen to marry and produce an heir.

I rolled my eyes at the thought - I was only twenty-two, for fucksake! Yet, my dad had already lined up potential brides from other mafia families. I squinted at my Samsung Galaxy S23 Ultra's lit-up screen, trying to make out the message, but my eyes were too tired. Whatever it was could wait until tomorrow.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was my dad sending me pictures of my potential brides again. He was dead serious about it, but I couldn't care less. I did what I wanted, and marriage was a decision for me to make - on my own terms. I had decided to get married at thirty, thirty-five, or maybe even forty - if at all. My dad knew he was wasting his time, but he had nothing better to do, so I couldn't blame him.