I Wish U Luck

𝓣𝓦𝓔𝓝𝓣𝓨-𝓞𝓝𝓔

Alaric's POV

(1 month ago (This was when he had just left her))

A prickling, irritatingly heavy feeling had settled on my chest. The air felt stiff and suffocating, every breath taken felt as if it came with force, my lungs no longer craving the next inhalation.

I could not pin point a moment of my life comparable to now, not when metal tore through my flesh bulldozing completely through or even when hands encircled my neck compressing so tightly my vision became dotted with black.

It was unique of me to be this.

To be a-

to be-

a person who missed.

Admitting this even if it where only to myself felt like a defeat, a failure to be the prideful, feared, angry man I'd been tailored to be. It was change that could only bring disaster, a change that I would block and smuggle away until eventually it was far past existence  the feeling would no longer even be known.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, I begrudgingly entered the closet exchanging one black dress shirt for another efficient ridding myself of her intoxicatingly sweet strawberry and vanilla scent. Rather then immediately dropping the fabric into the basket my fist clung on tight refusing to move.

All around, even past the four walls of this house, a dark tint colored this world, draining everything of life; though the midnight black material I fisted was identical to the other hundreds of clothing in here, it was the brightest thing I had in my life here. Everything around fell short, made apparent by what I now lacked.

Bringing the shirt to my nose, at last my breathing came easy as my eyes closed reveling in the scent invading my senses.

I was not a person who missed.

I wouldn't be a person who missed.

Yanking the material away, I threw it down, stepping on the fabric towards the shelves housing my next item of clothing heaving with fume every step of the way. It was never supposed to come to this, a single thought of her was wasteful time leading to a mount of nothing.

With jerking hard movements I fastened the cuff links struggling more than I'd ever to get the silver into place, until vibrant woven string catches my eye. Pausing my movements, I begin inspecting the bright nauseating highlighter pink, contrasting heavily with everything else around. It was a misfit, not bound to be restricted or hidden, easily identifiable and alluring.

It was unremarkable, something that could not have costed more than a dollar or two.

It was something she'd given me.

Not taking my eyes off my wrist, with the other I reached into the pocket of my black trousers pulling out the sharp short bladed of the knife I always kept. With something akin to remorse, guilt ,and hatred I watched as the bright pink sank into the ground not having produced much of a struggle or a sound even as it made impact with the dark hard floor.

It was all garbage, I thought as the knife slipped past my fingers with caused force shattering the glass of the drawer housing watches reaching far past hundreds of thousands of dollars most now cracked or scratched.

Not pausing to look at the damage done, I strutted past the confines of the closet slamming the door shut, past the confines of the house and sped with careless thought down the road that would lead to my family's home, that would lead my away from her and whatever sentiment daring to try and overpower.

I stepped out that door and into the next that would lead me to my next business deal.

To the next person who could do something for me, disregarding the increasing pressure building on my sternum and stepping towards the person I've always known to be. The person I would always be, a person who always puts their best interest before anything and everything.