Rage

♠THREE♠

I wasnt joking when i said Sal was damn rich, his home looked like a palace, looked like a place every girl dreamed to be in. A happy and stress free place to be.

Taking in Sals cruel attitude this house didnt make him stress free or happy. His coldness to everything and how he consistently think his a rare diamond, irritates me. Men with soo much pride irritates me.

Your not a god so stop acting like the world could fall at a snap of your finger, i combed my fingers through my hair recklessly as i thought of how unsafe i was, being around such man could get me dead.

Laurence is out of my view, i look back at the big silver double doors and try to open them. Thinking i could escape, or run from this terror. Did it work? No. I had zero chances of leaving like i suspected, i definitely wasnt giving up soo easily. I hit the door several times that my hands began to hurt.

What was i even doing? I looked at the beautiful interior designs and angrily smashed a gold vase on the door.

"You shouldn't be doing that?" I hear a lady like voice say, i turn only to see a short brunette woman she was dressed in a knee length white garment with her hands folded.

And who the heck are you?

"Im Dior" she comes closer and i look her up to down, it was almost like she read my thoughts. "Well stay away from me Dior" i didnt mean to be rude but i was loosing my patience.

You need to work on your anger.

Mama always said, did i care to listen, no. She sent me to therapy but i had anger built in me from day one. I didnt want to feel better of myself. so therefore i needed not a therapist. It isn't caring, its an act so you could be paid, to act like you care. Instead of facing your own problems.

Her face softened, why? I am literally wanting to destroy and you give me that look, her blue eyes remind me of Olivia. She looked responsible in a way.

"What does that devil want from you?" She asked coming closer and my shoulders rest, i look at her still not saying a word, "come here, lets fix you up" she laid her hands on my back as she guided me.

She looked atleast 5'5 and i was 5'8, so in such situation, i was the one supposed to be guiding this woman.

"Im sorry for my outburst" i say when we finally reach a bigger room, the living room. It was designed in perfection, the supposed theme was black, gold and a touch of grey.

She shook her head, "i expect much anger.., look at you your bleeding and you look like you've had no sleep" she wasnt wrong at all, i was loosing much blood. She disappeared for a second and came back with an aid box.

Bandages reminded me of my father, he always came back home with injuries and bruises all over his face and when i asked he would shove me off, i did the bandaging, already knowing the whole process at 11.

My father always told me the only worth of a woman is to honour a man, to accept defeat even when she's right, to do as a man says because he'll always have an upper hand, to be respectful to her husband.

He never told me the other part, didnt a man need to respect his own wife too? Didnt he need to honour her as much as she did?

My father was a figure to me, he was smart and confident, his only problem was he didnt care of the hurt he did to people, he would constantly cheat on my mother on several occasions, yet fight any man that looks her way.

Even do he loved my mother, he didnt have his eyes only for her. Man whore was what he is.

I watched Dior wrap the bandage on my knee as she patted it "you'll be fine, you should get some rest or have something to eat"