Entwined

Bitter Sweet

Gregorie's POV

A deep sensation of worry and a lurking anxiety enveloped me as I collapsed into the scuffed cushions of the crimson sofa. Night after night, the same terrifying pattern played out: my mother would disappear into the night, only to reappear in the dim morning light, her body covered in bruises and her soul crushed from weariness. I couldn't describe the agony that stabbed me when I saw her, having difficulty walking.

Even still, it was her sudden quiet that affected me the most, despite her physical anguish. Her voice had filled our house with its constant barrage of gossip and criticism for as long as I could remember. However, throughout the last several weeks, the once-familiar sound had disappeared and was replaced by an uneasy quiet. I was left stranded in a sea of doubt by the stillness that said volumes. And since I couldn't understand the depth of her quiet or the weight of her responsibilities, I had become angry with her.

Lorelei was never quiet, never at ease.
The door opened, and I got to my feet. Her condition chills my blood. Her body was covered in burn scars and she was bruised. I inhaled deeply as the feeling of coldness settled into my chest. Although my mother had some fun bruises from when I was a toddler, nothing as concerning as these ones, I was conscious of her taste. Strangely, she returned to painting as well. Her loss of it as a youngster was the only time I saw her paint. I was aware that my mother had been a talented painter for a while, but once I was born, everything changed.

I had to witness her dark moments and her partial hatred toward me, because I got my dad's looks and my mom's personality.

Dual inferno.

I grew up hating her most of the time but I still cared about her.

She is all I got.

Despite our daily fights, we still cared for each other. She never let me down. I always make the wrong choices, we at least have that on common, but the difference was that she had no one to help her whereas I had her. She always rescued me when I fucked with the wrong person.

She did just that recently. I had to disappear for few months because one of my mistresses was the wife of some local mobster. My mom called me pissed off when I was in Cindy's house warning me that they are coming after me. I had to flew out of the country for some time. The guy discovered that his wife wasn't only playing with me, she had a long list of lovers but she was obsessed with me and he killed her. When everything calmed down, I returned home.

I am always lucky in life. That's for sure. All the times, I fucked with the wrong person turned out to blow on them and not me.

I can at least thank god for that. Life became way smoother when I met my little pumpkin. She has this pull that keeps dragging my soul toward hers. Her aura is intoxicating and I just love when she giggles.

As soon as I got back, I went to see her at her university but for several days, she didn't come. I started to be worried and fear gnawed into my soul. My snitch, Phoebe refused to talk to me, well, that was understandable for the most part.

She threw a tamper at me when I first met her but the girl loves me. After some attempts, she came back to me. Phoebe was a big mouth and thanks to her, I knew about Hugo's death. I kind of liked the guy even though he stole what's mine, but I preferred him over Silas. I knew if she ended up with him, it was a good choice. He was human, caring, humble and honest.

I was the right choice of course but God has its ways.

I hesitated for weeks to contact her because I knew she was grieving and it wasn't the right choice to appear out of the blue when I ghosted her unwillingly.

I made sure she had all the time she needed. I'd sit beneath her window for hours, just feeling her presence. Knowing she was safe and improving inside was all I needed to feel content.