[𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒] [𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍]
Gabriel Sinclair was no saint, and he made no pretenses about it.
Ruthless, cunning, and unhinged -those words only begin to scratch the surface of his true nature.
Like a merciless hurricane, h...
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"There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get."
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In twenty-three years, I lost consciousness three times.
The first incident happened six years ago, during my freshman year of high school. Back then, making friends felt effortless—people seemed to gravitate towards me without any effort on my part. Maybe it was because I didn't walk around with a permanent scowl or project that standoffish vibe that keeps others at arm's length. But more likely, it was the unspoken influence of my family's reputation, quietly drawing people in.
With my mother helming a trailblazing wine company and my father a highly respected lawyer, the shadows they cast were long and unyielding. Their prominence meant I was perpetually in the spotlight, never able to blend into the background. The constant scrutiny and inflated expectations were just another reason I eventually fled that stifling pit of ego and self-importance.
At the time, I was too wrapped up in my own world to see the insidious nature of my surroundings. Even if my parents had been less absorbed in their own ambitions, it likely wouldn't have changed much. Six years on, I was still the same self-absorbed prick, now with just a thin veneer of self-awareness. My fixation on the past and my habit of blaming my family only highlighted my shortcomings.
I was no better than they were—possibly even worse. Blaming them was just the easy way out, but it didn't erase the chaos I created on my own.
From a young age, I sensed that something was different about me, that I didn't function like everyone else. While my friends breezed through conversations about the latest trends and school crushes, I was consumed by an unending spiral of overthinking.
I fixated on why my name was whispered in hushed tones between my parents when they thought I was out of earshot. I worried incessantly about whether I could ever meet their impossibly high expectations. I could never escape the gnawing question of why Mom always dragged me to Sunday sermons while Samuel was left behind.
Maybe there was just something inherently flawed about me.
Instead of embracing my youth with curiosity and excitement, I was overshadowed by an ever-expanding void that seemed to grow deeper with every passing year.
When confronted with that kind of emptiness, I did whatever I could to fill it. Some people buried themselves in distractions—school, work, or mindless activities—anything to keep their thoughts from drifting back to that hollow space inside. Others might try to drown it out with noise, surrounding themselves with people or immersing themselves in constant activity, hoping that the chaos would muffle the silence.
