1/11/24
AlessioRage doesn't even begin to describe how I've been feeling these past few days. Every hour without answers feels like gasoline to the fire burning inside me. I fix my gaze on her empty seat across the classroom, eyes narrowing into slits. Six days. Six fucking days since Delilah vanished from my life. Since she looked at me with those wide, innocent eyes that I now know are nothing but a lie. Her absence claws at me, like a beast scraping at my insides, tearing apart my nerves piece by piece. She can't keep doing this forever.
The rational side of me—the part I've been barely holding onto—tells me to wait, to let her come to me when she's ready. But every day without her is a day I get closer to snapping. Patience isn't something I'm built for. And Delilah, she's a straight-A student, always where she's supposed to be. I've seen her records, checked every detail. So, this... this is deliberate. She's skipping class just to fucking avoid me.
I want to track her down, grab her by the wrist, and demand the truth—why she's running, why she thinks she can hide. But no. She has to come to me on her own. I need her to want it. To need me like I need her.
But the waiting, the silence—it's killing me. After class, I don't waste time. I head straight for her friends—just like clockwork—hoping today will be different. Maybe this time they'll stop playing games.
As I pass, some blonde with big tits and a bubbly laugh tries to catch my eye, tossing her hair, probably hoping for a smile, maybe more. I brush past her without a second glance. I'm not here for distractions. My mind is set on one thing, and one thing only: Delilah.
Her friends are in their usual spot, pretending they don't see me coming even though I know they do. It's the same routine. They're not surprised when I stop in front of them, looming over their conversation like a shadow.
"Where is she?" My voice slices through the air, cold, sharp, it's not a question anymore. It's an order.
They exchange uneasy glances, the kind that set my blood on fire. I can tell they're debating what to say, or whether to keep feeding me lies.
The one with glasses, the quiet one, is the first to speak, her voice soft but steady. "We can't tell you, Alessio," she mutters, not even daring to look at me.
My jaw clenches so hard I swear I feel the strain in my neck. I've been polite, I've been patient, but they're getting on my fucking nerves.
The girl with the short, straight hair looks at me, her eyes narrowing like she's trying to read me, trying to understand what's driving me. "Why do you care so much?" she asks, her voice laced with venom. "She doesn't want anything to do with you."
Her words hit harder than they should, but I swallow the anger, letting it simmer just beneath the surface. My hands curl into fists at my sides, but I keep myself in check. Barely. I'm not here to argue. I'm here for answers.
"Listen," I growl, my voice dropping to something darker, more dangerous. "If she doesn't come to see me by tonight, I'll take that as permission to do whatever I want. Warn her."
The words hang in the air like a threat, and for a moment, they all freeze. I can see it in their faces—shock, fear, maybe even guilt. They know this isn't a game anymore. This is serious.
Good. Now they fucking get it.
I don't wait for them to respond. I turn and walk away, fists clenched, every muscle in my body tight with fury. If Delilah thinks she can keep hiding, she's wrong. She's dead wrong. Something's off, and her little circle of friends thinks they're protecting her by keeping me in the dark. But if they're hiding something—if something's happened to her—they're going to regret every fucking second they wasted.
YOU ARE READING
Ravish
Romancerav·ish /ˈraviSH/ verb To seize, rape, carry away by force, or overwhelm with emotion.