No Going Back

9 - 1

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Antonio

I thought I'd seen worse when I was left alone at the orphanage because the relative who had me didn't want me. Or when I was forced to flee because the orphanage was a horrific place, trafficking kids off, and nobody cared. I didn't want to be a slave, so I ran away.

Or the struggles, the hardships, the endless fights to survive in a world that seemed determined to crush me. Growing up, I had to scrap and claw for every scrap of food, every penny, every necessity. I had to fight for everything, while other kids took it all for granted. The loneliness, the isolation, the feeling of being completely and utterly alone in the world. It was a heavy burden to bear, one that had shaped me into the man I am today. I had thought that those days were the worse I could have.

But this was the actual worst I'd ever faced or expected, trapped in this squalid prison, deprived of the comfort of my wife's presence, and the warmth of her touch. This was the cruelest twist of fate.

Both my lawyer and contacts had been unable to extricate me from this predicament, and my already-frayed patience was wearing thin. My anger, boiling like an ancient volcanic, that had been escalating into a rising raging with each passing day. One moment, I was consumed by the desire to win Floria back, envisioning a future where she and our daughter would return to me, and we could start anew. The next, I was being dragged away, locked behind bars just because of a white collar Lawyer bitch, who couldn't defend himself, when he was the one who provoked me.

I Antonio Conti, the man who had always managed to stay one step ahead of the law, who had never been caught, never been pinned down, was now sitting behind bars. And for what? For a "minimum damage" inflicted on that insufferable mama's boy.

My mind, that was a sharp and calculating instrument, had shut down, unable to process the chaos that had erupted around me. Rational thought had abandoned me, replaced by a desperate, all-consuming madness. I felt like I was losing my grip on reality, my thoughts consumed by a singular, overwhelming longing - Floria.

My wife, my love, my everything. And our daughter... our precious, innocent daughter. I hadn't even had the chance to hold her in my arms.

I seethed with frustration, my anger boiling over, and my hunger gnawing at me - but it was Hendrix's blood I craved more than sustenance. Three days felt like an eternity, a significant chunk of time ripped away from my life, my home, and my wife.

I fucking get it, I'd made a disastrous mistake by succumbing to my desire for Samara, but it was done, and I couldn't turn back the clock. So why couldn't Hendrix and Floria move on from it and try to salvage our relationships instead of making things even more unbearable for all of us?

My head was on the verge of exploding, by the fury raging within me. How had my life spiralled into such a ruinous mess? It was as if I'd been sleepwalking through a nightmare, and now I was jolted awake and the question screamed in my mind: how had I let it all slip so irrevocably out of control?

I missed Floria like a crucial part of me was ripped away. She was the light that made this dark world tolerable, the one who brought meaning to my existence. With her by my side, life was worth fighting for. But now, trapped behind these cold bars, I felt like I was drowning in despair, separated from the only person who made me feel alive. It was a cruel joke, and I was fucking fed up.

My body felt like it was wasting away, shriveling up from the emptiness that gnawed at my belly. But it was the suffocating grip of hunger pangs that truly terrified me, like a starving alligator slowly devouring me from the inside. It was a silent, invisible torment leaving me crippled with fear.