Mine | Yours

Yours: Chapter 9

Scarlett's P.O.V

"You'll be fine."

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"Nothing you haven't done before, Scarlett."

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"Remember, if you fuck this up, those brats of yours won't be breathing."

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My heart pounds in my chest like a wild drumbeat, each thud echoing the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. A torrent of emotions floods my senses, a mélange of fear, excitement, and anticipation intertwining. Beads of sweat trickle down my temples, betraying the intensity of the moment. Every breath I take feels shallow, as if the air around me has thickened, aware of my transgressions. My hands, once steady, tremble uncontrollably, a testament to the gravity of what I am about to do. In this clandestine act, time slows, stretching each second into an eternity. With every step I take, I am keenly aware of the line I'm crossing, of the consequences that loom before me. Yet, in the midst of this tumultuous symphony, there is a strange allure, a dark allure that tugs at my core, urging me forward. As my heart races, I am consumed by a peculiar cocktail of exhilaration and trepidation, knowing that I am stepping into a realm from which there may be no return.

"I'm doing this for my kids," I remind myself.

You would think that as time went on, this job would have gotten easier. But my mind feels like a tangled web, threads of anxiety and stress weaving through every thought, every emotion. The toll of this "job" has become an unwelcome companion, suffocating me with its weight. Day by day, I sense my mental health unraveling, like a fragile tapestry coming undone. But my kids are safe, shouldn't that be enough for me? Isn't that what I've wanted since they were born?

My thoughts, once clear and focused, now wander aimlessly in a fog of uncertainty and self-doubt. It's as if a heavy blanket has settled upon my shoulders, pressing me down into a pit of despair.

Sleep, once a refuge from the chaos, eludes me. Nights are spent restlessly, as my mind races with a relentless parade of worries and responsibilities. The weight of my job follows me into the depths of my dreams, stealing away any chance for respite.

A sense of hopelessness takes root, whispering incessantly in my ear that escape is impossible. I yearn for a respite, for a break from the endless cycle that drains me of joy and purpose. But escaping means risking my children's lives. Risking their father finding us. A risk that's I'm not willing to take.

I am used. I am broken. I am worthless. I feel like I have lost my mind. My body has been used by countless men just so I could go home to see my kids. Just so I could get a stupid diamond, steal some money or harddrive, or get information for a man who is not only my refuge but also my puppeteer. And though all of this is worth seeing the smile on their face when I come home. Worth knowing that they are in a comfortable bed with food in their stomachs and warm, clean water to shower with, is it selfish of me to think, but what about me?

As I sit at the bar, I wait for a client I dreaded the most to see. As I contemplate the possibility of our encounter, my thoughts become shrouded in a mist of uncertainty. The mere mention of his name sends ripples of memories through the depths of my consciousness, stirring emotions I wish were long buried.

I find myself torn between curiosity and trepidation, wondering what secrets and connections lie dormant within the labyrinth of his presence. My heart teeters on the precipice of anticipation, whispering both caution and hope in equal measure. In the shadowy recesses of my thoughts, questions arise, dancing on the edge of understanding. What tales of the past will he bring forth?