Off guard

wednesay ; 17:54pm

The night was roaring outside the walls of my punishing palace. Wind clawing at the tall windows down the halls. Rain plummeting down violently. Thunder banging on our front door. Destruction seemed to be the weathers only language.

My father wasn't any use in the information department, so I only had Dmitri and this eerie household as suspects. However, my interrogation wasn't very good. I decided to continue looking for my diary, I needed to speak somehow, to screech for help, to plead not guilty of my feelings. My diary is my haven. Well, was.

Strolling down the seventh corridor, I heard something quite peculiar. "Dear Diary," a voice muttered. Maybe I was just hearing things. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I was just going insane from this god awful house!

"It has been tiring dealing with Mother!"
The voice continued.
"Her constant nagging ..."
Oh no, someone was reading my diary. Out loud. My secret thoughts and feelings. Naked to the world. Exposed.

I ran to the source of the sound, slamming open a large door to reveal Luca sitting in a great leather chair, mocking my words and holding my little haven.

"You little..."

I muttered as I attacked him, slapping him and snatching my diary. Kittens may be feisty, but when the Tiger gets on the right nerve kittens like me become toxic.

"A bit bipolar of you, don't ya think Jo?"

I was too baffled with the thought that he had invaded my privacy with so ruthlessness.

"Dear Diary, I don't know what to feel."

I knew exactly page he was reciting, which entry. When he started reciting it when I was half way to the door, but I stopped. He was boiling my blood.

"As much as I would happily throw Luca of off his own balcony, I seem to dream about different things."

I felt as if a theatre audience was about to comically laugh at my embarrassment any moment now.

"Desires you could say. His sharp chiselled jaw. His body which could be carved by God himself. His grip, rough grip. His hair sways in unnatural ways, it haunts me. His eyes, his cursed gaze that leaves you wanting more. It's all too much."

He approached me, he could probably sense my lifeless breathes like the predator he is.

"I'd dream of him tracing his soft fingers from the back of my neck, down my spine, and wrapped his hands around my hips."

He imitated exactly what was written. This all felt a bit too surreal.

"He'd pull me towards him, I'd feel his body against mine."

I was oh so vulnerable.

"He'd kiss my neck, slowly."

Too vulnerable.

"And I'd be lost in him."

His hot mouth approached my bare neck, his touch was soft. He stopped reciting.

"Are you lost yet?"

I turn around suddenly, diving into him. I don't want him to be gentle anymore. I'm not his play toy. He slams me against his bedroom door, unbuttoning my cardigan. His mouth returns to mine, it's like we couldn't get enough of each other.

He grabbed me by my thighs and carried me over to his bed, his hands were covering every inch of my fragile body. My hands were on his back, in his hair, out of the way.

Apparently you could hear us from the servant quarters.

After about 2 hours or so, Luca went for a shower. I refused his invitation to join him.

While he was in there, I noticed his love for books. He had many. They covered his bedroom walls. His desk was a mess. Looking through the bookshelves I came across some photo albums. 'Luca's first birthday', 'Family Christmas 1965'... one was untitled.

I pulled it out if the bookshelf and started looking through it. It was just photos of women. All different. They all had a name underneath the photograph. But what bothered me the most was when I read my mother's name, which was photograph-less.