Bred In Violence (A Mafia Romance Book One) #𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟏

chapters 34

Merry Christmas! I hope you're having an amazing time with your families. For those celebrating alone for any reason, I hope you're having a great time as well. 

Video;
Perfect by Ed Sheeran. My current favorite song. 
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My memory loves you...it asks about you all the time 
~Jonathan Carroll~

Raphael

*unedited*

It has been four weeks since Sophie left, more than 30 days, more precisely 722 hours, 26 minutes, and a few seconds, but who is counting? I thought, ridiculing my own weakness. 

Watching her leave was one of the hardest experiences in my adult life. The memories were the worst; her scent lingered on my bed—or maybe that was just wishful thinking—her high-pitched laughter, her adorable giggles, and her slim body sleeping beside me every night.

Italy was beautiful as usual, but it had lost its appeal the minute she left. The sun still rose, the birds still sing, the beach still flirted with nature, and the sky still reigned supreme. But my life stood still. I wondered how everything could remain the same while a storm raged inside of me. I couldn't sleep, I barely eat, but I loved walking around the island; it was a way of working out my pent-up anger, loneliness, and helplessness.

Standing by her favorite window overlooking the beach, trying to see what she found fascinating to watch through this particular window, I saw nothing but the usual and a mocking bird hunched over a vine relentlessly singing morosely—like it was in pain or mourning— I felt like we shared a virtual connection like we both felt an equal degree of emotional upheaval, as crazy as that sounded, it was comforting.

It was a beautiful day, a crescent of light fell across the bedroom, my unmade bed was a mess like I was fighting in my sleep-or making love, except I was doing neither; just turning and tossing, trying to fall asleep. 

It was minutes past 6 pm; the night was looming, another sleepless night alone in a lonely bed.  I decided to take a walk, I was tired, but I couldn't sit, sleep, or watch tv, and reading was out of the question; my concentration threshold was as low as trying to teach a five-year-old the alphabet while the television in the room was showing nickelodeon. 

Nature was comforting, birds singing every day and the chirping of crickets at night kept me from total isolation; it was the only company I seem to respond to. 

I walked through the same path Sophie and I had taken on numerous occasions during her stay. I had avoided it for obvious reason, but now I forced my feet to walk to the exact place we first made love in Italy. 

I sat down, my legs crossed, tucked under me until it becomes uncomfortable, so I laid down on my back.

It was a mistake. 

A flood of images flooded my mind, of Sophie lying on her back with me on top of her, her purring sounds that never ceased to make me hard . 

"Someone might see us," She had said.

 I moaned, remembering how beautiful she had looked, her breast bared to my eyes only, her blue eyes filled with lust, and another look I had come to recognize as love. Covering my face with my hands, trying to redirect my mind to focus on anything else other than that, but another image of Sophie came into my mind. The way she looked on our first night out, her unending long slender legs in this beautiful short dress she wore the night pulse was launched, the way she danced with Gabriella. 

She had come alive that night, drunk too much champagne and threw all over me, but I did not mind. I loved taking care of her.

It was an alien feeling for me because I'm a selfish son of a bitch, always have; but with Sophie, her needs came first.