Stepbrother | ✔︎

4 | adoxography

* POV's have changed. it's going to stay this way*

adoxography [ adox-o-graphy ]
n. beautiful writing on a subject of little or no importance

❧

The minute he pulled into the mansion's driveway, he put the car into park. I noticed how he didn't turn off the ignition, he just sat there. A tear had made its way down my check before I harshly wiped it away and looked at him.

"You were right, okay? I don't have anybody. I don't have a home. I don't have a family. I don't have a love, or a want. No one wants me! Okay? You were right!" I shouted as tears began to pour down my cheeks. All the emotions that I've had pent up since the funeral began to come out of me.

"No one wants me," I sobbed out before continuing, "And I'm so damn used to it!"

I looked over at him, but I couldn't make out much due to the tears that were blurring my vision. "I'm used to people not wanting me. Sometimes when I look in the mirror-I don't even want myself," I muttered as another sob climbed out of my throat.

Not realizing that I'm having a complete mental breakdown in front of a psychotic stranger, I looked away and out of the window.

"What would you call a painful death?" He asked. My crying paused as I turned my head around to look at him.

"What?" I asked. If he wanted to kill me, he should just do it. There's nothing I have to live for anymore, and maybe it's just me being dramatic, but I just can't seem to find a reason to want to live.

"I'm not gonna kill you," he said. I looked into his eyes, searching for the truth. Probably due to the intimidation, I looked away and cast my eyes down to my hands that sat perched in my lap.

"What do you want?" I asked him. My voice was unrecognizable. It was as if I was scared of my own voice. There was a slight remembrance to the sadness of my voice, a remembrance of when my father would say it's okay. If only he knew that nothing was okay, none of this was okay.

"Answer my question," his dark chilling voice had stated.

"What if I don't want to?" I daringly asked. His demeanor was too calm. So calm to the point it was scary. It was hard to decipher what exactly was going on in his mind.

It all happened too quickly, his hand gripped her chin causing pain where he placed his fingers. My heart was beating a little too fast in my chest causing my breathing to be left uneven.

"You don't want to?" He asked a little too calmly. I could tell I was really testing his patience, and the anger he was withholding was just begging to come out.

Answering his question, I shook my head. Oh, so you wanna die die?

He laughed. His pearly white teeth showing and even a dimple made its way on his cheek, but just as soon as it came-it was gone. Pulling me closer, he stared into my eyes as anger swirled around his orbs.

"I'm giving you a decision, Orabella. If you choose not to decide, whatever happens, you will face the consequences. You got that?" He asked, his accent coming on thick. One thing I noticed is that when he's angry, you could just hear the Italian side of him clawing his way out.

I snatched my chin from his hold and moved my hand to open the door. His very tatted hand came in contact with mine as he heisted it away from the handle.