Dangerously In a Heartbeat

Chapter 01: Psychotic

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Psychotic

ʜᴇʟᴇɴ's ᴘᴏᴠ
୧‿︵‿︵  ✾  ︵‿︵‿୨

HUMANS ARE sadistic. Monsters are lurking in every corner of the world, labeled with the pronounce, 'humans'. Yet, we put on a face, fooling one another at the pretense of humanizing.

Some souls refuse to surrender to their inner sinister desires, and they miserably fail. Humans inflict pain on wounds that cannot be healed or mended, the resentments lead to retaliation–this is the ultimate downfall of every human being.

We are in a loop, always seeking vengeance. The need to prove that your pain matters, to show it, and to inflict it on others–that is what makes human monsters.

I am no better.

Every human is a victim of something. Be it anything. Wronged. Stripped of what's theirs. Silenced. Injustice. Humans are so inhuman. They seek amusement and pleasure in other's failures. Humans are full of pretension.

The door of the changing room closed with a gentle thud. I lift my gaze, meeting my brute and empty eyes in the mirror. It has become dull and unfamiliar compared to the previous years. Lifting the black top, I ran my hand across the bruised skin on my waist. Tracing the tip of my fingertips against the cuts and burns gifted to me by my late mother.

My gaze fixates on my exposed neck, and a frown molds its way into my dry lips. It was a scar, running from the back of my neck, halting near my neckline.

A low grunt leaves my lips, and I cover it up with a concealer.

I've been on the run for two months. I disappeared. I don't wish to be found anyway. My mother was murdered along with her boyfriend two months ago.

You see, I'm playing hide and seek with my brothers. They want me back now that Mother is dead. Two months ago, one of my brothers, the second oldest son of the Kotov family, Aden Kotov visited the crime scene. His main purpose was to get me back to Italy. However, I decided that I didn't want to return home. Like hell I'll return to them after eight years. They were the people who abandoned me. I have been living in hell every day, undergoing the same fucked up pain caused by them.

I've been sinking into the thin line of darkness. The relentless feelings of losing against it make me feel weak. Yet, I've buried myself deep into this familiar darkness, allowing it to consume and claw at my soul.

It is a feeling so empty, so emotionless that it makes me suffocated to the point of choosing death over life, but I refuse to die so easily.

I have always been dancing on the thin line of death, but it mocks me—always barely tracing its embrace and then leaving me in the hands of the cruelty of life. I wish I had died.

Now I have outlived my abusive mother. The one who ruined me. She abused me to the very point that I was barely alive, multiple times at that.

I frequently wonder how my sister is doing. It has been six years since I last saw her. I forced her to escape from the ruthless life that I've been surviving. I let her stay with my brothers.

I wrapped a red piece of clothing that hid my nose and face. The scar was concealed. I tie my hair in a bun and shrug my shoulders before exiting the fitting room.

The sound of cheers and the aroma of cigarettes and liquor was a scent I was accustomed to. Excited and frightened looks were fixated on me as I walked to the Ring. I've always been known for my sudden entries.

No one knows my true identity, and I prefer to keep it that way. It's not like they can do anything if they come to know my real identity. That would terrify them more. I chuckle at my thoughts.