Ruthless Obsession

Chapter eleven

Here's a long chapter for u guyz.

also I made a spotify playlist for this book its 'ruthless obsession' (:

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The fire is still going when I wake up. Angelo sits in front of it, stirring it occasionally.

It's pitch black outside. It must be early in the morning, maybe 2:00 or 3:00.

There's a soft blanket placed on top of me; one I don't remember having when I fell asleep.

For a while, I look at Angelo's back, not saying anything, or alerting him to my changed state in consciousness. He's changed from his earlier clothes--the ones he put on when he heard the intruder.

Now he's wearing sweatpants and a loose white shirt. He never looks this casual, even around the house, he's always in business attire.

"What are you doing up?" I ask quietly. He doesn't flinch or give any sign that he heard me.

"Thinking." Is all he says to me after a moment. I hesitantly get up from the couch with my blanket around my shoulders and I sit next to him in front of the fire, making sure I don't sit to close.

"What are you thinking about?" I say in my quiet, morning voice.

He doesn't answer.

His eyes are alarmingly red rimmed, and his face is pale. He's drinking another coffee, which confuses me because it's night time.

"You look like you haven't slept in days." I croak, humor slightly lacing my voice.

He shrugs,"I haven't."

"You haven't?" I say pensively.

He shakes his head lightly, eyeing the fire and stirring it. "Why haven't you?" I ask.

"Too much work." He says, resigned.

"That's unhealthy you know."

"How so?" I have a feeling he already knows, by the condescending grin on his face.

"Because, not getting enough sleep can lower your life expectancy." I say quietly, leaning my head on my knee, looking at the crackling fire.

"I'll probably die young anyways." He pauses, all the humor gone from his face,"Why are you doing this?" He asks.

"Doing what?"

"Talking to me, after all the things I've done to you." He doesn't say this in a remorseful way, he says this like it's something he's genuinely displeased about, like wants me to hate him, or he thinks I should and he's mad that I don't.

I don't even know what to say.

"I don't deserve your kindness." He says quietly retaining his gruff voice. He means it, he thinks he's undeserving.

He is undeserving, he's a horrible monster and he's probably killed more people than I can count on two hands, but I can't say I'm accustomed to being a mean person. My attitude is purely reactionary--and almost always decided in the moment.

In the back of my mind I will always remember that he is who he is--that we will never be friends--or anything else for that matter. Sometimes I may forget, but something tells me I won't forget for too long.

"Maybe not." I say, glumly. He seems satisfied with this answer, like my so called 'kindness' is some kind of internal torture for him.

I shouldn't try to empathize with him, but sometimes I just can't help myself. The thought makes me hopeful--me being who I am despite my circumstances is what's keeping me alive. It's what wakes me up every morning. It's why I can sit next to him and have an undeserving conversation with him.