True love

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There's a certain feeling that overcomes you after you cry for a very long time. This kind of flood of serenity. Like your body's last resort to make life seem tolerable.

I can move, but I haven't for the past 4 hours. I know that I can because sometimes I feel like I'm getting too heavy and begin melting into the sheets before I bring my hand to my neck and feel the hot burn of the bruised skin.

Vincenzo is pandering, a complete opposite of the man he was yesterday.
I'd woken up in bed after yesterday's event to him looking at me, waiting to see if I could move I suppose.

In that moment, I had expected a teasing smile, I had expected him to make a mockery of me and when he didn't, When his eyes raked my own with panic with concern.
I'd almost gasped.

I turned around on the bed, I heard his clap echo in my ear.
My blood spiked then, but I don't respond.

He said something, but I didn't even hear it. His voice is drowned out by the sound of blood pumping through me.

He's made me breakfast and set it on the nightstand.
I looked at it for a while, until he returned to take it away.
He made me juice, something green and bright with chlorophyll, he claimed the drink would help me feel better.

I drank it, partially because I was thirsty and it smelled good, but mostly because I suspected Vincenzo would not use poison to kill me, it'd be too easy for him.

The thought alone killed any positive effect the drink could have had.

Vincenzo tried to engage me in conversation once more but I was lost to the sound of my own heart beat, the look in Nadia's eyes, the feeling of her hands taking the life out of my body.

It was too sharp of a reminder.
The feeling of loss, hurt more than the tightening of her hands around her neck, her long acrylics entering into my skin.

Vincenzo smiled, the sick smile he'd worn with pride was now replaced with an empathic frown at my condition.

He's not real.

The sentence enters my head on its own accord. He's not real, he's not a violent man, a cruel man or a kind one. He's void, nothing but a collection of emotes. He's a shell compounded with the pain of all those who suffered from his hands and others who suffered out of it.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, voice hoarse from the attack.

"Sorry?" Vincenzo said dropping his book to his lap.
I turn to face him.

"I asked what you wanted from me." I tried to keep my voice from becoming more confrontational, I feared upsetting him. I feared the feelings of hands around my neck.

"The same thing I imagine you want from me Sara, a future." Vincenzo said lifting back his book to his face.
"Does it have to be me?" I asked, voice trembling.

"There May have been a point where it could've been someone else but we're way passed that now." His words are just as empty as him.

"I do not want it to be me anymore." I said, tears streaming down my face. My body curls in on itself, on its bruises and it's hurt.

"You don't mean that darling, you've had a rather rough week and I understand how that could result to these negative feelings." He says lowly, deep voice laced with poisonous sweetness. He places a warm hand on my face and I jolt back. He sits at the edge of the bed and brings his book up to his face.

"I kissed Nadia," I croaked throat rough and dry. I raise my head up to look at him. His hold on the book and position does not change as the statement leaves me.

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