Our love

Michelle

"Oh shut up" He hollers. I open my eyes slightly to catch his rough hand inching closer to my face with speed.
I flinch but make no sound as my warm cheek begins to sting and ache with pain. My head swings to the side and his heavy breathes of whiskey fill my nose. I swallow the emotional lump walking up my throat and look him in the eyes, "what's wrong with you" I wince. He grits his teeth and tightens his eyes in anger.

"You Michelle, your my fucking problem" He growls. As I lay on the ground silent I listen as his breathes of stress stiffen to none. "You killed her Michelle. You!" He screams.
He smacks me with what feels like all he has left. It's repeated and followed by the same sting and numbness that comes with these bad nights. The nights where he returns home drunk with more bottles filling his fingers ready to take all the anger out from me.
I cry and sob but it does no good. It's been like this ever since she died.
My mother,

                                            .

At night she's always what I think of. When she was alive my father was kind and full of love, now he's alcohol and anger. I can understand in a way that he's hurt by the only thing he loved most slipping from his fingers with matter he could have prevented; but taking it out of your 7 year old daughter is something I can't begin to negotiate.
Tomorrow I turn 18 and I believe nothing could change. Even with the years that I grow and become older he still has this invisible chain that holds around my neck.
When I'm happy I'm a disgusting person and have no regards for my mothers death that happened 10 years ago.

People heal with time. 10 years should be enough for the pain to simply turn into dust but my pain never dissolved. With every reminder and picture that my father has painted me to be I still have this charge gripped around my body never seeming to give me a break.
Because of him I don't believe in love. I cant trust people for only words that they use.
I love you is just another way of saying I'll ruin your life, I want to spend the rest of my life with you is translated into I hate you.
People use others for their pleasure. I've been used without consent and with it as well. It feels terrible.

I have nobody to comfort and tell me it's gonna be okay. When my mother died my father turned to drugs and never gave me a reassuring sentence of hope. I cried in my bed all day and just hoped all the pain would go away.
I got raped and somehow felt guilt and blamed by everyone around me.
Ive always had nobody to cry on. Never a warm shoulder that didn't just use that for something in return.
I want something I know will help me even if what they get in return is simply my smile or happiness,
But that's impossible, especially in the world I live in.

The world where I'm only known for my fathers power. Michelle Romano, One of the biggest and most powerful mafias to touch earth.
When you go to big parties your only treated fairly due to the past and opinions of your name.
I don't want to give pride in something my dad only tortured me with. I'm his prize possession but still the most hated thing he owns.

My mother died due to Mafia.
I was supposed to be in an arranged marriage at a young age but my mother refused, as any other right minded person would.
Mr. Martinez, the man who killed my mother in cruelty of not getting his way. Men want power, the power he would have gotten if I married his son would have been unimaginably big. My father would have something in return but he refuses to tell me ever since I was old enough to ask.
He killed her,
Not me. I'm not responsible for the death of my mother,  I was a child and I deserved everything any other little girl like me would.
Instead I got back hands and thrown down stairs, bruises and stitches.
My back is marked with scratches and burns. I've broken two ribs and hold a small scar under my bottom lip.

My curly and dark brown hair has grown to my butt as when I was a child my mother would cut it and tell me that if I wanted hair so long I step on it to cut it every day.
I still listen to that. I keep books and pictures of her, songs and movies she loved. Maybe one day if I'm lucky enough to have children of my own I'll be able to share everything with them, show them how lovely their dear grandmother was.

My eyes run to the door as light peers against the darkness. A figure of two feet move from side to side with confusion.
A low sigh runs against their lips and I almost instantly know who it is.
"Tony" I whisper.
The door slowly opens and the floor boards creek silently, "I'm just checking if your okay" he sighs. I scoff gently and smile at his kindness.
"Just a scratch" I tease. I laugh silently at my joke but don't receive one back. "Michelle I know it's wrong I wish I could do something" he grunts. His voice softens and wilts as I feel the intense worry he holds.
"If you do something he will kill you, it's fine" I assure. Even thought it isn't fine I can't let someone die for something I know will continue even if he speaks.

"Goodnight" he says. I watch as his hands are roughly pushed into his pockets, unsure of what to do next to fill the silence.
"Hug?" I ask. He scoffs with a smile and slowly walks over.
His body leans over mine and the instant scent of honey cigars and smoke runs over my face. His hands latch around me and I hug him as tightly as possible, "I love you" I whisper.
He kisses the top of my head and inhales a short breath.

Me and Tony have always been close. He's been my assigned guard for a couple of years now and through that time we've created a connection.
Not a weird one but a very deep one. He's about 22 and the sweetest person I could know. He always treats me to my favourite food and always creates a smile on my face even with the worst moments.
He'd take me to the hospital when my dad would beat me real bad and genuinely has always been there for my needs.
I guess in a way he's the person that gets nothing in return for the kindness he lends to me.

But I figure I want more than just kindness but things that I know are impossible,
Maybe