𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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𝗧he door to the basement opened with a creak. The stale smell that normally filled his nostrils was ever present. He stepped through the doorway and let the metal door slam shut behind him. He stared at the silhouette that sat idle in the cage across the room.
He tightened his fist around the soft object in his hand. He couldn't think of a reason why he was doing this – why he was attempting to be nice to him. There was just this feeling inside him that felt like he owed him some type of consolidation.
It was all her fault.
Rayne.
Bringing up past memories – making him remember.
Remember what it's like to not be heartless.
Remember Romania.
Enzo let out a small breath as he started walking over to the cage. Matteo didn't move a muscle; he sat in the middle of the floor, his head in his knees. Without actually seeing his face, he could tell that he was drained, tired – on the verge of giving up. After three years, he'd lost so much weight. He was surprised that it took so long for his resolve to evaporate.
Opposite of myself.
He lost himself in a third of that time when plagued with the same life.
Caged. Trapped. Inhuman. Used and discarded.
Enzo kneeled in front of the cage. He used his free hand to wipe away the left-over food crumbs from who knows how long ago, as well as the collected dust. When he was done, he sat on the floor and folded his legs underneath himself. He rested his head against the cool metal bars and placed the object he'd brought in his lap.
What am I doing...?
He let out another breath, this time a deeper one.
For the past sixteen years, all he wanted to do was get revenge on him. He wanted to make him feel the same exact pain that he put him through. The one person who took his childhood and destroyed it for purely selfish reasons. He never resonated with his past – not normally. The few years of his life he spent in happiness died with that version of himself that day. Sure, he was still in here somewhere, that little boy, but he hardly filled the mind space. He was just a distant caricature now.
He banged his head gently against the bars. When he realized back then that he couldn't hurt the man who did this to him in the way he wanted to – he did the next best thing. He took his son. He took his son's lover. He wanted to break him apart and piece him back together – just to break him again. And he did, multiple times over the course of three years.
But what was the point of that?
It didn't make him feel any better. It didn't replenish him with happiness. It didn't give him back his sanity. It did nothing. It didn't fill the cavities of numbness in his heart and head. He had to lie to himself over the time just to keep up with it. To appear like a strong front before the two bosses.
