lovely desire

aryan

I wake up to the sound of birds singing outside and sunlight shining in through the frame of the open window.

Slowly, I open my eyes as I take a few deep breaths and let my hand glide along the fabric of the mattress.

The bed is empty.

Furrowing my brows, I turn my head to the side and sit up. My shoes are lying on the floor. Clearly, he'd thrown them to the side when he took them off my feet. The silk fabric of my thong is lying next to one, at least the remains of it.

I wonder why my dress feels so comfortable, until I realize I'm wearing one of Aryan's T-shirts.

Wait-

I quickly get up and rush to my bedroom, where everything seems to be in perfect condition. Just the way I left it.

Fear gnaws at me as I quietly make my way downstairs. Is he still here? Why did he put one of Aryan's T-shirts on me?

A stair creaks under my weight two steps away from the bottom floor, causing me to suck in my lips and tense immediately. Then I continue.

I don't bother to ask if someone's here. If he is, he'll make himself known. If he's a psychopath, he won't answer anyway.

After checking the whole house, I realize he really is gone. And I don't know whether I should be glad or disappointed about it yet. On the one hand, he's hot and all. But on the other hand, there's still a little hope in me.

I hate myself for it but that's what kept me going the first two years. I'd considered killing myself so often, I really thought I'd do it some day. I also started to hurt myself. Amy eventually noticed and helped me cope in different ways - exercising for example - but I still carry scars from it and they don't look like they're going to fade any time soon.

Stabbing pain. Blood. The baby.

My heart still hurts at the memory of seeing my stomach bleed out and my stomach twists. There is a huge, and I mean huge, scar on my lower belly from where she cut me open.

I never would've thought I'd say something like that but I'm glad that Aryan tortured and killed her. She deserved so much more than what she got. I don't know if Aryan would have left if the child was born — I don't think so. But at least I'd have something left of him that reminds me he's real.

I doubted that at some point. Of course, I have the house and all of his stuff, photos, a few of his clothes but still. It's like he never even existed.

The door bell pulls me out of my thoughts and I rush over to the front door to open it. The T-shirt is long enough to be considered a dress, so putting on pants isn't really a necessity.

"A package and also this," the post guy says as he hands me an Oh Polly box and some envelopes.

I crack a smile and thank him before I close the door again. With the box under my arm, I make my way to the kitchen as I shuffle through the stack of post. They are mostly bills from different insurances.

I stumble upon one that hasn't got my name on it but Aryan's. He still receives post, which means he probably didn't die. But I also don't know why he's still registered in New Jersey.

I put the stack to the side and decide to go through it later. Then I turn my attention to the task on hand; trying on my new clothes.

Aryan
"Look it's easy," I say to the man sitting in front of me. "You tell me who stole my money and the two stacks of pills or I'll make you."

"I won't say anything," he answers. He's shaking slightly, sweat coating his skin and dripping down his hair. His T-shirt is wet already and even though his chances of escaping are low, he looks like there's still a spark of hope jumping around in him.

He's tied to a chair, which is unfortunate on its own. But even if he were to free himself, I'd overtake him with a blindfold on. And he also won't even make it to the front door before one of my men would catch him.

The past three years have been nothing but pure training and re-building The Cuts in the state Delaware. That's right. It's a two to three hour drive to New Jersey. If anything were to happen, I'd be with Mabel in the matter of hours.

I crack my bruised knuckles before I deliver a punch to his cheekbone, the blade on my ring diving into his skin and leaving a deep cut in its sake. The skin on my knuckles pops once again and blood drips down my arm from both the spots and my ring. He screams in response. "Anything you wanna tell me? No? Well too bad."

His heavy pants and screams are the only thing filling the room as I beat him to death. I'll get my information in a way or another. This was purely for entertainment and fun.

I inspect my bared upper body in the mirror of my bathroom. I've grown even more muscular and bulky. Tattoos are covering my arms and hands, my back too.

The stubble on my face has grown a little too long, I'll have to trim it tomorrow. Two scars slash up my forehead, ending a few inches behind my hairline. I got those shortly after I left New Jersey.

Nothing is left of the nineteen year-old I was back then. I am aimed purely to kill people, holding a ruthless and merciless reputation in the Mafia business now. I've worked myself from a gang with a fair share of henchmen up into the Mafia. I work for them in exchange for power and respect. It's a simple trade. They need my connections, I need their money.

My phone rings on my nightstand so I quickly make my way into the bedroom to pick it up.

"René," I say with a stern voice. "I think we have a problem-" "What?" I bark. "I- I think we should meet-" "Tell me what the fuck happened," I interrupt, getting impatient. I'm already grabbing my keys and headed for the door when Archie says something that makes me stop in my tracks instantly.

"Mabel may or may not have had a guy over last night."

I freeze and feel unable to move for a moment. Only when René says my name is when I come to my senses again.

"Who is he?" "Aryan I don't think-" "Answer my question," I growl, anger rising in me. "Teodor Santana. Thirty years old, born in Spain, Valencia. That's all I could find about him unfortunately."

"I'll call you later. Until then, don't do anything unless the instruction is coming directly from me," I demand sharply before I end the call.

It doesn't take my anger a second to bubble over and burst out of me. I throw my phone across the room, screaming purely of frustration. The phone crashes with the wall full force and falls apart with a loud crack. It's not a big deal because it's not my main phone anyway but I'll have to exchange that.

My hands find my face, brush up and run along my roots. I pant heavily, trying to think. I always knew the chance of Mabel meeting someone was there but now that I'm actually facing the consequences of my actions, reality seems to punch me right in the chest.

I love this girl with every fiber of my heart. She's the only thing that keeps me from losing my shit.

Three years ago, I would have let her fall in love and get happy. But as I said, I'm not that version of myself anymore and I never will return to it.

She wants to be happy? Fine, I'll make her happy. She wants to find love again? She's gonna have to find it in me. She thinks I was messing when I said I'd come back? I'll show her just how serious I was.

She's mine. And if she forgot it, I'll remind her of it. I couldn't give less of a fuck if I'm being selfish. I take what I want and I won't show remorse for whoever pays with their life while trying to get in my way.