𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄|| 18+ ✔️

1

A Z Z U R R A

In the murky gloom of the cold, dark room, I found myself sprawled on the icy floor, my body a symphony of aches and pains. "Che cavolo," I muttered to myself, realizing that my old man must've decided to use me as his personal punching bag again. Classic move, Dad, real classy.

Trying to sit up was like attempting to conquer Mount Vesuvius in heels – painful and utterly pointless. Every joint screamed in protest, but I soldiered on. A tiny sliver of light peeked through a little window, giving me hope that escape was within reach. I mean, who wouldn't want to escape a situation where their body felt like it had gone twelve rounds with an enraged bull?

With the grace of a drunken flamingo, I managed to rise to my feet, wincing at the stabs of pain that shot through me. But hey, I was Azzurra, and pain was just an annoying sidekick in my grand adventure. Ignoring the pulsating agony, I stumbled towards the door, determination in my bloodshot eyes.

"Hey, old man!" I shouted, pounding on the door like a maniac. "Open up! I've got places to be, people to annoy, you know the drill!"

The door creaked open a crack, revealing a sliver of my father's disgruntled face. "Shut up, Azzurra," he growled, his breath reeking of cheap wine.

"Shut up?" I shot back, unable to contain my sarcasm. "You've got to work on your conversational skills, pops. 'Shut up' is so last season. Maybe try a 'please' or a 'thank you' for a change."

He scowled, but I wasn't about to let his grumpy demeanor rain on my parade. Oh no, not today. "I'm serious, Dad. Let me out. I've got a hot date with destiny, and your gloomy dungeon is not on the itinerary."

His eyes narrowed, and I could practically see the storm clouds forming above his head. "You think you're clever, huh?"

"Sharp as a tack, old man. Now, chop-chop, I've got a world to conquer," I quipped, doing a little dance to emphasize my point. Bad move, Azzurra, very bad move.

In a split second, the door slammed shut with a force that rattled my very bones. "You watch your mouth, ragazza," he hissed through the door.

I rolled my eyes, not missing a beat. "Oh, please. I've heard better threats from Nonna when I forgot to finish my pasta. Try again, Pops."

Silence hung in the air for a moment before the door swung open again. This time, he looked angrier, if that was even possible. "You're asking for it, Azzurra."

"Bring it on, old man. I've survived your cooking; I can survive anything," I shot back, a smirk playing on my lips.

That's when I felt it – the unmistakable crackle of tension in the air. My father, never one to back down from a challenge, lunged at me with a speed that defied his age. In that split second, I had a brilliant idea: I should've kept my mouth shut.

He grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip, and I winced. "You think you're smart, Azzurra? Maybe a little time in here will teach you some respect."

"Respect? Dad, you're about as respectable as a cat in a fish market," I retorted, regretting my life choices.

He yanked me back into the room, and I stumbled, trying to regain my balance. But fate, it seemed, was on my old man's side. As I struggled to stay upright, he slammed the door shut once more, leaving me in the cold darkness.

"Real smooth, Azzurra," I muttered to myself, nursing my wounded pride along with my throbbing body. Note to self: never challenge Dad without an exit strategy.

The room, now plunged into complete darkness, felt smaller than ever. I groped my way towards the tiny window, hoping for even the tiniest ray of hope. And there it was – a sliver of light, a reminder that the world outside this absurd prison was still turning.