Luciano | Book I ✓

Chapter Forty-One

A splitting feeling rushed to my forehead and I cursed loudly before pressing the tips of my fingers to it and squeezing my eyes shut. It felt as though someone was taking a knife to my head, but the feeling subsided – it didn't go away completely – but after a moment or two, the intensity died off and I was able to open my eyes again. I considered it a not-so friendly reminder never to drink that much ever again.

The second my head hit the pillow, the first thing that came to my mind was Faith. Thinking of her isn't what irritated me, it didn't make my blood boil, nor was it the main cause as to why my pounding headache seemed to increase. It was her decision, one that I had voiced was stupid, but one I knew needed to be done. I had promised I would protect her, I had also promised I would go back for her if anything happened to her; but her decision, her sacrifice conflicted with both of my promises. I could not protect her if she was with Peter and I could never take back the words I spat in her face just hours before.

It hurt my head to think about it, so I didn't. Pushing the thoughts to the back of my mind was almost as impossible as Federico going a day without killing someone. But it wasn't until I shifted to my left side and shoved my hand underneath my pillow did I finally notice the head of dark hair lying beside me.

My eyes went wide and I shot up again, this time I ignored the pounding in my head. I leaned over just a bit in an attempt to catch a glimpse of their profile, but the jet black hair swarmed their face. With my face contorted in an expression of confusion and curiosity, I ripped the duvet right out their grasp and exposing their pajama covered legs to the cool, crisp air.

They jumped, screamed, and started swinging.

There was only one person in the entire world I knew that could hit a note as high as that one. Rosalie kicked and squirmed as her arms flailed out and her hands balled in fists, swinging in every-which direction. Her legs nearly caught me once across the jaw, but she hit the jackpot when it came to my abdomen. It was like a sucker-punch to the stomach; for just a moment, I lost air.

"Rosie!" I groan, but she had nothing of it. With her eyes still squeezed shut, her went on the pursuit. I had two options; either to run away or pin her down and wake her up from whatever nightmare she was having. I chose door number two because my headache wouldn't allow for door number one.

Rosalie was smaller than the average seven year old. I remember Melanie going to the doctor and me accompanying her as she explained to the doctor that Rosie was shorter than all the other kids her age. She had been concerned that her daughter wasn't growing right, that something was wrong, but the Doctor re-assured us both that Rosie was growing, aging, and developing just fine. Despite her height, she packed a loaded punch and her kicks were almost lethal. I, personally, had never been concerned. She was shorter than her friends by just a few inches, but to Melanie, inches meant feet.

Somewhere between the struggle of getting Rosalie to wake up from her nightmare and protect my entire body from her blows, we fell off the bed. The carpet that I had prided myself on for being soft, wasn't as soft as I hoped. I could practically feel my organs jar themselves from their natural position and my head snapped back, hitting the ground also. For just a split second my world flashed white and I cursed. My hands slapped themselves over my eyes and I squeezed them so tight I began to see other galaxies.

A body straddled my waist and a soft, tiny voice whispered out, "Daddy?"

I groaned loudly.

I was in no mood to correct her again. Slowly, I pulled a hand down from my eye and I peeked out at her. Rosalie's figure floated around my vision for a while before steadying. Her eyes were red and she had a few marks that lined her cheeks caused by her heavy sleeping. Her hair was a mess, but in a way, she looked refreshed.