Belladonna (Tom Holland)

Ten

The bus stopped at a thrift store and I got off along with a couple of other people. I entered the store and looked at the vast arrays of clothing I hadn't been able to wear since I was kidnapped. When I was at Lorenzo's I had to dress like the men: dress shirt and dress pants. But now, as I scanned the store, I realized I could wear jeans again. I could wear faded T-shirts and running shorts. I could finally be myself and not some role I was playing in order to survive.

The first section I went to was the T-shirts. Right now, I wasn't too picky about what I wore, but I still found myself judging the shirts. I ended up picking about three or four, along with a sweatshirt someone had bought at Disney World. Strolling into the pants and shorts, my eye caught a pair of Nike shorts I knew couldn't give up and I got another pair of basketball shorts since I lost the ones I had at Lorenzo's, and a pair of tennis shoes since the only other shoes I owned were Louboutins. I then picked out a pair of pants and went to the cash register, with a lot more clothes than I imagined. I didn't care at all though, because I finally had items I could call my own once again. Once I paid for the clothes, I went into the bathroom and changed into one of the T-shirts and the running shorts. Weirdly enough, I felt clean. I was rid of the life behind me and I conveyed that through thrifted clothes.

After the thrift store, I went into a grocery store and picked up some microwavable meals to live through the week. I was reminded of my college self once again, broke and finding an affinity for Ramen and Lunchables. It would be a downgrade from the luxurious meals I was able to eat at Lorenzo's but it was a price I was more than willing to pay. Who knew that I still felt like a prisoner even though Lorenzo treated me with nothing but kindness.

Rather than take the bus again, I elected to walk back to the motel. It was sort of lengthy, probably around three miles, but it was still midday and I had nothing else to do. Walking was good for my leg anyway, after being able to walk short distances and then dance in heels. It hurt, but it wasn't detrimental, in fact it only felt sore. It was healing, but I knew that I would never be able to fully recover. I glanced down at it and looked at the scar, finally able to fade normally into my skin. It looked less angry and more intriguing. If someone asked, I would still have to lie about it, but in the real world nobody cared about you.

By the time I returned to the motel, the heat of the day died down a bit and was replaced with a lovely breeze. It reminded me of the fall semester, where I would lay down on the quad and read the assigned books. I missed college, I won't lie. I don't miss the stress and the late night Red Bull marathons and papers created from the mind of a sleep deprived twenty year old, but I missed who I met and where I went. I missed the plans I made. I missed having someone to talk to that wasn't a contracted killer.

I turned the key to the motel door, humming a song that played from last night as I unlocked and opened it. The room was unusually dark, but I made it that way. I closed all the curtains and blinds so that nobody could see in my windows and watch me change or sleep. Turning on all the lights, I continued to hum as I set my bags down and opened the mini fridge to place my microwavable meals in. It was when I heard the safety turn off from a gun that I froze in my tracks.

"You were supposed to be in the bathroom," Tom said from behind, "Guess where you weren't at? The fucking bathroom." His voice was brimming with anger and I was terrified to even turn around, but I did so anyway. Tom sat on my bed with the gun on his lap. His hair was unruly and there was a cut on his lip. He didn't get out unscathed last night.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn't find the words or the questions to ask, so he spoke for me. "Why'd you run away, princess? I wasn't going to hurt you, if that's what you thought. It was just a ruse," he said. "I know," I whispered. "Then why'd you run?" he was impatient, "Tell me!" "Because I don't want to be apart of this!" I snapped, "I was never apart of this until you came along. You fucked up my leg, killed John, and ruined my life because you thought I was loyal to Lorenzo! I was never apart of the mafia, Tom! The second my dad died those ties were gone!"

"And I'm not coming back to you," I continued, tears forming in my eyes, "You either let me stay away from you or you kill me right now, Tom. I swear to fucking God." My voice was wavering and my thoughts were running all over the place. Did I feel for him? Yes, but that didn't stop me from abhorring my situations. I was done, I didn't want to be apart of this anymore. I didn't want to be an informant, I didn't want any part of Biancattis or the Hollands, I just wanted to live my own life.

Tom shook his head, "No. I'm not killing you." "Then you're going to let me walk out of this door right now," I told him, my fists balled. Once again, he shook his head, "No, you're coming back. None of this horseshit. You're coming back to me!" I don't know why I acted the way I did, but once he stopped speaking, I got down on my knees, grabbed his hand and the gun, and placed it to my temple. "Pull the fucking trigger," I warned, "Or let me go."

The silence was almost unbearable. For the first time, I met his eyes didn't break the contact; I was serious about this. The only way he could have me back was in a body bag. Maybe then he could claim his lifelong goal of killing me. That was probably better than wanting to be with me in the first place. With his other hand, Tom began to stroke my hair, and being the idiot I was, I leant in to his touch. I began to cry, but I was relentless; I wanted my freedom back.

Tom then took the gun off of my head. "Go," his voice was hushed, "You can leave. I won't bother you again." To be frank, I expected to be dead. I thought that the last intimate moment was our goodbye and then he would pull the trigger. At first, I stayed on my knees, the initial shock of his decision yet to wash over me. Then I recollected myself and grabbed my things, placing them in the grocery bags I had. I decided to leave the microwavable meals in the mini fridge, as I didn't know what I was going to do.

"Bella," Tom called after me, still sitting on the bed, "You can go back to your apartment. I'll take care of your rent, it's the least I can do." His expression was unreadable, but I knew one thing. This was not the time I had known. There was no indication of danger or confidence to be seen. Instead he looked tired, run down; as if my absence took a toll on his appearance. I felt sorry for him, I truly did. But I couldn't allow myself to revolve my world around him, no matter my feelings. It wasn't the life I wanted. I remember Harrison once told me I would have been as dangerous as Tom if I truly wanted to be apart of the mafia, and though I don't know how true the statement was, I knew that I affected him somehow. He built his empire around me and now I was leaving it.

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~Not edited~