𝖫𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺 𝖽𝗂 𝖬𝖺𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈

u n o║o n e

↬ a d r i a n n e ↫

"Shit shit shit shit shit" I mumble when I finally realize that the taxi driver is most likely going to drag me off the cab.

When am I going to learn to check my bag before going out? Now I don't have any fucking way of paying him for the ride.

"Lady, I need you to give me what is mine" he states tilting his head back to a side to eye me in the most impatient manner. "passami i miei fottuti soldi" he barks. {hand me my fucking money}

Old Italian men are supposed to be the sweetest and the most attractive, now this thing I have in front of me is just a grumpy lonely old man.

"Well, come vedi, I don't have your fottuti soldi!" I counter back, hissing at him at this point. {as you see; fucking money}

I didn't come to this fucking country so that I get yelled at by an unhappy troll. I came because I wanted to attend university in a fancy country, meet handsome rich men with whom to have fun, get drunk with my friends until I can no longer, and most importantly: escape from the life I would lead if I continued under the command of my beloved parents - note the pure sarcasm.

"Now, ragazza, there is more than one way of paying me back," he says with his thick accent ogling me, his voice raspy. His eyes darken as words slip through his lips. {girl}

My mouth purses in disgust at his words. In an attempt to rapidly reaching the handle to open the door on my right side, his revolting hand pulls me back gripping my thin left arm strongly. It stings.

What have I gotten myself into? My gaze travels from his grip on my skin to his emerald-colored eyes.

My face certainly feels heated, which leads me to shoot him deadly looks, "Signore, è meglio che mi lasci andare, altrimenti ti dirò alla polizia per avermi imposto le tue mani sporche, per aggressione." I speak through my teeth, as the threat rolls out of my mouth. {sir, you better let me go, otherwise, I'll tell the police for laying your dirty hands on me, for assault}

Afterward, I accumulate a reasonable about of saliva in my mouth, then spit them outreaching his face. I instantly feel his clenching tightening even more.

"You filthy bitch" he insults while wiping my saliva off his face.

I squeak in utter pain, while at the same time shaking my arm abruptly.

The moment I felt the tears threatening to come out, I fight them back by rolling my eyes and without thinking twice, my free arm searches for my bag. When it's finally found, I make my way up high to begin to repeatedly hit the place where his fingers squeeze me.

"You're hurting me, let me fucking go!" I huff at him.

Lastly, I start to scream from the top of my lungs. His grip on me pains like hell. Aside from my hopeless squeals, I perceive the sound of cars on the road and I see pedestrians crossing and walking down the busy streets, I hear cars pulling up behind and in front of us.

This man doesn't know who he's messing with, with only one phone call to daddy dearest, I would end him. He wouldn't be alive to see the sunset. As a matter of fact, I don't need my parents' fingers in this, I can deal with his grandpa on my own.

Therefore, I strive to make as much noise as I possibly can, by banging on the window next to me, moving my feet so the vehicle with the objective of it bouncing up, down, and to the sides.

"Uh, ugh" I complain.

The man thereupon acknowledges my plan and makes his way to the back-sits of the car. With his filthy hands, he covers my mouth, but I was very quick to take ahold of his skin with my sharp teeth.