Life Is A Living Hell

Chapter 28 Desire And Rage (rewritten)

A person who values you,
wouldn't ever put themselves in a position to lose you.
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Olivia Brown

The following day, Antonio wasn't home when I woke up. I slipped out of my bed and headed to the bathroom. As I took a warm shower, I kept thinking about him. I just couldn't figure him out. Why did he have sex with me? Did he really see me as one of the girls that he could fuck and, the next day, throw them out of the house? Maybe, but he couldn't throw me out since I kind of lived here.

Did he honestly hate me? He never said that he hated me. I just assumed that he did, based on how he would talk to me or look at me. His green-blue eyes would always darken when they landed on me. Like he wanted to eat me for lunch. He looked hungry, like an animal waiting for its prey.

And not to mention that he looked hot as hell when he did that. But, he always looked good.

On second thought, I didn't need to figure him out. Since I was sure the sex was a one-time thing and when we would find Joseph all this would be over, I was going to move on with my life somewhere else without all this violence and madness. Then I was going to be done with Antonio and all my thoughts that involved him.

It's going to get better. I'm going to get the life I always wanted—a normal life without the mafia. I kept telling myself. It was the only thing that kept me going in this place.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and headed back to my room. As I was about to step into my walk-in closet, my phone started ringing. The caller ID showed the name Diego.

Did everyone have my number now?

Why was he calling me? I would've understood why Theo or Colt would call me, but not the others.

I brought the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I uttered a bit confusedly.

"Hey. Is Antonio there?" He said it hurriedly.

"No, he isn't home. Why? Did something happen?" Suddenly, I got worried about him. I didn't know why since I didn't like him. But apparently, I cared about him.

"I'm sure it's nothing. But he doesn't answer his phone, and I need to talk to him. I thought he was home, that's why I called you." I heard him say distractedly on the other line.

"Oh, okay," I mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm going to call him again. Bye."

"Bye." The line went quiet.

I hoped Antonio was okay.

No, you don't! He's bad news, remember?

Yeah, yeah, for sure. But somehow the hate went from meaning hating him to not liking him and then to caring about him. How did that happen? I was lost, I didn't know what to feel about him anymore. One second, I hated him and the next second, I was moaning his name. And not because I was hurt, but because I was pleased. He pleasured me. Also, I apparently cared about him now. What was wrong with me? I met this guy just a month ago.

As I was changing my clothes, I remembered that I left my clothes in Antonio's room after we had sex, and I hadn't got them back since then. I made my way up to his room. His room was clean and neat.

I didn't see my clothes anywhere. Not under his bed, not on the floor, not on his bed. They weren't here. Maybe he was so disgusted after we had sex that he threw them away. Sighing, I closed his door.

I went downstairs for breakfast. When the front door opened I was eating cereal in front of the TV, laughing at something one of the characters said. Putting down my bowl, and I lowered the volume on the TV.

Antonio came in, speaking on the phone. "Okay, Diego," he snapped, then hung up.

I hadn't seen Antonio since the night we were together. I didn't know what to say to him, especially after I had seen the drunk woman leave his room. I didn't want to make it awkward between him and I, and maybe saying nothing about it was the best option. What if it makes it more awkward not saying anything about it? No, I think I was going to stick with the no-talking thing.

"Go get ready, we're heading out," he said coldly, staring at his phone. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" I mumbled, standing up.

"Don't ask questions," he snapped. "Just obey." He glared. I licked my lips, rolling my eyes at him.

He moved so fast, one second, he was standing there, and the next he had pushed me onto the wall. His hand was on my throat, his body pushed against mine, pining me to the wall.

"Don't. Roll. Your. Eyes. At. Me," he hissed through gritted teeth. He had a strong grip around my throat. I was gasping for air, my hand was trying to claw away his hand, attempting to release myself from his grip.

"Y-you're...hurting me," I whimpered. His cold eyes flushed with worry before he released me and stepped back, shocked by what he had done. Panting, I backed away from him.

"I-I...are you okay?" He asked apologetically, stepping closer to me. My eyes went wide and glossy. Staring at him, I put my hand on my throat and backed away from him. I was rendered speechless; I could only watch the monster in front of me.

He seemed disappointed that I didn't want to be near him. He sighed and stepped back.

"Just... go change your clothes," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Without a second thought, I rushed to my room, wanting to be as far as away from him as I could. Closing my door with a thud, I put my back to it. I closed my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

He was sick. What was his problem? He almost choked me to death only because I rolled my eyes at him. I could just imagine what he would do if I did something worse. I was scared of how he behaved before the sex, but now after the sex, it seemed like he had got angrier. Kind of like he didn't like me before we had sex, and now after it, he hated me. Whereas I went from hating him to caring about him. Either there was something wrong with him or me.

I headed to my walk-in closet. In the big mirror, I saw my poor throat. There were hickeys on my throat and neck, down to my chest, mixed with the mark of his hand, which I was sure was going to leave a bruise. And all that was from Antonio.

It was a mix of passion, lust, desire, and rage.

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