Mafia Arranged Marriage

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Aiyana Valentino

To say my mental state was in shambles, was putting it too easy. It was probably layered up in one huge ball, the findings of my father gave that last firm push and the ball went sliding down the hill.

My chest contracts and expands as heavy air fills my lungs. I was in a complete haze in the light of the recent events unfolding.

After leaving my father's manor, extremely horrified and terribly appalled, I drove myself in a blur home. Not lying, it was probably a dangerous thing to do for both my sake and others', getting behind the wheel while I could barely utter a word; though extremely grateful for when I made it home safe and intact.

I dragged my body, as though it weighed tons, right through the front doors and avoided contact with the staff. I just wanted to be alone, besides I don't think I'm in a good condition for human contact at the moment.

My heels click against the marbled floors, the sounds resonating like bullets to my own ears. The walls feel like closing in, and I realize it's my own head that is spinning and not the immovable bricks surrounding me.

The bile in my throat rises as I think back to what my father had said. The accusations he claims against Amren aren't in any chance slightly light. Though he insisted he had evidence, I couldn't one hundred percent believe him until I ask Ren. He surely wouldn't lie to me.

My hair sticks to the back of my neck and my my hands are profusely damp due to my excessive sweating. I just wanted to throw myself in the shower, maybe also hit my head accidentally so I forgot about the last few hours.

After getting out, I rummage through the closet for the nearest articles of comfortable clothing, finally landing on a huge t-shirt and sweatpants. I gather my wet hair into a messy loose ponytail and slope down into the sheets.

I just wanted to forget everything, and at the same time figure out everything I've been wondering about. It kills me to be only halfway.

It's like trying to solve a jigsaw puzzle, only halfway realizing that it's missing some pieces. You can't go further, but at the same time you can't undo what has already been done. So you lay there, useless. That's why I hate the middle; because you can't really go backwards or move forwards. That's it. You're stuck.

I bury my head under the sheets, shutting out the blinding light, also the harsh hands of reality gripping for my skin. I can't help but feel suffocated under the fabric, but simultaneously shielded from the realms of everything I'm afraid of.

That's the last thing I remember thinking before falling into deep slumber, wishing to erase the traces of morbid tension tugging at every fiber in my body.

I awaken to gentle shaking, wondering how long I have slept, and was it really that necessarily to wake me up from the land of the dead.

My eyes shoot open and at the sight of him standing in front of me, I coil back, lifting the sheets higher; slipping the shield higher in the face of the enemy.

His eyes widen at my unexpected actions, while eyebrows knitting in a desperate attempt to figure out what's wrong.

And at this exact moment, all I can see is the face of my mother, contorting in fear, shoulders trembling with a gun pointed to her head. Her whimpers tug at my heartstrings, lips quivering, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

I look over him with an unfamiliar look, wondering about the man in front of me. Who is he? Or, should I say, who was he?

"Baby, what's wrong?" His tone is gentle, almost aware of my shattered state. His hand darts out to touch my shoulder but I double back into the headboard.

My second rejection of intimacy causes a frown to etch on his face, eyes brimming to the lids with questions, unanswered questions, waiting to be.

"Don't touch me" I whimper out, my voice breaking in the middle, and I curse out my inability to pull myself together; I'm always coming undone by him.

"What happened? What's wrong? Tell me" He asks calmly and it only adds to my urge to want to slap him, to bring the murderer out of him. The supposed monster who dared to take my mother's life.

"Funny. In fact, I think you're the one who needs to do the talking here" I spit humorlessly, eyes challenging his.

"What? About what?" He asks genuinely perplexed and the concern lines deepen on his forehead. My hand almost involuntarily sticks out to sooth them, but I force it down by my side.

"Umm, I don't know. Well, how about you start explaining why'd you kill my mom" I let out in a squeak, realization evident on all the features on his face. Like, somehow he knew this day would come, he knew this was inevitable; still he did nothing to prevent this from happening. He just kept it hidden from me, in hopes of what? That I'll be naive enough to not figure it out? It wounds me deeply.

"Shit" He stumbles back, color draining from his face, leaving it as white as a sheet.

A few drops of water land on my hands and up until this moment I haven't realized that I've been bawling my eyes out, until I wipe at my face, and the streaks dragging from my eyes downwards my cheeks are proof enough that I am.

After all, I'm reminded this is reality and not just a nightmare.

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A/n:
After a week of literal nothing.
This is progress;)