𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓𝟓

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𝓚𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮

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𝓚𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮

Neither of us spoke a word.

The silence was suffocating as those blue irises looked through my eyes, passed my very soul and sliced their way to my very heart.

A tension so thick we drowned ourselves in it, gasping for air before swimming up to choke out the excess.

The one thing I feared was that absent feeling of betrayal. I couldn't feel it because deep within I knew the truth, and refused to accept it.

What showed in my eyes was solemn emptiness and if only it reflected in his, but they didn't. Instead, I could see a fair glint of emotion in his eyes in the dark room.

There really was a secret, a hidden truth behind those sad blue eyes and I was nearly deceived.

But not fully.

"The utter nerve you have to think of me as a fool . . . " My voice came out cold, low and faded into a grace tone with acid evident within. "Why play the joker, my dear old, Luca?"

The pressure against my throat increased and my expression remained the same, only that my eyes darkened a shade, camouflaged with the darkness we found ourselves in.

He didn't speak a word.

His eyes appeared troubled.

His mind fighting his actions.

His mind? Or heart?

Both in war.

My slim fingers wrapped around his hand, pressing the tip of the knife harder against my neck, prickling my soft skin. Luca's eyes darkened and I knew a drop of blood was visible. If he didn't seem angry before, he now seems entirely provoked, shaking, clutching his jaw.

"Go ahead, love", I spoke with eyes masked by deceitful innocence, "There's more blood to spill. If it's mine you want to flood across the floorboards of your room . . .", I paused, "Slice through my veins."

That was all it took for him to advance.

He threw the knife elsewhere, replacing it with his hand wrapped around my neck, pushing me deeper against the wall, a moan leaving my lips at the sudden action. A gasp was caught at the back of my throat when he slammed his lips onto mine with a strong intensity, hardness and force.

If my lips were wine, he was drinking them to the very last drop until he's drunk.

His hold tightened around my throat, blocking off my airway.

Before he had the chance to cut off any more oxygen from reaching my lungs, my hand reached for the knife in my blazer pocket. With a firm grip, I pressed the blade against his recent wound. Still fresh and entirely unhealed.

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