Lemon Like Love

Head Over Heels

~Lenna's pov~

I punched the tree harder this time, frustration coursing through my veins. The pain that shot through my knuckles was a welcomed distraction from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. Each blow against the rough bark served as a release, a physical manifestation of the anger and confusion that had consumed me. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I continued to unload my pent-up energy onto the unyielding trunk. Blood trickled down my hand, mixing with the dirt and sweat that clung to my skin. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in my heart—the ache that came from the thought that I was still a monster. A murderer.

As I stood there, panting and battered, I couldn't help but wonder if this relentless assault on the tree was truly a means of redemption or merely an illusion of control. It was as if the weight of my sins was etched into every scar on my hands, a constant reminder of the monster I believed myself to be.

The world may have moved on, but I was forever haunted by the echoes of my past actions, forever branded as a murderer in my own eyes. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, the guilt and shame lingered like a dark cloud over my conscience. Each swing of my fists against the tree trunk felt like a feeble attempt to silence the demons within me to drown out the accusatory voices that whispered in my ear. But deep down, I knew that no amount of physical exertion could erase the stains on my soul.

"Lenna STOP" Matteo yelled as he grabbed my hand, pulling me away from the tree. His grip was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the rage and turmoil that consumed me. I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of understanding or solace, but all I saw was concern and fear. He knew the darkness that plagued me and the weight of my guilt, but he also knew that violence was not the answer.

"You need to cry," he said softly, his voice filled with compassion. "Let it all out, Lenna. It's okay to feel the pain and release it." His words resonated within me, piercing through the numbness that had settled over my heart.

I chuckled weakly.

"I'm not a crybaby. I don't need tears to solve my problems," I retorted, my voice laced with a mix of stubbornness and vulnerability. But deep down, I knew he was right. I had been holding onto my pain for far too long, pretending to be strong when all I wanted was to break down and let it all go.

"What's wrong with being a crybaby?" He asked as he stepped closer to me, his eyes soft with understanding. The genuine concern in his voice made my walls crumble, and I couldn't help but take a step back, overwhelmed by the emotions threatening to spill out.

" I'm a monster," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The weight of my words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the room grow colder with the darkness that enveloped me. His hand reached out hesitantly, as if afraid I would shatter at his touch. But instead of pulling away, I found myself yearning for his warmth—for someone to see the darkness within and still find a sliver of light.

"You're not a monster. You never were, and besides, I like crybabies," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity. His words pierced through the darkness that had consumed me, and for a moment, I felt a glimmer of hope. I looked up at him, tears glistening in my eyes, unsure if I could believe his words.

"Why?" I asked, my eyes brimming with tears.

" Because," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "I see the pain you carry and the walls you've built to protect yourself. But I also see the kindness in your heart and the strength that still lingers beneath your scars. And I can't help but be drawn to that, to you." His words touched a tender part of my soul, and in that moment, I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for me yet.