Promised pain

Nine

Levine Romanov
Hope is such a little bitchy thing to feel.
Because it's been two days and I haven't gotten more texts from the bastard, so guess what? Hope bloomed inside my stomach and erupted like a ray of sunshine as Enzo would say.

That hope crumbles as my hand trembles around the phone, staring at the text, dread fills my bones, sure, I got texts before, a lot like I earlier said, but they usually get bored, this guy, if it's even a he, is fucking persistent.

It's scaring the shit out of me, my lips part in terror as a haunted gasp leaves my lips when I take in what happens next.

He sent a photo.
Of me.
At college.

The bodyguard Enzo made me accompany stands a few inches behind me even in the picture, but it's nothing comforting, he's that close, too close, shivers erupt all over my skin like an avalanche of blood.

The door clicks and I startle, my eyes following the sound as a shadow casts over the room, and I expect to see my childhood friend's face.

I see the exact opposite of him.
Rio Volkov stands in the hallway with a tipsy smirk of his.

A glare thickens through my eyes and I direct it on none other than him, it's stupid, this whole thing feels highly sentimental on my part, "Levine, my beloved little friend." The sarcasm in his tone is unlike another.

I offer a dry blank expression and try to erase the earlier horror that was probably on my face, at least try to hide it, because I'm scared shitless, my stomach dropping, heart jumping, and limbs weakening.

My mind starts to reform scenarios from the past, scenarios I've learned to indulge and forget, or at least tried to, and the last thing I should do now is compare both situations.

"Where is Enzo?" I ask instead, swallowing the arising lump in my throat, you're fine, Levine, fucking fine, the assurance barely works and I have to turn away from him the closer he gets.

If he's anything like Enzo, he'll see through the weak barriers I'm barely holding together at this very moment, and that's the last thing I want right now.

"He stopped by to buy something, on his way as we speak." He says and warmth fills my body at the promise of feeling safe again, I try to recall the affirmations my therapist would recommend, but frankly, they never worked for that matter.

After what happened, my parents recommended therapy, my mom was more persistent about it, she said she didn't want me creating an illusion of being happy and enjoying my life to be my whole character, she said she didn't want me like her.

It broke me, my mother is one of the most beautiful people I've ever met, the fact that she even hated herself at some point throughout her life wrenched something inside of me.

She's compassionate, kind, absolutely loving and doting, she's my best friend, always was and always will be, the best mother too.

The sudden shift in my thoughts to my parents calms me to an extent I didn't know existed, I release a soft breath and stare ahead of me, hearing Rio's footsteps but choosing to ignore them.

Also, I left therapy years ago for that unfinished topic, it was boring, repetitive, and basically nothing useful, I switched to a psychiatrist and got the diagnosis with depression, and attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder.

As I said, it was no surprise, everyone said I was a loud and extremely energetic kid, one who didn't shut up and always talked, they liked to describe it that way yeah, throwing insults in a more formal way.

My mom wouldn't be able to control herself whenever someone made a joke about it, even when I swallowed it down, mom fought, she yelled and threatened, dad did too, he was just discreet about it, because well, his way included guns and...knives.