RAGE

Chapter 18. Masochistic Scarlett.

Scarlett.

You know that feeling when you thought you couldn't find an escape and then you did and it felt like a dream.
Thats how it felt running away from Italy.

Waking up in a ship loaded with drugs, with a worried brother, and millions of euros in a trash bag.
It may not look like a big deal.
But I had fallen in love with that ship.
I had fallen in love with the ocean that surrounded us.
But mostly for the first time in my life.
I tasted freedom.

I had promised to myself. No matter what.
When hope comes knocking on my door. Instead of letting it go. I will embrace it.
I will hope.
Because hope is all that we got.
Something to keep us moving.
Something that gives us the will to fight.

It was almost two years ago that I found hope in a ship.
And now hope came inside a man, with dark eyes, ruthless face and a gun in his waist band.
His name is Rage.

Rage is my hope.

Call me masochistic.
I don't mind.
He doesn't gives you any reason to believe he is a good man. Infact he won't be the first person you would put your trust, mind, body, soul and heart into.
But I will.
Because he is the only man in this world who can touch me and make me forget that I am just a shell.

He makes me feel.
Something that I never allowed myself.

I feel so many mixed emotions with him.
Anger.
Hatred.
Disgust.
Safeness.
Need.
Love.
Lust...

How can you allow to give yourself willingly to a man who did everything in his will to make you his.

I am not going to say I enjoyed watching Rage putting a bullet in Tony's shoulder.
I am not even going to say that I wasn't stupid enough to not pull the trigger on him when I had a chance to.
Infact I am everything you think that I am.

I watched him drenched in blood of those who defied him and dared to hurt the ones he chose to protect. When it wasn't even his job to do.

I also watched him shoot Tony, simply because he touched me or talked to me.

Now what do you do when the man who has a darker aura than the good one, is in love with you?
Its pretty simple.
You leave. You run. And you wish he never catches you.

So why don't I?

I was seven years old when I was first molested.
He was one of my father's right hand man.
Roger.
He wasn't the only one.
To be honest, I lost count of the number of men who touched me with their vile hands.
I lost count of the many times I was made to do disgusting things from a very young age.
I lost count of the many times when I lost my voice for days because I screamed too much.

I lost count of the many times I tried to kill myself.

Imagine waking up everyday and looking at yourself in the mirror and realising how your skin still belongs to those dirty vile things.
Imagine waking up everyday to find those ugly scars marring your body, reminding you of the ordeal you went though.
Imagine waking up and coming to terms with the fact that you would never be able to allow someone to come close to you because it made you feel disgusted and afraid.

Now Imagine the good part.
Waking up in the morning and realising, someone chooses to love you even though he has seen your demons.
Waking up in the morning and realising someone worshipped your body all night, making you forget that you are infact dirty.

Imagine. Just once. Again.
Waking up and realising you are not afraid anymore. Realising, that someone has made you brave, confident and comfortable.