DECEPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

PROLOGUE

I loved early mornings. I could have less than four hours of sleep and still summon an unfathomable amount of energy to climb out of bed at the crack of dawn to witness the incarnadine tinctures of sunrise.

Suppose you travelled further afield, three miles north, where acres of woodland unfurled behind the street of unneighbourly occupants. In that case, you will find me near the steady stream, perched on a coarse-grained rock, Arlo's Sony Walkman cassette player and headphones in possession, relaxing in mother nature's palm, escaping the realities of life.

It is the best part of any day, alone time, blissful quietude and simplicity itself. Everyone else is asleep, except the cawing birds rustling above in the highest branches of trees, leaving me alone with my thoughts to contend with, the only opportunity for self-reflection. It is necessary for change, to step back and think of ways to put the world to rights, to get my life in order, to try and understand why I mess up all the time.

I should be kinder to myself, but I am prone to anxiety, and when I fail to meet expectations, I hold myself accountable. I overthink whenever I fall short of perfectionism when I disappoint the hand that feeds me because I am a people pleaser. People pleasers worry too much about the opinions of others, especially those responsible for your existence.

I want to be better if only I knew how.

Guilt and shame have eaten away at whatever confidence I had. I used to be happy, grateful, and full of life, but lately, morning, noon, and night, I feel unhappy, ungrateful and spiritless.

Worthless.

Dead inside.

A huge disappointment.

I don't see the point in living anymore, not when I am so miserable, not when the light at the end of the tunnel has turned into ominous darkness.

How will my story end?

Will I face the river, the turbulent flow of water, to eliminate suffering once and for all?

Will I find the courage to swallow my mother's pills instead of counting them every night before bed?

Will I step out in front of a moving vehicle rather than imagine how impactful the bonnet would feel against my body?

Will I ever be brave enough to defeat those who continue to hurt me?

A soft wind whispered through the scraggly ends of my hair. I pinched a blond strand between my thumb and forefinger, wondering why Yolanda hadn't taken the hair clippers to it yet. It's unlike her to let it grow to this length without making a fuss.

Yolanda.

My mother.

Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time?

Is it wrong to visualise and crave the freedom I'd endure if she ceased to exist?

Is it weird that I care too much to find out?