[COMPLETED]
♦️ A story about love, born from revenge ♦️
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She, as a free spirit had an immense passion for life, and due to her desire to live it as wholly as possible, she needed as much freedom as she...
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I was sitting with my knees tucked to my chest in Diego's study room, on his couch, blanket covering my legs as I read Crime and Punishment in its original language - Russian.
When it came to books, I was always a picky reader. I couldn't read just anything. I mean, with my photographic memory, the book would stay with me forever. So I had to be picky if the books always affected me in some way.
I was always reading until I was almost cross-eyed and the words merged into nonsense. I lived each page in breathless rapture, the characters leaping out at me.
And this book...Dostoevsky's writing was so eloquent, so masterful, having you feel with and relate to the main character, Raskolnikov, despite him being a self-absorbed murderer. The story itself was truly provoking one and I just couldn't stop reading.
And even if I could, I didn't want to. It helped me to escape my reality, it made me forget about Diego.
He's been gone for two weeks and two days now and I haven't heard from him the whole time.
He told me that there was a possibility he could not contact me for the amount of time being gone and I was kind of okay with that. Because back then, I didn't know he would be gone for two weeks. I was starting to get worried he wouldn't make it to the wedding which was happening in five days.
If it weren't for Warren, who had returned with me from Russia, I wouldn't know whether Diego was alive or his cold body was lying somewhere under some random bridge.
All I knew was that he flew to Italy to give that chip to somebody. I have no idea what happened after that. He never called, never texted. My only source of information was Warren.
I was so angry with Diego, but deep down I knew that if he were here now, my anger would melt away. I missed him. I know it sounds petty, but I really, really missed him.
I missed his smile, his touch, I missed the way he was looking at me when I caught him staring or the way he furrowed his eyebrows while working or thinking about something important to him.
