TAINTED

5| Handling Pain

"They say time suppose to heal you, but I haven't done much healing" -Adele

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LORENZIO'S P.O.V

*FLASHBACK TO 11 YEARS AGO*

"Papa!!! Mama is sick, she won't eat, talk or do nothing"
I cried to the stone heart that was known to be my father.

"She is ok. She is just seeking attention that I don't have the time to give" He said as he shrugged and dismissed me.

"If anything happens to my mama I will never forgive you. Mark my words papa, I swear it on mama's life!" I shouted after him as I ran out of his office and towards my mothers room.

I was so talkative and lively back then.

I used to have a ray of light over me, but now it's gone.

She is gone.

I will always hate him for it.

Always.

..........................

Two weeks after my confrontation with my father, my mom died.

Well not exactly. She didn't just die.

She was murdered.

She was poisoned from the mind.

And it was him. He murdered my mom.

She was found in her bathtub with her wrists sliced open and the tub filled with sweet crimson water. She was lifeless yet still the most beautiful sight to me.

I was so shocked I didnt cry after her death.

I still haven't cried...........

I have just been full...........

And all the love I once felt is now sweet aroma of hatred, biterness and anger.

And as promised, I hated my father the entire time.

I trained myself to near death on various occasions just so I could be equipped enough to kill him one day.

*END OF FLASHBACK*

As karma and faith would have it, the bitch now has stage four prostate cancer.

I guess fucking down the entire Italy didn't pay much.

It's sort of a sick self comfort to see him go through all this pain and suffering alone. Just like my mama suffered silently and alone.

I take great pleasure in watching all this unfold.
However, for the persons on the outside looking in, I need to paint the picture that my father and I are a lovable duo and I am very disheartened by his sickness.

That role is very hard to play but I can atleast try to have respect for him. It's only fair because whether I hate him or not, he was my motivation to get stronger, regardless of the motive behind it.

My driver drove me up to the safe house closest to the main mansion where my father was kept to live out his last days.

When I got there, all the helpers and attendants who basically grew me was there brimming with warmth and excitement.

If they only knew the depth of frost that I carry around with me now, they would have added a little more heat to their warmth.

It was sad, but I was not the same 12 year old baby they took care of. I am not the same person to sit and cry and mope over my problems.