Honest

forty-one

Giuseppe

I feel queasy. I hear her stomping after me.

I clear my throat, trying to ignore her scent.

"Anyway, I'll admit, I...in going through some things, but this one-off, a bad decision inspired by Vodka, and if course," I pause, looking her in eyes.

Those beautiful eyes. "Had nothing to do with you. Or us. It's not that big a deal, y'know? I'm a Mob boss for f***s sake, if it was a big deal if be in trouble," I laugh, spinning around.

I hate that she saw that. I don't look at it. I'll probably tattoo over it later. I liked the sensation though.

It burned. It hurt. Just a little. And then it bled. One drop. Two drops. Three. And I did it. I controlled it.

I feel like, I don't have a lotta control right now. To say the fuckig least.

Not over myself, not over anything. Which is amazing, because I run a criminal empire. I have thosands of people at my beck and call.

How the hell can I feel this...all encompassing, black hole in the middle of my f*****g gut helplessness?

It's amusing honestly. And I thought I could will the feeling away. But I can't. I can't make it disappear.

There's something terribly wrong with me, I've noticed.

And...I don't know what to do.

So I cut my skin. It's not a big deal. I'm not gonna die from it. But it's just another cycle I'm stuck in now.

Sometimes I do it to feel in control.

Sometimes I do it, because I need to hurt someone, her, usually, but I don't want to, so I...take it out on my self.

Other times I just do it cause for that second I'm watching those three drops. Those seconds I make sure I don't cut any important artery or vein, I don't think about her.

I don't think about anything.

I just feel the sting. It's nice. I like it. But I hate the scars. I think I hate myself more.

It's probably what this is. I hate the scars, and I could just use some stuff and make them go away...

But I don't. I stare at them and look them, and feel pathetic. Weak and, distusting. And f****d up and...

There's something terribly wrong with me, isn't there?

You see it, don't you?

I see it.

I see it more now. This wasn't her fault.

"Giuseppe, come on, we're going to go to sleep now," she takes my hand.

"N-no," I pull away from her, clearing the f*****g weakness from my voice.

I'm so f*****g weak.

"No. You're gonna go home. And the next time you come to my house, you will be excorted off the premises."

I shrug her off. "Last warning, Desiree."

"Then give me a good night kiss."

Oh, I really want one. I want to taste her lips on mine.

But I shouldn't.

No. Because if I do, then I'll hurt trying to keep her here with me.

I can't do that to her.

"No thank you," I respond gruffly.

She stops me, using more of her strength than I've ever seen. She turns me around towards her.

"Come here," She whispers.

I stare at her lips. "I appreciate the sentiment," I force a smile on my mouth, "But no thanks."

"Come here," She repeats.

I step closer, frowning. "Good night kisses arent important, you should go home"

"Giuseppe," she pulls me closer. I don't resist. "If I stayed here, and went to work a few hours a day, could you deal?"

I shake my head. "You should go."

"I've decided you're my boyfriend,.and I'm gonna stay here with you, is that okay?"

I snap to my senses, shaking her off I smile.

"I told you, has nothing to do with you. You don't need to feel bad. I don't want or need your pity. Don't force yourself to be with me, because you think I'm gonna go kill myself or something."

I stalk away from her. "If I was going to do that, I'd cut up," I remark flatly. "So see yourself out. I'm perfectly fine."

There's something terribly wrong with me, isn't there?