The Mafia King's Obsession

Chapter 19- Lows

I plant myself on Lusso's bed and nibble on my grilled cheese sandwich Rixon brought. He's just left, after I thanked him for my food and water Lusso was quick to kick him out. He seemed very uncomfortable with him in his room. 

Lusso rest next to me, exhaustion clinging to his face. I eat fast, wanting to go to back to sleep as well. I greedily gulp the water, needing it desperately after days without. Water has never tasted this good. Is this special water?

Finally we're comfortably sunken into the dark sheets, warm skin pressed against my bruises. Every part of me either aches or throbs, relentlessly causing me discomfort. But it's more than the physical pain that's tormenting me. 

Tears start slow, eventually gaining momentum and tumbling in hot streams. I try to peel my face away from his chest, not wanting him to know and think I'm pitiful. Turns out, I did the exact opposite of what I was trying to. 

He perks up, not happy with my attempt to move away from him. He grips the sheets around me, using them to pin me down. He touches my face, then runs his fingers under my wet, bottom eyelashes. 

"Bella. Talk to me," he tucks me into his neck. The guilt and concern in his voice is pulpable, and I feel worse for crying. I don't want him to think this is his fault. Further upset with myself, I sob harder and cling tighter to him. 

"I- I don't k-know." I talk around hiccupping sobs. "I just- I miss... h-home." 

He's quiet, but I listen as his heart beats every so slightly heavier. "I'm so sorry." He says on a breath, like it wasn't meant to actually leave his lips. 

"Why... why me?" I try and control my breathing. He runs his hands through my hair, tenderly separating the knots. 

"Someday I'll tell you," he speaks heartfully, and I sense a deeper connotation. 

"So there... is a r-reason?" I whimper, pain still lingering in my heart. 

"Yes," he delays his answer, and I wish he would just tell me now. I want to know why I'm here. I want to know why I have undeniable feelings for the supposed monster that brought me here. I can't seem to understand my heart and mind, or why even if I could leave here I know deep down I wouldn't. 

My cries quiet after a while, as sleep overtakes my need to express my sadness. My drifting is halted by a deep voice. "I'm going somewhere tomorrow morning. I might need your help when I get back... You'll be here?" even in my lucid state, I can detect the hope in his voice.

"I'll be here," I pass out with my head in the crook of his neck. 

*****

The bed is cold when I wake up. I reach for the light to find myself alone, even though I already knew I was. On autopilot my body motions through a shower, and I shamelessly use Lusso's body wash. 

 Should I look in the mirror? I stare at the tile floor in nothing but my bra and underwear, struggling to move my incredible tender body. Everything ordinary task is ten times harder, and taking a shower was a feat. 

I eventually find the courage to look up. Bruises litter my porcelain skin, hideous blue hues blending to sickening rotted plum. I gasp at the yellow bags under my eyes, my green veins more prominent beneath my colorless skin. A ghost is staring back at me. 

The only thing that makes me recognizable is my coppery brown hair, flames of red licking at my scalp where my roots grow out. I've been dyeing it for years, my mother always reminded me what an abomination it was, and the habit eventually stuck. 

The door to the bedroom swings open then shut, so I throw Lusso's large shirt over my head and head out the bathroom. 

 Lusso stands still, stiff in the center of the room. I notice something immediately wrong, and I slowly creep towards him like a bunny approaching a carrot under a propped box. Tap. 

"Lusso?" I try to pull his empty gaze back to reality, as he just stares blankly at me. Tap. 

His dark eyes flicker ever so gently, almost looking present. Almost. Tap. His whole body seems to lack life. His skin is waxy and pale, lacking luster in ever sense of the word. 

Tap. Tap.

I scan the room for a source to the repetitive noise. I find nothing unusual in the room, so my eyes land back on Lusso. Then I see the ground beneath him. 

Blood. A puddle of blood is pooling next to his right foot. Tap. Another drop falls out the sleeve of his dark leather jacket, drips down the inside of his hand, before joining the others on the floor. 

His glassy eyes follow mine as I realize exactly what's wrong. I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold in a scream, my eyes bulging so much I think they'll fall out of my face. 

I gather myself and hastily rush to him, removing the leather from his torn arms. His once long sleeved shirt had been cut into a raggedy tank top, probably cut by the same blade that sliced his arms. 

On further investigation of the cuts, they don't appear knife-like. They're far to jagged, skin ripped forcefully and brutally. There's nothing clean or orderly about it. Wounds run horizontal and vertical across every inch of his arms, some deep gashes, others shallow nicks. 

"What was this done with Lusso?" I question firmly, needing to snap him out of his haze enough to help me. 

"Glass," his voice airy and empty. 

Of every thought running in my mind, only one can be put into coherent English. What the f**k? 

I guide him to the bathroom, sitting him on the edge of the ceramic bathtub. 

"You smell like me," he eyes hold a spark a life, before it flickers out and is gone. I would do anything to see it come back. But what really hits me, is that even in a time like this, Lusso King still manages to make me blush.