ALESSANDRO, AKA DON VALENTINO.
I sit in the corner of the room watching her sleep. I grip the armrests on the chair.
I told her I wouldn't leave, and that I'd wake her up if she started to scream for help.
I lied.
I won't be here shortly.
I plan to visit this Derek guy and give him a piece of my mind while my hands do all the talking.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my zip lighter, flip it open, and then shut it.
Rage consumes me, I need to occupy my hands before they tear this room apart.
And I don’t understand why.
I’d like to think I bear no soul. It's easier this way when I look down at my blood-stained hands after a hard night at work.
Ivy is my choice of poison. She is innocent. Beautiful and f*****g divine to look at, even with that f*****g hideous scar along her
