IN LOVE WITH HIM

02

I was cold, that was the only thought that crossed my mind when I opened my eyes and saw what a mess I was in: I was tied tightly to a chair with tape stuck to it. To the mouth. Was this the end? What was I doing here?

My thoughts became tangled one after the other. The authenticity shocked me more fiercely than I would have expected. I had been kidnapped, then after that, tied up and locked up in this dismal place for a reason that was not entirely unknown to me. I knew what my sire was in, so I didn't have to look far. I also knew that I was not going to survive this situation. I breathe in and out, my eyes close, I suppress a sob while my stomach twists with fear in my stomach: my heart beats horribly in my carotid artery, my breathing is almost non-existent, I feel like I'm suffocating without really do it.

I had a realization about my current situation: there is no escape, all I can do right now is pray that the death that awaits me will not be slow and painful , but that too, I have the impression that it is something that I will not have the chance to know. I don't accept what awaits me, I just face the facts: there, in this dark and dingy room, no one will come to save me, not even my father.

Silent tears rolled down my cheeks, as I felt the sniffles, my head fell back, I began to think of all the times I refused to let my father watch me or even accompany me by his henchmen. Today, I regret... But regret will not change anything in my situation, I am already condemned.

The sooner I accepted it, the less painful it would be. We do not prepare ourselves in this type of situation, we can only wait with fear for death to come and get us, hoping that God will have pity on us and give us even a small place in his kingdom.

- A quick death please, a bullet in the head, and it will be fine, I thought.

Those were my last words and my last thoughts, I would have liked to see Kayra one last time... And dad too. Even though he didn't really show me his love, I knew it from the kisses he gave me on the forehead when he thought I was sleeping, that he loved me. Why would he do that if he didn't love me? Why would he insist every day that I be accompanied by his guards if he didn't love me? My father loves me, I know it.

The door to the gloomy place in which I was held prisoner opened almost roughly, instantly making me feel a jolt of fear. Two large, intimidating bodies appeared in my field of vision, moving with blatant confidence in my direction. Immediately my carotid artery resumed its tenacious beating, even going so far as to distort the features of my face.

My stomach churned and my vision blurred. Fear flowed freely through every vein of my body, spreading to my brain, preventing me from having the slightest coherent thought. Nothing was in place in my head. All I saw was my death coming. Once the two men reached my level, my eyes widened, my heart stopped, every cell in my body came into pose, the swallow I was about to do stuck with me. across the throat. My frightened gaze focused on the man who seemed to be the least threatening.

“Swallow,” he said, abruptly removing the tape from my lips.

My hairs stand on end, I turn livid, the man I was looking at with fear had finally ended up articulating, five letters, a single word, yet it was enough to make my heart drop into my stomach.

-P-sorry? I stammered.

-Your swallowing, swallow.

My eyes widened further at his thick Italian accent as I slowly swallowed the thick glob of saliva stuck in my throat. The man in front of me smirked at me and moved even closer to me. The beige three-piece suit he wore and his well-groomed haircut told me that he must surely have just come back from a party or something like that, unlike him, the man who stood at his Left was wearing a black hoodie and green cargo jeans. His head was shaved, while a piercing adorned his nose and eyebrow bone. A tattoo of a death skull rested on the left side of his neck. He was the very definition of a bandit.

- pecora, do you know why you are here?

“pecora?”

He gives my chair a brutal kick, I jump with a cry of surprise, but stop all movement when he gently places his index finger on his lips to order me to be quiet:

- capisci l’italiano? Articule, the man in the beige suit.

- p-sorry?

He smiles, then pulls a gun from his jacket and slurs again, but more firmly this time.

-Ti faccio di nuovo la domanda, capisci l’italiano?

- I-I don’t understand…

- open your mouth treasure.

My eyes rest with fear on the weapon he holds dangerously in his right hand. He asks me to open my mouth, but why?

-w-why? I ventured to ask.

- to play monopoly, now open that mouth for me.

- please... I beg you, I sobbed while sniffling.

- open it ! . His tone was dry, his gaze menacing and his build impressive. I was scared for my f*****g life. I open my mouth and internally pray my last prayers, I pray that this death will be quick and not slow and painful.

The barrel of the gun went straight into my mouth, the cold metal made me shiver and my heart stopped beating for a second:

-cavolo, capisci l’italiano?

I shake my head negatively and let tears roll down my cheeks, I cry silently, not at all prepared for the death that awaits me.

- do you understand Italian?

I shook my shaking head and closed my eyes so as not to see what was coming next, but nothing came, the difference was that there was no longer a gun in my mouth. I open my eyes, fearful, and notice that the man no longer had his gun in his hand. From his facial expressions, I'm pretty sure he's evaluating me. Finally, he articulates, but in Italian:

-Think of this as saying the truth.

He sizes me up for a moment, then turns to his sidekick:

-lasciamo this posto squallido.