105. Handsome Sleeper
Martin
I delivered blow after blow to Marco's face. I don't think. I don't listen. I only feel the muted roar of rage exploding in my chest like an uncontrollable volcano. Each punch is the exact translation of my frustration, my fear, the despair that gnaws at me. Each hit is not just against him, but against fate, against failure, against the damn possibility of having lost Susy forever.
Marco's face no longer has a human shape. It's a bruised, swollen mass, covered in blood and pain. Just a grotesque echo of what it once was. But that doesn't stop me. It's not enough for me. There's no punishment that can fix what almost happened. There's no blow strong enough to erase the image of her being kidn*pped, in danger, far from me.
Finally, I let him go. He collapses
