Chapter 11
Bastard.
I punch him hard against his belly, my fist digging against his rib cages.
He is a wimp. An idiotic wimp.
He thinks he can force his way just because he can easily overpower her.
He believed I would do nothing about it. I would stick around and watch, too scared to lift a finger.
He is mistaken.
I have had enough of this.
It”s not the first time, and she knows it won”t be the last, so I refuse to stand by the fucking sidelines and watch as he beats her frail form, her eyes the same as mine, welling with tears.
She is not crying for help. She doesn’t even tryanymore. She shouldn’t waste her voice like that, anyway. Her voice is for me alone.
Her voice is only meant to whisper soothing words as she kisses me goodnight like I am still her little boy, wanting to preserve the innocence in me, pretending the monster feasting on her doesn’t have his blood pumping through my veins.
Her hands don’t fight back anymore.
She never even asksme for help. How could she? Fighting would mean descending into hell to match the devil and come out victorious.
But today… today is different. I have some of his alcohol in my system today. I took a hit of the mind-fucking shit he keeps hidden in the last shoe rack row in his bedroom. The one with those horrible red leather shoes that he likes. As red as his dyed hair, which also matchesthe color of his bloodshot eyes,to completehis wannabe gangster prick look.
My legs move fast and my hands even faster.
I am in a different zone as I lift him from behind, fisting into his faded shirt and the chinos he’s wearing. I slam him against the television set, and it comes clattering down on him as he hits the floor.
His eyes go dark, and this moment, he sees it.
Now that I stoop to his level, I am his spitting image.
I won’t hold back again.
A wry smile wrings out of his shrunken face as he staggers to his feet, and I curse him. I curse him for being my father. I curse him for keeping my mother imprisoned. I curse him because I know I’m his best leverage.
I plunge, my punch flying and stomping into him. I don’t know where I am hitting but I hear bones crushing and gags. I see crimson and splashes of it dart to my face.
He falls down on the floor, and I go with him.
Today is the day he gets every battering I have had to stand and watch him rain on her. Today is his fucking doomsday.
I pounce. My mother’s screams fuel my rage even though I know she is screaming for me to stop. She can’t stop me. No one can.
But someone does. Emanuele Teso.
“Fabio De Luca!” My mother shrieks.
“Fabio De Luca!” A familiar voice breaks into my chaotic mind. Eva’s voice. “Let him go, Fabio,” she squeaks. “Please!”
I barely come to and realize I’ve got the stupid kid in a chokehold.
I lift my hand to give him a punch that will maybe make him lose two or three of his teeth, but Eva’s shrieking cry leashes around my hand, and halts midair.
I will never understand why good women take pity on men who should be chopped into pieces and fed to dogs.
For her sake, I let go, and he drops to the floor like the deadbeat that he is. Breathing heavily.
“I will kill you if you don’t get the fuck out of my sight,” I grate, and he scrambles on all fours, staggering and gasping for air as he runs away. Blood leaving a trail mark on the pavement, and I fight the predatory urge inside of me to go after him.
I reach into the pocket of my pants and pull out a white handkerchief, scowling at the blood on my knuckles, some of which might be mine. I wipe my hands enough to tone down the mark of violence on them, my body shivering because of the adrenaline, not wanting to face her eyes.
Will she look at me like my mother did?
What will I find when I turn to her?
The same questioning eyes as her father’s or the judging look of my mother?
I grip the handkerchief like an anchor and turn to find wide, electrifying eyes weaving a shockwave of care and endearment into my bones.
“Eva,” I take the first step towards her, unsure what my next words will be but wanting desperately to make her see me, as a good man, as far-fetched as I know that is. She knows that too, but a man can fucking dream, can he not?
Her breathing is a little staggering and I know she might be close to having an episode where she becomes frantic.
I take longer strides towards her, closing the distance. “I am sorry,” I cradle her face with my blood-sticky hands. “Breathe,” I command.
She presses her body into mine, both our hearts beating frantically for different reasons. Mine from the fear that I might have broken her and hers for only God knows what.
“What…” she gasps. “Are you…” she blinks, and I stroke her cheeks tenderly with my thumbs, painting her with residual blood like a victory mark.
In a flash, shetilts up, wrapping her arms around my neckto bring me up to her level, and kissesme.
The kiss is as timid as the giver. Mild, with her tongue teasing my lips. I want to savor the kiss, but instead of getting sucked in, life and reality startle me—a painful reality.
I”m not what she wants. She wasn’t ready for me, for us. She wanted him, and who”sto say she won”t goback to him if he apologizes? One of the reasons I ought to have killed him was to protect myself from that kind of suffering.
“Eva,” I draw back.
“I am sorry,” she chuckles nervously. “I thought…” she pulls back, but it is my turn to hold firm, keeping her close and making sure she sees that she has nothing to be fucking sorry for.
I want to kiss her. I want to touch her. Maybe bite a little and see if it is something she fancies. I want to worship her flawless skin. Bury my head between every crevice of hers and my tongue in every hole that will make her scream with pleasure. Scream my name.
I want to do so many fucking things to her. I bite my lower lip and rein the thoughts in. I should not be thinking of things that strain my fucking cock.
“You wanted him, not me,” I say. “You weren’t ready for us, for any of this.”
“God, Fabio,” she slaps my hands away and slaps her forehead in frustration as she rasps, pacing in a short circuit back and forth. She stops, placing both hands on her hips. “You don’t get it, do you?”
“I do,” I shrug, but she is unto me, a small smack on my chest with both her hands.
“You don’t,” she grunts, a flicker of her father’s vexation in her demeanor. “If you did, you wouldn’t ever say that. It was a show!” She throws both hands in the air. “A fucking show,” the cuss word strange coming from her. “I don’t know the guy. I saw him in class, and he looked like the perfect fit to get you jealous,” she wanders away from me.
“Eva,” I go after her, pulling her by the wrists, but she shrugs away. I can clasp my hand and keep her imprisoned, but there is something that makes me too weak to exert any firmness around her half the fucking time.
She scoffs, shaking her head. Make me jealous? That one worked. But why? Why would she want to make me jealous? She said she never wanted me. She said she didn’t want this.
“He was supposed to make you jealous because I wanted you to fight for me, to show me you want me as much as I want you,” she whisks to face me. “I wanted you to be the man and come after me like I have seen you do with every other thing that is of importance to you,” she says, looking at me with her fists balling by her sides. “I want you, Fabio De Luca. I want to marry you, but you…”
“What?” I intersect.
“You seemed like…”
“Bullshit,” I am in her face, dipping my head so our noses skim, so my breath purrs on the curve of her upper lip. “Who in their fucking right senses wouldn’t want to marry you?” I am not letting my mind think about the words of confession I have just heard. Words making my heart sprint.
She wants me. She did it all for me. She wants to marry me. She feels something for me.
My heart attempts a leap, and I bite down on my teeth to keep it in place.
She wants me.
The words swim around my mind like a halo, illuminating every darkness in me.
“You are it,” I breathe out, my voice losing its tight edge. “You are everything,” and she is. A little too much for me. More than enough for me.
I pin my lips to hers, and as she rasps, parting her lips slightly, body thrumming with a pulsing need mimicking mine, I dive into it. I push my tongue deep into her mouth, her warm breath like fire licking up every cold spot and igniting it with blazing desire.
My hands can’t stay still beside me, so I let them explore for a short while. I allow myself this heaven before I spin us back into hell. One hand goes to push her lower to back to press her to me so she feels not just my screaming erection but my pounding heart. So she feels the effect of her existence on me.
My other hand goes around her neck, and I swallow her mouth, her moan, and her fire.
I kiss her hard and breathlessly. I kiss her like it’s the first time. I kiss her like I have been exposed to drought all my life and I have been tossed into a stream of pure ecstasy.
I kiss her, suck on her tongue, and let mine lead hers in a dance of pleasure.
I want to rip her dress apart. I want to let my hand explore more than just the curve of her back. I want to hear her moan my name. I want to pleasure her here and now. Taste her, feel her, devour her. I want it all.
But there is no going back if I let myself eat the forbidden fruit.
I could barely cope after just one kiss on her eighteenth birthday. How much more after now and even worse, after I taste her in the ways I have been dreaming of?
“Hmm,” I breathe in and slow the kiss down. I rip my hands away from her like she burns, and I stumble back. My Innocent devil. “I want to marry you, Eva,” I gulp. “But I can’t.”