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She's no longer in love with me. She loves him now.
Even with that knowledge, nothing stings as much as the three words she made sure I understood.
I.
Hate.
You.
Those three words have etched into my broken heart. Those three words are all I can hear. All I can think about.
All I can see is the look in her eyes. The broken look in her eyes.
I broke her.
I walk out of the bakery and Buck and Nilo are standing by the door. They look like they've seen a ghost.
"Go inside. Make sure she's okay." I order them.
They stand there shocked for a moment before nodding and heading inside.
I wipe my tears. I wipe and I wipe and I wipe. But they only seem to be multiplying.
I pull my hood over my head and walk over to the car. I get in and slam the door shut. I drop my head onto the wheel.
"Fuck!" I cry out.
She's married.
She has a child.
She's a mother.
My heart breaks as I imagine it. Her holding a little baby in her arms. I know for a fact she is the best mother in the world.
Seeing her again was like falling in love again. I knew I missed her. I felt it. Every second of the last two years all I felt was longing. But when I saw her, when I touched her I truly realized the depth of that longing.
My body, heart and soul pled to be near her. They begged for her mercy. For her touch. For her warmth. For her presence.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I swipe my sleeves against my cheeks and start driving.
When I reach the mafia house, about 10 guards stand by the gate. Lucas walks up to the car, his hand on the gun that sits in his holster.
I put my window down. "Open the door, Lucas."
And again, I'm met with the ghost seen look.
Oh come the fuck on.
"Uh-Capo- I-I- I'll have to call the Don."
"Yeah do that. While you're at it open the god damn door."
Turns out I still have some sort of authority because he nods and opens the door. I drive my car in and park it. Quickly getting out and making my way in the house, I notice the small car toy that sits on the stair case.
I pick it up and have to swallow the lump that forms in my throat. Her kid. It's her kids toy.
I really thought that when I'd be talking about her kids, I'd also be talking about mine but life doesn't always turn out how you want it to.
I put it in my pocket and head upstairs. I go in my room first.
I have no idea why I expected my room to look used. Or lived in. I have no idea why I expected her to sleep in my room.
It's untouched. Clean but obviously not lived in.
Before leaving I notice the bottle of scotch that sits on top of my dresser. It sits next to 3 other bottles of liquor. I pick it up, open it and take a huge sip.
The liquid burns my throat but nothing burns more than the words she said. Nothing burns more than the consequences of my own actions.
I close the door, break my own heart and head over to Marco's room.
Yeah, there it is. A stinging way worse than the sixth sip I take.
Marco's room.
It's definitely lived in. A lavender pyjama set is thrown messily on the bed, a smaller version of the same thing next to it. Marco's pyjamas sit next to it.
The two nightstands are filled with their stuff.
The left one obviously belongs to isabella. A small stack of books sits on it. There's a few pacifiers on her table.
The right one has a few cufflinks, a watch and a few hair ties sitting on it.
I put the bottle to my mouth and take another sip.
Toys are spread out on the floor. And the worst thing is the pictures. There's a few picture frames.
A picture of Isabella and a little kid. She's not smiling. Isabellas pressing her lips to the child's forehead.
She looks just like Isabella. Her eyes. Her lips. Her dimples.
The other picture is a picture of all three of them. This time Marco is holding the little girl in his arms.
And the last picture is Callan holding the little girl. He smiles as the little girl looks at him. In the back, Isabella stands, smiling as she watches them.
I pick the picture off of the table and hold it to my heart.
I take another sip of the scotch and lay it on the table. I stumble back and fall to the floor. I lean back against the bed, clutch the picture close to my heart and let the tears flow down my face.
"Alessio?"
My head whips to my right at his voice. Callan and Marco stand at the door, their faces pale in shock.
"What's up?" I blame my nonchalant behaviour on my the alcohol.
"What's up?" Callan mutters angrily. "How about why the fuck are you not dead?"
I ignore him and move my gaze to Marco. Correction: A crying Marco.
"You're not dead?" Marco croaks out.
"Nope. That shitty doctor was wrong." I say.
Actually he wasn't wrong; he was lying.
Callan now understands. He knows why I faked my death. Matter of fact, he helped me plan it.
"Congratulations." I attempt to wink at Marco.
Im too drunk for this shit.
His face scrunches up in confusion. "The fuck are you talking about? Does Isabella know about this?"
"You married her. Saw an opportunity and jumped at it, didn't you? Your daughters cute." I pull back to look at the picture. "Looks just like her." I admit.
"And here's the thing Marco," I stand up and drop the frame to the floor. "I'm so happy for her." I cry. "You'd think I'd be mad or angry. But no, I'm so fuckin' happy for her."
"You're drunk." Marco says. "So you fake your death. You lie about it and come back 2 years later. And you're drunk?"
I almost fall to the floor but instead of catching me, he throws a punch to my face.
I stumble back and catch myself before I fall to the floor. I face his angry eyes and put my hand up defensively.
"You know, this is the second time this is happening. I'm starting to get really pissed off." I slur my words, feeling wetness on my cheek.
Fuck, am I still crying?
Callan's silent. Surprisingly he has only said a few words. But the look in his eyes, it says everything I need to know. He's angry. He's hurt. He's disappointed.
"Do you know how much damage you caused?" Marco says.
"You seem to be taking it well. How long after my death did you marry?" I snap back. I furrow my brows, grab the bottle of scotch and take another big sip.
My heart hurts. My heart hurts because I know she's hurting. All I want to do is comfort her and make her feel better but she doesn't want me anywhere near her.
"10 days." Callan mutters.
I don't think I've ever sobered up this fast.
"What?" I drop the bottle.
Marco looks down guiltily. Swallows. Looks back up again. "Talk to her and she'll tell you everything." He speaks.
10 days? God, Isabella, you mourned me for 10 days before you moved on?
"Oh I did." I use the bed to get up. "And she didn't hold back."
He furrows his brows.
"She's in love with you. You guys have a kid. You must be really happy."
The words hurt. The words hurt so damn much.
He shakes his head. "Talk to her." He repeats. "If you still love her talk to her."
"But you know what Marco?" My words are barely understandable so I'm kind of shocked when he raises his brow.
"What?" He says.
I hold back a sob, shut my eyes, let a few tears pour out of it then look back at him again. I push past the giant ball of guilt and pain in my throat and say, "I wanted to be that man."
They both look at me with a confused look. Eyebrows raised. Eyes slightly squinted.
"I-" I wipe my hand against my eyes. "I wanted to be the man that marries her. I wanted to be the father of her children. I wanted to be the man that held her hand as she gave birth. I wanted that!" I yell the last sentence.
A sob breaks past my lips. I suck in a shaky breath. "Marco, I wanted that. I wanted a life with her. A family. I wanted to be loved by her."
A long painful silence settles between us.
When my gaze moves to Callan, he's wiping his tears.
"I love her." Marco starts. I tear my eyes away from Callan and glance at Marco. His eyes are filled with pain.
"I love her and even I can see that she's still in love with you. Even when we were just children. She loved you then and she loves now. So stop being a fucking asshole and just talk to her." He says.
God I wish. I wish she still loved me. I wish you were right, Marco.
"Whatever. Can one of you guys drive me to my house?"
I wipe my eyes. I wipe my eyes and attempt to wipe the guilt and hurt and anger away. I wipe my eyes and wish she still loved me. I wipe my eyes and fill my heart with regret.
I wipe my eyes and realize I am nothing if not hers.
I tell Callan and Marco what happened. I ask them to drive me to where I've been living. After they leave, I lock the door and simmer in my lonesome.
And just like I have for the last two years, I open the drawer of my nightstand, take one of the 10 perfumes and spray it on the pillow next to me.
Miss Dior Blooming Bouquet.
Her perfume.
I lay down, hug the pillow close to me and close my eyes. I close my eyes and hope that somehow for the first time I don't wake up with a nightmare.
Turns out, ...I was foolish to hope.
✧༺♥༻∞ ∞༺♥༻✧
Word count: 1773
Sorry for posting late u guys I was out today. Hope u liked it.
Be kind to ur selves. Remember that you are amazing, beautiful and so full of love. I love you so much and I hope you have a good week.