Page 59 of Bastian

Angry at him.

At myself.

At the world.

So angry I don’t even feel cold anymore, just this never-ending burn that keeps spreading all over me, more ferocious when he’s nearby. It doesn’t stop.

It’s the kind of burn that hurts me.

I always thought that feeling cold was the worst thing a human could be, but this burning sensation is agonizing.

Fuck you. I want to scream.

Fuck you, fuck your empty promises, and fuck your hurtful lies.

Fuck you for showing me how it felt to be loved when I wasn’t truly loved. Not really.

Instead, I mask my hurt the same way he did. The same way I’ve been doing my entire life.

Understanding my silence, Sebastian nods and turns to leave, but before he’s out the door, I speak up, “I’m not stopping. No matter what you do. I’ll make your days as president a living hell.”

This is what I do.

Love didn’t work out for me, so I fight, bite, and claw because anything else is not an option.

Feeling anything other than hate for this man? Is not an option.

A risk I will never take again.

But because the man who once owned my love and now my heart is a masochist, he grins over his shoulder at me, “Give me all you got, love. I was in hell every day your body was away from mine, and I am still in hell every second you look at me that way.”

A part of me wants to ask him, but I don’t. Instead, I look at him without giving him anything, even though, on the inside, my emotions are all over the place. But Sebastian doesn’t need to be asked. He answers my unspoken question. “You look at me as if you regret me…”

Hardening my heart, I say. “I don’t regret meeting you, Sebastian, because it led me to them,” I whisper, disgusted with myself for how weak I sound but I don’t stop there. No. “I do regret ever giving you my heart.” Hurt flashes in his eyes for a fracture of a second before he masks it, smiling through his feelings. He then turns to leave, but I stop him by saying to his retreating back, “I hate you, Sebastian.” I say in a tone dripping with acid.

Without looking back at me he replies. “And I love you, Arianna Parisi. I love you with all that I am.” He says it with his whole fucking chest, drops that bomb, and leaves.

He leaves my office while my soon-to-be unemployed team goes crazy taking photos and whispering amongst each other.

I ignore it all.

I ignore the spark that popped into my chest when he told me he loved me. I lock the vulnerability he stirs in me down tight where it belongs.

I ignore everything except this burn in my chest that has left me weak and causes my mind to reel.

I can’t undo my move, but I can make it better. So, baby, this is me making it better.

His words play through my head like a loop, taunting me but, at the same time, making me feel things I shouldn’t. Things that get me hurt.

We’re the same.

Two broken pieces that will never be completely whole.

ARIANNA

BREATHE AGAIN

“It still wrecks me… even after all this time.” — B

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