Page 43 of Kissing the Villain

Marcello slid off the bed, grinning as his eyes traveled up the length of my body.

“See something you like, asshole?”

He glanced at the room’s corner. I couldn’t see anything past the crown molding, but I assumed there was a camera. He tipped his head, then walked away.

“Wait!” I sat up as he reached the door. “Where are you going? I need to eat.”

“You should have thought about that.”

Marcello slammed the door behind him. My throat closed up at the sound of the lock clicking into place. It was too loud, like the lock on my closet door at home. I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the bad memories playing through my mind like a highlight reel, but it was too late.

Metal on metal, I cringed at the sound. I pounded my fists on the door as my mother laughed. Taunted me with her cruel words.

I hated her.

Aiden screamed from his bedroom, begging my mom to let me out. She locked him in his room when he tried to stop her.

Aiden always tried to save me.

I need you, Aiden.

Come back to me.

Hand over my heart, I sucked in a deep breath and released it. Thinking of Aiden brought me back every time. Aiden was my home, my other half. My chest felt as if it were filled with sand. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead and wet my eyelashes.

Five, four, three, two, one…

Just breathe, Alex.

Hands slick with sweat, I clasped them together on my lap. My skin coursed with fire, an inferno blazing inside me. No attack was the same. Sometimes, I had migraines, while other times, I passed out from lack of oxygen to my brain. Most of the time, I could manage my anxiety. I’d had dozens of doctors, each teaching me different tricks to steady my nerves.

But it was Dr. Porter who saved my life. He’d introduced me to creative art therapy and suggested I turn my anxiety into a passion. My mother never wanted me to paint. God forbid anyone stole the spotlight from her. But after my doctor had mentioned it to Pops, he sent Aiden and me to a high school for artists. We learned fast and channeled our anger into our art.

My fingers itched for something to do, anything to make me feel normal. I needed to paint or sketch. So I pushed myself up from the mattress and crossed the room. The doorknob jiggled but would not turn.

“Marcello, let me out of here.” I banged on the door. “Open this door.”

Then, I heard the sound of water splashing.

The bay.

I flung open the balcony doors. Salty air floated into the room, and I drank in the scent. My mind drifted to Luca and our first kiss. It was his idea to lock me in a dark bedroom. That fucker sent Marcello text messages, ordering his brother to torture me.

Message received, asshole!

Furious, I turned away from the open doors and flipped Luca the finger. I was sure there was a hidden camera in the room. Marcello looked at the right corner too often for it to be a coincidence.

Anger surged through me, heat rolling off my skin like flames. That asshole dragged me back to this place, only to have his brother lock me up like Rapunzel in her fucking tower. Positive I had his attention, I lifted an expensive glass vase from the table by the window. I raised it above my head, laughing as it smashed to pieces.

Fuck him.

I went around the room, breaking everything but the lamps. It felt good to watch the glass shatter like he’d done to my heart when he took Aiden from me.

Shards of glass and ceramic littered the carpet like a fucked up painting—like something I would paint. I smiled at my handwork, proud of my latest creation.

You’re losing it again.

No, I’m not.

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