Page 195 of Hate to Love You

So, I needed my souvenir.

My leg bounces up and down, as my demons flex against my mind. A small warm body curls up against my leg, trying to soothe me.

I have the itch. God, do I have the itch.

My skin feels like it’s crawling and constricting my bones. I can feel every movement, every breath I take, every brush of the cotton sheet against my skin, and it’s driving me up the wall.

I’ve never spiraled like this. I can feel the control slipping through my fingers every time Roman tugs on it.

And he tugs on it all the damn time.

Storming over to the gun, I snatch it off the dresser, the weight in my hand flooding my body with heat. I throw open the walk-in closet doors, heading straight to the back where I keep the box.

I drop down onto the floor, placing the gun to the side and slide the box toward me. My fingers run over the lid before I lift it off.

My chest heaves as I see the death certificates of every man I’ve ever killed. I don’t think I can describe the sensation of seeing the contents of this box, and how it fills me with a lightness that makes me feel like I could just float away.

I grin to myself, my fingers smoothing the edges of Igor’s newspaper clipping down.

Sighing, I grab the gun, placing it inside the box before throwing the lid back on and shaking my head. I run my hands down my legs as I stand, walking backwards away from the box, and closing the closet door behind me.

Stepping away from the temptation that sits inside it.

“It means I do bad things, with bad people.”

Roman’s words have replayed on a constant loop since he said them.

He said that he doesn’t kill the innocent, but no one in this world is truly innocent.

I should’ve had more reservations about Roman and him being in the mafia, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.

I want him.

No, it’s more than that, I need him.

But, I know that deep down, if I let him in, his demons will caress mine, forcing them out into the open and tempting them to break our code.

A code that I live by, one that I don’t stray from.

I do not kill unnecessarily.

I do not kill impulsively.

I do not…

I could.

I want to.

And that scares me right down to the very marrow of my being.

It’s always been there, that fear.

The violent urges I had since I was a child always worried me, so I harnessed them in order to prevent them from taking over my life.

But now, it feels as if they’re running my life.

Only this time, I like it.