ALESSANDRO

"To be so lonely, and I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch, who can't admit when he's sorry."

. . .

There are few people I happen to like. I barely tolerate everyone around me, and yet I keep them around for the sake of my boredom.

Like Chase, for example. Katherine's boyfriend who happens to think he invented the word golden boy and is dumber than a door.

With my arms crossed, I'm leaning back against the wall and I'm drowning out the sound of him yapping about shit I couldn't give two fucks about.

Seen as we both major in law he assumes we're friends, and as I said, I just tolerate his presence.

Instead of listening to his nonsense, I'm going over the papers I've read for my assignments and am already planning out the summaries in my head.

The fresh bruises on my knuckles are also a good distraction for the misery my ears are enduring at this moment.

The pain helps for a solid few minutes because Chase is too much of a fucking nuisance to bear. Even though he's twenty-two, he still acts like a high-school kid thinking he's prom-king and can bully anyone he wants.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and the star quarterback of the university's football team.

A perfect match for the snake that is his girlfriend, aka the queen bee, Katherine.

It's when he stops talking that he catches my attention because the fucker never shuts up. He's laid his eyes on someone, and by the clench of his jaw, it's someone he doesn't like. I follow his line of vision, and my blood runs hot when I lay eyes on her.

Her tiny figure is walking up the steps of the corridor we're in right now. And going by her headphones and the bobbing of her head, she's oblivious to her surroundings and hasn't noticed me – yet.

She's balancing a cup of what's most likely coffee and her phone in one hand, while the other one is clutching the strap of her bag.

My eyes go over her face, and I take note of her nose, which isn't as red anymore, and lacks the irritated skin from blowing her nose all the time.

A reaction I caused, by letting a cat roam freely around her apartment. Petty on my part, but I couldn't help myself.

Knowing she thought of me every time she had to sneeze or took notice of her runny nose, brings a different type of satisfaction.

"She always walks around with her nose up in the air, as if she's too good for anyone else," Chase scoffs from beside me, eyes still narrowed on Valentina.

He claims to dislike her just because Katherine hates her so much, and he's always on Kate's side for everything. He's her lapdog like that.

"Don't tell me," I murmur, though I don't agree with what Chase is saying.

Val usually cowers away from busy crowds and tends to hide herself because of her social anxiety, the last thing she does is think she's better than anyone else.

Chase pushes himself off the wall as Val approaches, who still hasn't noticed us yet. She's holding her phone, eyes focused on the device.

So much so that she also doesn't take note of Chase holding his foot out, causing her to stumble.

A childish part on his behalf, and for some reason, my hands clench into fists, but I don't do or say anything.

Chase gets off on hurting people smaller than him, much to my annoyance. His cowardice has always grated on my nerves.

As for me, I like the challenge, of seeing if I can take someone bigger than me. The bruises on my body are the proof of that.

And Valentina... I like to push her to her limit, to see how far I can drive her insane until she snaps and retaliates with equal force and power.

Normally, I'd revel in seeing Valentina stumble or fall, I love to see her crumble and ruin her slowly, painfully.

But now, I don't feel anything as she crashes into the ground, spilling the contents of her cup all over her and the ground.

All eyes in the corridor are on her, and silence falls. Some people look at her with pity – yet don't do anything to help her – and others watch with mild amusement.

"What the fuck?" she murmurs, distraught for a second.

My jaw clenches as I watch her confused face lift up, seeing Chase's face first before her eyes meet mine.

I stare back, not displaying any emotion on my face.

Her face flushes, and I know she's embarrassed and humiliated beyond words. She grabs for her fallen phone and the few items that fell out of her bag. She puts her headphones away too and focuses her glare back at me and the dumb fuck standing next to me.

"What's wrong, crybaby?" I taunt her and have to bite back a smirk when I see how it riles her up so much more.

"Asshole," she sneers and stands up, wiping at her wet and stained clothes. She glances around the corridor and notices all the attention on her.

She swallows and her face reddens even more, I'm also sure there's a wet glint in her eyes.

"You should watch out where you're going," Chase fake sympathizes with her and pats her head in a patronizing way.

My quick amusement fades at the gesture, but I don't move to push him away nor do I scold him on it.

Not that I'd defend her, I just don't like the way he picks on people and thinks he's better than anyone else.

Like you?

Val lifts her face and looks back at Chase. She's practically shaking with anger.

So quick he's too late to react, she grabs his water bottle and unscrews the cap. Without wasting another second, she pours his own water over his head.

A few gasps are heard at what everyone just witnessed, and I have to bite back a quirk of my lips.

Chase just gapes at her for a moment, too speechless to say something. Now it's him who flushes a bright red, the color creeping up his neck up to his face.

Then, moving her eyes to me, Val says, "Fuck you."

I'd like to see what she has in store for me.

As if nothing happened, she turns around and marches down the hallway, acting unbothered and meeting anyone's gaze head-on if they're staring too long at her.

That's the hot-tempered crybaby I know.

"Brought this one on yourself," I chuckle and push myself off the wall, standing next to a fuming Chase.

"How dare she," he seethes, acting as if what she did was uncalled for. I bet Kate is going to get a full debriefing later on, where he'll paint himself the victim.

"Get over it," I sigh and move away from him, deciding to be early to class instead of hanging around Chase once more.

I head home for the weekend, sitting in the living room, when my brother and mom join me on the couch.

"We never talk anymore, big guy," my mom says as she looks in my direction. "How were classes this week?"

"They were good," I murmur, texting back and forth with Amber on my phone. One might think having a girlfriend is nice, but constantly breaking up to then get back together exhausts the fuck out of me.

Mom sighs and gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen while asking us if we want anything.

"You could be nicer to Mom, you know," Dante remarks from beside me on the couch. I peer over my phone at him.

"I'm not the favorite, you talk to her."

"Stop that," he hisses, "it's getting old, man."

Doesn't mean it's not true.

When mom comes back with a glass of wine, dad is beside her and they take a seat on the couch opposite where we're sitting.

Dad wraps an arm around Mom and pulls her close, before focusing his gaze on me.

And the usual frown he has on his face when he looks at me makes its appearance.

I've grown desensitized to it over the years, so it leaves me unbothered as usual.

He's been giving me that look ever since I had my first fight at school when someone was bothering Dante or Alyssa too much.

That never got mentioned by the principal afterward, though. I just got labeled as 'that violent kid'.

"How did your assignments go?" he asks. "Good, think I passed them all," I murmur.

"As usual," mom grins.

"Mr. Smith isn't giving you a hard time, is he?" he asks, referring to one of his friends being my professor this semester.

"He gives me the hardest time," I answer, earning a chuckle from both mom and dad.

"He means well, just wants to test you," Dad assures me, and I hum.

Mom turns her attention to Dante and asks him about his week, and he launches into the topic of his current essay he has to write about a book he had to read for English Literature.

Mom and Dad ask more questions on the topic, and then my little sister comes home, the baby of the family, and naturally all the attention goes to her.

I get up from the couch and head upstairs, into my room, and shut the door behind me. Once in the comfort of my own space, I let out the breath I'd been holding for the entire day and let the tensed-up muscles relax.

I take off my clothes and stand in front of the mirror, examining all the bruises and cuts on my body.

Bruises I gained last night, from another fight in the ring. It's the only way I can release all the pent-up anger I have inside of me.

It's an escape. One I'm all too happy to use and run toward.

The cuts on my knuckles are a welcome distraction too, and easy to hide.

When a knock resounds on my door, I quickly put my shirt back on to hide everything, before opening the door.

My dad's face greets me, and the usual frown is back.

"Where the hell have you been hanging out," he barks at me, and I frown. "Your hands," he clarifies and motions to my cuts there.

Not so easy to hide from my dad.

"Nowhere, Dad," I sigh and walk into my room, organized and cleaned to perfection, as I like it.

The total opposite to my brother's, who lives in chaos.

"Cut the crap, you could fool your mother with the lies, who barely believes them anyway, but not me. What's going on with you?"

I used to bandage my hands to prevent the evidence of my fights from showing, but lately, I've been caring less and less to protect my hands.

Feeling the pain everywhere is what soothes me the most.

"Nothing of your concern," I snap back at Dad and turn to face him. "I'm okay, don't worry."

"But you're not!" he exclaims, and instead of anger, concern takes over his features and he takes a step in my direction. "Talk to me, what's going on?"

I'm glad he can't see my entire body, or this conversation would go in another direction and he'd get Mom involved.

If she starts questioning me long enough, I'll cave and tell her about the fights.

About everything.

Lying to her is simply impossible.

When I don't answer, Dad sighs. "Where are the cuts on your knuckles from?"

"I take boxing classes, sometimes I don't use the bandages they require," I lie and look into his eyes, not backing away from his stare that has many trembling.

Dad doesn't look like he believes me.

"Where do you take those classes?"

"On campus, at the gym."

"What's the name of the gym?"

I tell him, and he continues to stare at me.

"Who is your instructor?"

"Tim."

"Tim?"

"Uhu."

He's firing questions at me to catch me in a lie, but I'm prepared for this. Eventually, he gives up and leaves my room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He won't tell Mom about his suspicions, because he doesn't want her to worry.

I get distracted by a notification on my phone, and I see it's from Amber.

Amber: I'm so sorry

. . .

it's been way too long since i've last updated, i know, and i'm sorry.

truly.

i've been feeling empty, inspiration has run dry. i tried to write in the past, i really really did, but no words came to me.

today, i went to a nearby café, forced myself to sit down with my laptop, and wrote this chapter for you.

i love you, and you're always on my mind.

thank you so so so so so much for reading and still being here.