CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

BELLA

The excruciating pain in my head intensifies as I open my eyes, so I shut them quickly. Tears slip down my cheeks as I try to make sense of him being gone, but I can’t. My kidnapper. My tormentor. The only man who ever made me feel alive, even though I never would’ve admitted it to him. I should probably be afraid of his brothers coming after me, but I’m not. Right now, I’d welcome them to come and remove this throbbing from my chest.

Moving to a sitting position, I push the tangled hair out of my face and attempt to take a deep breath, but can’t. Even though I told myself he needed to die so I could be free of him, I didn’t mean to kill him. What I can’t wrap my pounding head around is why I miss him so damn much. My body literally aches for the touch of a man that only wanted to hurt me, and it makes zero sense to me.

“Let the darkness in, living dead girl.”

“Nico,” I gasp so loud it nearly echoes, but there’s no response because he’s not here. He’s dead.

Getting off the floor, I grab my phone and turn to google for help. I search for, ‘can you go crazy after someone dies’. I roll my eyes at my phone, when the search engine informs me that yes, it’s common to feel like you’re going crazy after a loved one dies.

Loved one?

Nico was hardly a loved one, but it’s suddenly becoming clear that I never hated him. I wanted to understand him, but I still don’t. His hunger for killing was confusing to me, although if I’m honest with myself, when I killed that man, there was a rush that ran through me. I wasn’t willing to acknowledge it, but it was there. He wasn’t a good man, and according to Nico, he would’ve done things worse than him.

I could totally be a serial killer if they were all bad men.

“Let the darkness in, living dead girl.”

Why am I hearing his voice? I’m going crazy for sure. Dead people don’t talk to you, unless you’re insane.

“Let the darkness in, living dead girl.”

I scream at him.

“Stop saying that. Just stop. I’m not dark like you.”

“Yes, baby, you are.”

Jesus, Bella. You’re really losing touch with reality here. Stop talking to the dead guy, and his voice will go away.

Yet, he doesn’t. He’s inside my head and won’t stop.

“You want to kill right now, don’t you? Do you remember how it felt to squeeze the life out of that asshole? Can you get his glazed over eyes out of your mind, baby? Does his final breath leaving his body stay with you? The power that surged through your body like a live wire is addictive. It’s okay to do it again.”

Reaching my hands into my hair on either side, I pull so hard that tears spring to my eyes as I scream.

“Go away. I don’t need you. Fuck off and leave me alone!”

Once again, I get what I want, and realize it’s not what I wanted at all.

“Nico!” I cry.

No response.

I know his voice in my mind was not real, and it was probably a sign of a mental health emergency, but the silence is louder than anything I’ve ever heard. I attempt to imagine what it felt like to have his arms wrapped around me. The safety and warmth are so far away now, and it leaves me cold.

No, Bella. He was not safety. Nico carved his name in your skin, and did whatever he wanted to you. Remember the spiders?

Even now, I try to hate him to ease the pain, but I can’t. I don’t know what I truly feel for him, but it’s not hatred .

The wind whips through the trees, shaking my windows slightly, and I panic. Once again, I’m on my own. Even though I’ve lived alone since I moved out of my mom’s house when I was seventeen, I still hate it. It’s something I’ve never gotten comfortable with, but I can’t turn the television back on, because I can’t stomach hearing the words from the newscaster again, telling me once again that Nico is dead.

Typing into google, I search for everything Bonetti, because I know one thing for sure. I’m going to find that graveyard again. I don’t know why, but the urge to be there is sudden and strong. There’s more information than you’d expect on a mafia family that would likely want to stay under the radar. Apparently, his brother Bones got married not long ago. And his brother Psycho was arrested a year ago, but mysteriously got released, and there was nothing more said about it, which is kind of weird.

Then I find a picture of Nico, and stare at it for what feels like an eternity, as my chest squeezes painfully. He’s handsome in a violent way. A strong jaw, no smile, more of a scowl, as he stands talking to another man I don’t recognize, but the caption says his name is Damian De Luca. Nico is dressed in his usual black jeans, and a black t-shirt tight enough to show his defined muscles. The tattoos on his forearms show, but of course, his clothing covers the weird eyeball one. I screenshot it and trace my fingers over his jaw.

Sighing audibly, I close out of the photograph and go back to my search, and look for the Bonetti family graveyard, but find nothing.

Closing my eyes, I think back to that night and try to remember every visual clue. The highway that stretched for mile after mile. McDonalds on the right, before he took the exit. But then all I can see in my mind is trees and more trees. Isolation for miles in either direction.

Fuck!

Think, Bella, think .

In a split second decision, I decide to go to the coffee shop, and attempt to retrace his driving from memory. As I get up off the floor and get ready to leave, I hate myself. I’m always too late.

I fall in love with a band a decade after they retire. Get into a book after everybody else is done with it. Movies, same thing. Now this is the worst.

I’m not so fucking lost that I don’t realize I shouldn’t miss him. I should be relieved he’s gone, and I don’t have to worry about him doing whatever the hell he wants to me. Relief is not what I feel. Knowing how things should be doesn’t change the way they actually are.

I fucking miss him.

Not all aspects. I don’t miss the chains or the spiders. That’s a hell I’d rather not relive. But him, yeah, I miss it. I wasn’t a virgin like he was. I’ve been with more men that I care to admit. I’ve had orgasms before. Yet, the way he touched me was different. No man has ever made my body feel that way. That hunger in his eyes was intoxicating. As a woman, it’s rare to have someone look at you that way. Nico was intense in all ways. Now that I’ve screamed his voice out of my head, I want to hear it again. It’s a craving that might never go away.