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V A L E N T I N A

When I reached back at the penthouse, It was already 3 am. Going to my room, I strip my bloody clothes off me. the smell of gasoline lingering on my body.

My guess, the police will call me at 7 am and tell be about the sad news about my father. Note the sarcasm.

Getting into the shower, I wash my body and apply my strawberry body wash. After I'm done showering, I put on a robe, walking to the bathroom counter, I look at my self in the mirror.

 Letting the robe puddle beneath my feet, I don't take my eyes off my body. Scars, burn, whip marks, cuts, burns, covered every inch of my body. Looking at them I realize how broken I am, all of it just a reminder how weak and pathetic I am.

My eyes start to sting when my eyes fall on a scar on my lower stomach. The bullet. The memories of that night resurfacing. The pain. The explosion. The fury. I tear my eyes from my reflection before I could cry.

I don't wanna cry.

Doing my morning routine, my mind drifts to last night's -well not last night technically it was morning- events. I did the impossible, killing my nightmare. Even though killing him with my bare hands was not not enough satisfaction. I know that he'll be punished in hell or maybe When I die I'll be able to torture him over there.

A sense of satisfaction fills me, like something heavy lifted off my shoulders.

One moment I'll never forget was the day I found out that my mother had died. That day I felt a glimmer of hope, but that feeling was shattered when I remembered John was still alive.

That night, after finding out about mamma, he grabbed two kitchen knives and stuck them in my arms and slashed them. I can still remember the agonizing pain, the hot tears that streamed down my face, how much I begged him saying it wasn't my fault, how much I pleaded to stop.

 Thinking about that night, I look down on my arms, letting my fingers trace the skin, the scarred skin, covered by tattoos, but they're still visible. A painful  reminder of how weak and pathetic I am.

 That night, while being stabbed, getting beaten to a pulp, I still  remember how I just gave up.  Gave up on on fighting back, laying frozen while he beat the shit out of me. I embraced the pain that night and the will to live slowly fading. After hours of beating, I had had enough and ran out the front door. 

If I had known that I was gong to be kidnapped that night I could've just ran the other way. It was a mistake to run away cause I got kidnapped by the American Mafia.

You must be wondering how I must me leading the Mafia. 

So after I got kidnapped, they trained me turning me into a killing machine , tortured me, beat me, raped me, burned me and had done everything humanly possible to break me.