Deadly Obsession - Prologue (Patreon)

Author's Note

This story was originally named "Cold" it is Romelo's story as most of you may know. And a Spinoff of the Deadly Vows Series! Make sure you have read Deadly Vows & Deadly Possession. Enjoy!

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Prologue

Romelo

What would my life be like if Luca hadn't found me?

I'd probably be dead in a ditch somewhere for biting off more than I can chew. Or on death row after being caught. I know I'm fucked up. But I don't blame anyone but myself. I was born fucked up.

My parents were psychotic. My father went crazy and began beating me and my mother, turning my mother into a fearful raging woman that took her anger out on me when my father was nowhere around. So that meant twice the punishment.

There were times I'd go weeks without eating. There were also times when I'd be beaten and bloodied and times when my bones were broken and my skin was burned.

For as long as I can remember, violence has always been a part of me. It's a part of who I am. I never knew a life without it. I never knew what drove my parents to be the way they were to me, but I didn't care enough to ask. I only knew that they are who they are now, and I hated them for it. I could feel no pity towards them for being the way that they are. Just like I felt no regrets for who I was.

~

I stand in the doorway of my parent's bedroom. My mother is huddled in the corner in a fetal position, her matted hair and bloody lips a physical reminder of the pain she just endured from my father. I don't know why he is so angry today. But whatever the reason, it equals bad news for my mother and me. Every time he beats her,  I wish he would finally kill her. But each day, she stays very much alive. I don't know why he won't just kill her. It would make everyone's lives that much easier.

And now she sits in her room, rocking and murmuring incoherently to herself. My gaze travels down to my arm. My arm hurts. I have a gash in it that's growing infected from my mother attacking me with the kitchen knife. I try and refrain from touching it to keep from worsening the infection. My eyes travel back up to my pathetic mother. I can't look away as I stare. 

I hate her. With everything in me, I hate her.

She's never done anything good for me. She's only ever caused me pain and suffering. She's done things to me no child should ever have to endure. Are all women this way? Are they all psychotic people that abused their children?

Finally, she looks up and spots me in the doorway. The moment her eyes land on me they take on that crazed look.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Her voice is like venom. I know that I should be scared, but I'm not. Not anymore. Fear is an emotion that is all too elusive to me. I don't feel it anymore. I don't feel anything anymore. Just hate. I just want her dead. I want my father dead. But I'm too young. Too weak.

She starts crawling towards me with anger in her eyes but I still don't move.

"Why do you look at me that way?" she spits out at me.

"You hate me, I can see it in your eyes."

She roughly grabs me around my shoulders and I force my heart to stay calm. I'm not scared. Not anymore. I keep my face straight and my emotions hidden. She slaps me hard across the face, her long nails digging into my flesh. I can feel the sting of my skin being torn from the sharp nails at the ends of her fingers. I don't care. I enjoy the pain. 

"What do you want from me?" she shouts in my face. She begins shaking me roughly over and over, but I keep a straight face. She finally lets go and stumbles back from me as if she's seen a ghost.

"You don't love me..." She roughly yanks on her hair. 

Fucking psycho. All the years of fear and abuse getting to her.

"No one loves me... I need love... Love will make everything better... love will fix this... You used to look at me with love...," she reaches out and presses her hand against my cheek. I can feel the blood.

"My boy... My beautiful baby boy.." Her eyes grow enraged once again and she slams me into the wall over and over and over again. I don't cry out. I don't make a sound. I take the pain. I take the abuse. I take it until I can finally feel myself losing consciousness. 

~

Three days. She's been gone three days. I can only hope that she's dead. Finally dead. My father now takes his hatred out on me but that's fine. As long as my mother is dead, I'll survive. I'll kill him once I get strong enough.

I'm sitting on the floor in the living room, sharpening my knife when I hear it. The front door opens. I immediately hide the blade in its rightful place, waiting on my father to step into the room and begin his abuse. But I'm shocked when I see my mother.

Behind her is a boy. He's my age. Maybe younger. With dark brown hair and eyes bluer than the ocean. They're unlike anything I have ever seen. And his hair is wild and cropped. As if he just got it cut. Wild curls were all over his head. There are bruises on his face, and he's sobbing.

My eyes travel to my mother in shock and confusion and she has a deranged smile on her face.

"Love will fix it." She turns to the boy, kneeling down and roughly grabbing his chin.

"You love your mama?" she asks. He sobs.

"I wanna go home.." The loud echo of her slap sounds off the wall and his wails grow louder. A large red welt appears

"That's not what I asked you, ungrateful bastard!" She roughly grabs his face again.

"I said, do you love your mama?" Her voice is like venom. She looks over to me, a huge smile playing on her psychotic face. The boy shakes his head vigorously, tears running down his face.

"Y-y-ye-yess.."  he squeaks out. This earns a smile from mother.

"This is your new brother, Charlie. He will fix everything, he brings love. Pure, and untainted love.." she rants. 

My eyes narrow at the newcomer. I don't know what to make of him. I hate him immediately.  He is small and frail and weak. I want to kill him. That's what I want. I want to slice his throat open and let him drown in his blood as I cut his fucking tongue out. I hate him. I hate him with everything in me...

I once had a friend before my parent's deaths. He was my best friend. He was the closest person I ever had. He was the only person I had ever felt any kind of affection towards. He died the day before my parents. The day before I killed them both in cold blood.

His name was Charlie.