Evelyn
"f*****g bastard," I muttered into the pillow, unable to suppress my sobs any longer. They had been building up over the past few hours, and now they flowed freely. No matter what I did—they wouldn't stop.
That Italian piece of s**t regarded me as nothing more than a disposable toy, someone he could use at his convenience. When he decided it was no longer suitable or fit his so-called sudden morals, he concocted twisted games to cast me aside. Did he see himself as a deity? Or maybe Jesus Christ? The only one responsible for making things right?
Who gave him the right to define what was right? Certainly not me. I never once implied it, yet this sick motherfucker chose to play god.
If he f*****g knew it was wrong, why did he f*****g took it so far? If he really had to p
