Vincenzo's Obsession

Being in a huge castle doesn't mean you are really enjoying yourself. Just because you have all you need, that does not mean you are really happy. It can mean you are trapped. That was the feeling I had now. I felt trapped.

As I sat in the dining room of the grand mansion, surrounded by the luxuries that money could buy, a heavy weight settled on my heart. The grandeur of the place only served as a reminder of the prison I found myself in.

The gilded walls and sparkling chandeliers couldn't mask the pain and emptiness that consumed me.

Just because I was in a place where my every desire could be fulfilled, it didn't mean that my life was filled with joy and contentment. Behind closed doors, hidden from the prying eyes of the outside world, I endured a life of torment.

This magnificent façade was a facade, a charade carefully crafted to deceive others.

I longed to break free from the chains that bound me to this place, both physically and emotionally. The people I called my family were the very ones who caused me unimaginable suffering.

I was nothing more than a puppet, a possession to be controlled and manipulated at their whims. They saw me as a commodity, a tool to further their own agendas.

The physical abuse I endured left scars, both visible and invisible. Each slap, each blow, and each degrading word eroded my self-worth and shattered my spirit.

The bruises on my skin were a reflection of the bruises on my soul. I yearned for freedom, for a life where I could be myself without fear of retribution.

"Are you listening to me, Anya?" Aunt Alina asked, her voice cutting through the heavy silence that enveloped the room.

I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of her presence suffocating me further. "Aunt, can you please leave me alone?" I scowled, desperately hoping to find a moment of respite from her constant demands.

"Mom! Call me mom, Anya," Aunt Alina insisted, her eyes fixated on me, searching for compliance.

I scoffed, unable to contain my frustration any longer. "I have told you times without number, Aunt, anytime we are alone in this prison," I said, emphasizing the word 'prison' as it resonated with my reality.

"I will call you aunt because that is who you are. Only when we are in your so-called parties or club, or in front of Uncle's associates, will I call you Dad or Mom. Other than that, don't expect anything from me because you can't and will never be my Dad or Mom," I spat out, my anger seething beneath the surface.

"Anya!" Uncle Pietro's voice thundered from across the room, his sudden intrusion only adding to the tension that crackled in the air.

I turned to face him, my gaze locking with his hardened eyes. "What?" I shot back, my defiance brimming, fuelled by the years of mistreatment and manipulation.

"You will show respect to your mother," Uncle Pietro growled, his voice laced with authority.

"Misusing the word 'mother' won't make it true," I retorted, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "A mother is someone who cares for her child, who protects and loves unconditionally. What you both have done to me goes far beyond the boundaries of what a parent should do."

A cold silence descended upon the room as my words hung in the air, the truth of my accusations impossible to deny. I saw a flicker of guilt flash across Aunt Alina's eyes, but it quickly vanished, replaced by a stony resolve.

Uncle Pietro's face contorted with anger, his control slipping. "You will learn your place, Anya," he hissed, advancing toward me.

"I will do no such thing," I said, my voice laced with defiance as I glared at Uncle Pietro. I refused to let him manipulate me any longer.

His response was swift and chilling, a threat aimed straight at my heart. "You will, or you won't get to see Erik again," he declared, his tone devoid of mercy.

My eyes flooded with tears, betraying the strength I tried so hard to uphold. My walls crumbled in an instant, the weight of his words crushing my spirit. The mere mention of my brother, Erik, being used as a pawn in their games always had a devastating effect on me.

I would do absolutely anything if it meant I could see him again. Erik was the sole light in my dark existence, the reason I endured the torment day after day.

We were torn apart when I was just twelve, and he was a mere six years old. Now, Erik stood at the threshold of adolescence, thirteen years old and still trapped in this hellish nightmare.

Seven years had passed since we last embraced, since we felt the warmth of sibling love, and the pain of that separation had never dulled.

The thought of Erik being hurt because of me shattered my resolve. I couldn't bear the idea of his innocence being tainted, his spirit broken by the cruelty of our Aunt and Uncle. They held his well-being as leverage, exploiting our bond to manipulate and control me.

I gritted my teeth, tears welling up in my eyes as I fought to maintain my composure. "Fine, Mom, fine, Dad. Happy?" I forced the words through clenched teeth, my voice filled with a bitter resignation.

Aunt Alina's smile widened; a twisted satisfaction evident in her eyes. "Yes, as long as you do what we want from you," she replied, her tone dripping with condescension.

Uncle Pietro chimed in; his voice laced with a hint of impatience. "Are you preparing for the event later on?" he asked, his eyes fixed on me.

I took a deep breath, struggling to contain my frustration. "I am not going. Can't I even do that much?" I pleaded, hoping for a flicker of understanding in their eyes.

Aunt Alina's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "Fine, I will cook up an excuse as to why you couldn't make it," she said, her voice laced with feigned kindness.

I looked at my Aunt, a surge of intense hatred coursing through me. It was difficult to fathom that this woman, my Aunt Alina, was my mother's twin. They shared the same physical features, making it nearly impossible to differentiate between them at first glance.

But as I stared into her eyes, I saw the stark contrast in our souls. They were entirely two different people.

My mother, she was a beacon of goodness and kindness. She had a genuine love for helping others, a trait she passed down to me. My father, too, possessed a compassionate heart.

Together, they had shown me what it meant to care for others, to extend a helping hand when someone was in need. They had taught me the value of empathy and understanding.

But the two people sitting in front of me, my Aunt Alina and Uncle Pietro, were a stark deviation from those principles. They were consumed by their own selfish desires, indifferent to the pain and suffering they inflicted upon others.

Their hearts were tainted by darkness, their actions driven solely by their own interests.

I couldn't comprehend how someone with the same bloodline as my mother could be so utterly devoid of goodness. It was as if their souls were twisted and corrupted, tarnishing the purity that should have existed within our family.

What baffled me the most was their unwavering devotion to their daughter, Raisa. They lavished her with attention and favouritism, their love for her blinding them to the pain they caused me.

Raisa, with her cherubic face and entitled demeanour, was the apple of their eyes. It sickened me to witness their blatant disregard for anyone else but her.

I couldn't fathom how their hearts had grown so cold, how they had strayed so far from the values instilled in them by my parents.

The stark contrast between their outer appearance and their inner darkness was a constant reminder of the twisted nature that lay beneath their façade.

As I sat there, forced to endure their presence, a fire ignited within me. The flames of anger mingled with the pain of betrayal. I vowed to protect myself and shield my heart from their toxicity.

I would hold on to the memories of my parents, the love and kindness they showered upon me, and use it as a guiding light in this dark and treacherous world.

I glared at Aunt Alina and Uncle Pietro one last time, my resentment fuelling my every step as I stormed off to my room. As I entered, my anger reached its peak when I saw Raisa, the repugnant, fat-faced girl, sprawled on my bed. I couldn't fathom how someone so hideous could be the apple of her parents' eyes.

"What are you doing here, Raisa?" I spat; my voice laced with venom.

She looked up at me, her mouth full of gum, smacking it loudly with every chew. "Hey, cousin," she drawled, an air of arrogance permeating her tone.

I fought to control the rage that surged within me. I couldn't stand the sight of her, the embodiment of everything I despised about my Aunt and Uncle's twisted world.

Her presence was a constant reminder of their favouritism, the neglect and torment they subjected me to while lavishing her with undeserved affection.

"Just say what you want and get out of here," I seethed, unable to mask my anger.

Raisa smirked, clearly relishing in my discomfort. "Anya..." she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

My patience wore thin, my anger boiling over. "What the fuck do you want, Raisa?" I exploded; my words punctuated by the venom that seeped through every syllable.

She chuckled, clearly amused by my rage. It was as if my anguish brought her perverse pleasure. I resisted the urge to lash out physically, knowing that it would only escalate the situation.

"Calm down, Anya. Why the fuck is you getting angry?" Raisa asked, a smug smile playing on her lips. She knew exactly what was wrong. Her parents had once again used Erik as a bargaining chip to manipulate me, and Raisa revelled in my frustration.

It infuriated me how she always seemed to be in the loop, aware of the pain they inflicted on me.

I clenched my fists, struggling to contain my anger. Raisa's attempts to appear innocent were nothing but a facade. She knew the extent of my resentment towards her parents and their cruel games. Yet, here she was, acting as if she could pacify me with her empty words.

"Calm down, cousin. Mom and Dad always want the best for you. They wouldn't do anything to hurt you," she continued, her voice dripping with faux concern.

I scoffed, cutting her off before she could finish her pointless lecture. "Spare me the boring lecture and get out of my room," I snapped, my frustration seeping through every word.

But Raisa, ever persistent, refused to give me the solitude I craved. Instead, she proposed a girls' night, seemingly oblivious to my desire to be alone. Her casual invitation only fuelled my irritation further.

"No thanks," I shot back, my tone laced with disdain. The last thing I wanted was to spend more time with her, indulging in meaningless distractions while the weight of my predicament hung heavy on my shoulders.

Raisa seemed unfazed by my rejection; her complacency evident in her nonchalant demeanour. "You need to stop living a boring life, Anya," she commented, a hint of superiority in her voice.

My patience wore thin, my anger threatening to boil over. I couldn't bear her condescension any longer. "That is enough," I warned, my voice sharp with anger. "Get out of my room before I lose it."

With a dismissive sigh, Raisa finally relented, making her way toward the door. "Fine," she huffed, her tone dripping with annoyance.

As the door closed behind her, I finally found myself alone. The room was silent, the weight of my frustrations pressing down on me. I took a moment to steady my racing thoughts, reminding myself of the goals I had set for myself. Raisa's attempts to sway me from my path would not succeed.