Hidden Secrets A Screwed Up Love Story

At one point in my life, I believed I would have settled down and landed my dream job by the time I turned 22. I would have met the man of my dreams, who would wine and dine me and introduce me to new things, allowing me to experience life in a new light.

Instead, here I stand, watching as the door trembles, shattering all my hopes and dreams in one fluid motion, derailing my future completely.

"Mila!" His angry voice booms through the door as he pounds more forcefully against the thick wood, violently shaking it, and I watch as dust falls from the frame.

"I'm sorry, Ace." I sob, my quivering hands encircling my torso.

"You had one job!" Patronisingly, he declares. "One simple job and you couldn't even do that right!!"

The job... 

Was to sit there at the table and laugh at his friends jokes even though they were cheap shots at my expense.

After a few hours of sitting there giggling like an airhead, my mind naturally wandered off and I quickly found myself daydreaming about how different my life could have been if I didn't agree to go on a date with Ace all those years ago. 

When he realised I had stopped entertaining them with my feminine laughter, he quickly shoved me to the ground sending me toppling over in my chair with a harsh sneer that had my insides churning and I took off running to the bathroom with him hot on my heels as his friends laughed out loud.

Now,

If you find yourself wondering who this Ace person is. Let me give you a brief introduction to the man heavily pounding on the door.

Ace, Ace-Fucking-Russo. An Italian bitch to the Mafia, a dumb fuck who can't think for himself and his most prized possessions that he boasts about when he is outrageously intoxicated...

Are his fists and his needle dick.

He is my constant headache, my walking, breathing fear-infused male vessel who enjoys using me as a verbal and physical punching bag.

As alluring as he was at the start of our relationship, the excitement quickly wore off like a lit candle trying its best to survive a wave of draft crashing into its flickering light. 

When he began marking my face with his hands, smearing my complexion with lovely shades of blue, purple, and yellow bruises, I vowed that I would not let him abuse me forever.

However, that vow quickly lost its allure when he threatened to harm my frail father, who had survived a stroke a year ago that left him paralysed on one side of his body and a week ago, I learned that my father had suffered another stroke where he sadly lost his battle to live another day and I never got to say my final goodbyes.