INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings – Episode 90
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Dominic ~
Isn’t it astonishing how swiftly a heart can shatter into a million irreparable pieces? Yesterday, I was struck by a profound unease as I watched Genevieve walk away—not just from my house, but from my very existence.
She didn’t choose this fate, so I had no right to feel this suffocatiñg rage. Yet here I am, consumed by fury—not only directed at myself for letting her slip through my fingers but also at the universe for hurling this cruél twist of fate my way. The Earth continues to spin beneath my feet, indifferent, as if it hasn’t felt the tremors of my world collapsing around me.
Two weeks have passed, and the anger hasn’t waned. Today marks the fourteenth day since I ended things with Genevieve, and each passing moment feels like I’m losing something desperately essential—something that was once vibrantly alive within me.
She was always my addiction, both a source of exquisite joy and my deepest vulnerability. In that first week, I was a ghost, hauntiñg my own bed. I barely stirred, only rising to answer nature’s call or when Rory, in all her well-meaning exuberance, insisted on checking in on me—far more often than I wanted.
Honestly, I think I would have withered away without her incessant chatter; the alternative of starvation seemed almost inviting compared to the relentless ache of breathing and merely surviving.
How can I truly live when my reason for awakening each day has vanished?
I didn’t set foot in the office for a week—why would I? My bed became an impenetrable fortress, barricading me from the outside world. My phone lay untouched, a silent reminder of my despair. The last time I glanced at it, I was confronted with three gút-wrenching truths: my wallpaper—a candid shot of Genevieve, radiant and unguarded—her contact ID, a paínful reminder that she was no longer mine, and a slew of unread messages from her, each one a taunt echoing my failure.
Genevieve deserves better. Genevieve King is a woman who should be cherished, not someone who endures paín inflicted by my hand. I am merely the worst decision she’s ever made, and she’s realized it, evident in her silence.
But perhaps that’s just Genevieve, being her true self. I can’t fault her. Anyone in her place would have done the same. I went from being the one who wiped her tears to the architect of her sorrow—the very reason for those tears.
“I will be fine,” Aurora insists after what felt like an eternity of lecturing me on my foolishnéss for breaking up with Genevieve. But deep down, I know—I won’t ever be fine.
Fourteen days have passed, yet it feels like only yesterday that I last held her. Every moment haunts me, even invading my dreams. Sleep eludes me, and when I do succumb, it’s fleeting, shatteréd by the relentless echo of my own monstrous voice whispering over and over again those dréadful words I said to her.
I wasn’t fine.
I will never be fine.
Not now that Genevieve is no longer My Vixen, My Baby, or My Love. My eyes pricked with tears once more, but I refused to let my emotions win this battle. I’ve shed more tears in the past thirteen days than in all the years I’ve lived.
Today, however, I’m on my way to a bar to meet Dexter’s sister. She’s back in town, claiming she “misses me and wants to see me.” I reluctantly agreed, partly because, truth be told, I miss her too. It’s been ages—two or three years since we last crossed paths
••
Genevieve was here.
That was the first realization that slammed into me as I stepped into the bar, the cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses overwhelming my senses. The pulsating music throbbed against my skin, but amidst the chaos, my gaze locked onto the back of her head, and it felt as if the air had been sucked from my lungs.
In the flickering, colorful lights of the bar, her profile glowed—not with joy, but illuminated by the vibrant chàos around her. It was paiñfully clear that she was not interested in being here; the slump of her shoulders and the tension etched in her features told me everything I needed to know. Each flicker of light danced across her skin, emphasizing the sadness that clung to her like a shadow.
Julianna’s eyes caught mine, and the glare she shot me was as piercing as a dagger. I deserved every cursé she hurled silently in my direction. The usual spark of happiness in her expression was replaced by a frown, her brows knitted together as if she were plotting my downfall. Her disappointment weighed heavily in the air, a palpable reminder of my failure.
Normally, I would have darkened my gaze, intent on intimidating her, but today I simply sighed, the sound heavy with resignation, and moved toward the back room where I was supposed to go. It wasn’t long before I sensed Genevieve trailing behind me, her footsteps quick and eager, yet mine were faster. I ducked into a side room, momentarily evading her pursuit, where Dexter’s sister was lost in her own world, singing loudly to herself.
The moment Lovelyn spotted me, her face lit up with a radiant smile, breaking through the storm of my thoughts. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, her warmth enveloping me like a smotheriñg blanket. Her words spilled forth in a cheerful rush, but they barely registered in my mind, drowned out by the tumult of my emotions. Lovelyn was always a hugger, and nothing I had said over the years would ever change that.
Today, however, I didn’t push her away as I usually would. My mind was on autopilot, a haze clouding my judgment. I knew I shouldn’t be doing this, but a part of me clung to the desperate hope that for Genevieve to fully let go of me, I had to make this sacrifice. So, I leaned in, allowing my lips to meet Lovelyn’s.
She gasped against my mouth, and I fought against the instinct to pull away. I could feel Genevieve’s gaze burniñg into my head, and despite every fiber of my being screaming to stop this pretense, I couldn’t. I needed her to sever the ties that bound us, even if it meant she would hàte me. If that was what it took for her to find someone deserving, then so be it.
But then, I made a mistake—I opened my eyes. The sight of Genevieve standing there, her expression a mix of betràyal and heartáche, pierced through me like a kñife. If I had my blàde with me in that moment, I would have plunged it deep into my chest to relieve the weight of the angúish reflected in her eyes. The look of broken trust she was looking at me with felt like a heavy shackle, one that would hàunt me for eternity. I was meant to be her refuge, the one who held her close, yet here I was, the architect of that… that unbearable look.
And then, just like that, the door swung shut, and she was gone. Lovelyn pulled away abruptly, her expression shifting to one of fury. Before I could process what was happening, she delivered a hard slap to my face, the sting radiating through my skin.
“Oww,” I grunted, instinctively reaching for the bleeding corner of my lips. “That húrts.”
“I don’t care how much you miss me,” she snapped, her voice steely. “But kiss me again, and you’ll meet your parents.”
TBC
