Thirst for revenge

Thirst for revenge
Alessandro

I was certain that just locking up the fools who caused Carrie pain would be enough retribution.
But, shortly after Carrie regained her memories, we were thrown into a loop of every shattering terror she went through. And I realised that moving on was a hoax I had forced myself to believe in.
All was fine initially.
After the doctor confirmed that she was fairly stable following her restored memories, he advised attending therapy sessions to aid a more successful recovery.
While she occasionally visited the therapist, Carrie decided that working would be a better healing channel for her. So, we got busy with setting up her furniture company.
For three months, things felt safe and… normal.
We’d wake up next to each other, have a simple breakfast while yapping about any random thing that was unlucky enough to become a topic of discussion. Then, we’d head down to her shop and get down to work. We got a lot of requests from the locals, so we were mostly busy.
Regardless of the workload, we laughed and shared memories with our bodies. Then, after a nice evening walk and dinner by the beach, we’d return home, sleeping next to each other.
Yes, things were normal.
Until a certain night when Carrie woke up in a bolt. Within tears, she frantically scratched her skin, her voice heavy with claims that she could feel blood all over her.
The first time it happened, my embrace was slightly sufficient to tame that fright.
We went to the doctor, and the response he gave was disturbing.
But it was not as disturbing as the second time Carrie got lost in her pain.
That evening, she was bringing plates to the kitchen when she froze in a spot and fell to her knees. My efforts to get her away from the shattered pieces of the plate failed the moment she looked at me.
A shriek grew out of her, her body trembled like she was about to pass out. As though under the influence of an unseen force, she fell on her knees, joined her hands together and rubbed them with intense pleas. She had tears hotly rushing out as she pleaded and cried, ‘Please. Please, Dad. Don’t hurt us. Please.’
At that moment, I helplessly collapsed to the ground and could only watch as the wicked grip of her suffering swallowed her whole.
For many minutes, she remained in that spot, begging, crying profusely, clutching her stomach, pleading harder…
Carrie broke down. Devastation and pain tore her apart before me, but… I couldn't move even a nerve in my limbs.
My heart can still feel how useless and helpless I felt that night.
Carrie eventually slept minutes after that wrenching episode.
I took her to the hospital, and she was admitted.
When she woke up, she was back to her normal self, and she displayed a determination to pretend that the previous night never happened. So it was hard to convince her to stay in the hospital for a few more days.
But, after another breakdown in the hospital, Carrie finally accepted that she had not healed. That she was still trapped in that awful place and that there was every tendency for her to get worse.
So, she became an inpatient in the psychiatric unit. For six months, she went through a tedious journey. And my heart broke for her in every step. Especially during the times she felt too tired to keep living.
But after struggles and wins and falls and rises, she did it.
My Carrie did it. She refused to give in to the snares of the anguish that almost took her life.
Though the doctor fearfully informed us that she might never fully let go of her pain, he okayed her progress, and she became an out-patient.
We returned to our schedule of waking up, having breakfast, sharing stories, working together, going for a walk, and having dinner… Laughing, mourning the child we lost, and discussing her father’s craziness.
Yes, Carrie got better.
On occasions, I’ve seen her hide her tears whenever someone with a baby walks past us. But something as terrible as the soul-ripping panic and severe delirium she used to experience hasn’t happened in a while.
With her mind at peace, our days together became more blissful.
But… Deep within me, there was a section that lacked peace. It demanded revenge.
The agony of Carrie’s battles and the fear of losing her to those battles became enough reason to decide that Carrie’s father and Nonno deserved more hell.
Long before the police started investigating Carrie’s kidnapping, Eduardo and I secured Nine Edwards in a solitary location.
A few weeks after that, I tossed my grandfather in that same place. Even though my men in CDP had severed his left tendon as punishment for tossing Carrie into the hands of her vulture father, Nonno still had the guts to make certain moves to hurt my wife.
Twice, that bastard grandfather of mine sent assassins to kill Carrie. They said he was seeking revenge.
And now, a year later, I’m finally visiting him and Nine Edwards, not just to laugh in their faces, but to deliver a hell that would perfectly mirror every fragment of anguish Carrie had to endure when she was locked up and when she faced her traumatic battles.
“I’m leaving,” Eduardo announced as he opened the main entrance to the underground bunker located in the small town we built close to the Valante Residence. “I have some legal stuff to deal with.”
“Is it serious?”
“Please…” He rolled his sunken, tired eyes. “Don’t speak to me unless you want to announce your return. Why did you have to do a good job with the company? It’s so annoying. There’s too much to do!”
“I’ll bribe you.”
He stilled his retreating steps and pondered on the offer. “Increase my leave days too.”
I smirked. “Done.”
“Yes!” He jabbed the air with his fist in celebration. Then, he pointed a warning finger. “Don’t go back on your word, okay? Fuck! I should have recorded it.”
I shook my head at his theatrics. “You are chatty for someone who has a lot to do.”
“Alessandro,” his voice lowered, and the dim space grew darker. With a hand to his chest, he humbly said, “JC Architecture is always in good hands.”
I agreed. “I’ve seen the reports. Just make sure your recent promiscuous ways don’t taint the image of my company. I won’t be kind to you if that happens.”
He gave me a side-eye. “What promiscuous ways?”
My brows jerked, and my arms folded. “You thought I wouldn’t hear about the flings you’ve been chasing around?”
“Heyyy, they’re not flings. Just…” His shame was glaring. “...some sort of… survey.”
“Survey?”
He drew a sharp breath and argued, “The dating world keeps evolving. I have to catch up. Don’t you agree?”
“Whatever,” I waved him off and pulled the barred gate closer. “Leave.”
“Enjoy my presence while you can.” He turned, ready to leave. “Once I start dating, you won’t see me around.”
I chuckled. “Good, your unannounced visits to our home are getting too much.”
He gasped and glared at me. Then, with mumbles I couldn’t understand spilling from his lips, he approached the exit.
“Eduardo,” I called.
“Don’t worry, your prisoners aren’t dead,” he announced without looking back. “But don’t feed them. They were disobedient yesterday.”
“Not that.” I cleared my throat so my words would reach him. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Oh.” His shoulders tensed. With a side glance, he said, “Make sure my leave days are increased.”
I shook my head at him as he playfully sauntered out of the bunker.
Ever since I handed over the CEO position of my architectural firm to him, our friendship has taken a fresh turn. Perhaps gaining freedom from the life we used to live helped with that.
But I know for sure that Eduardo’s great help during Carrie’s treatment is the biggest mark of our friendship. I would be a fool to ever take him for granted.
Speaking of people who take things for granted, it is finally time to face those rats, especially Nine Edwards, who dared to force Carrie into that purgatory she never deserved.