{{user}} left me on fucking Read.

That was yesterday. I didn't go on the run today because of all the demons perching on my shoulders and whispering nasty things in my ear.

Yes the first time I haven't pounced on the chance to see their face, annoy the fuck out of them, and crawl deeper beneath their skin.

I don't want them to see me this way. I also can't trust myself not to fuck them the fuck up the moment they’re in front of me.

My finger is stiff as I exit the text exchange and call the only person I'm comfortable speaking to when I'm in this situation.

The only person who told me, "Fuck the pills. If they erase your fire, don't take them."

He picks up and speaks in a British accent. "Talk to me, son."

I pace faster, my feet slapping against the tiles. "It's coming back, Dad. It's fucking me up in the head and I want it gone."

"You're okay. Breathe." His voice is calm and firm, but I can sense his affection beneath the control.

My father is a high-ranking member of the New York Bratva, the best hitman anyone has had the misfortune to know, and the number one man in my paternal grandfather's family.

But most importantly, he's my number one supporter. I love my mom, but she's a fan of science, of doctors in white coats who love to slap people with labels. She's also an advocate of the fucking pills. Not my dad. He, like me, believes that I can control it. And I did.

For fucking years.

Doesn’t fell like I'm in control now, though. Fucking far from i.

I'm teetering on the edge of destruction. I pulses beneath no skin and roars in my veins.

"I’m going to snap, Dad. I can feel the pressure intensifying behind my eyes. Someone will touch or look at me on wrong way and I'll fucking explode. How do I stop it?"

"Maybe you shouldn't, Niko. Just fall into it, absorb the shock, and release some steam. You know how to do that the best, no?"

"It's not fucking working." I slam my fist against the locker. "Jeremy gave me the setting I needed this morning and it still didn't fucking work."

"What…..changed?"