“No, you don’t understand… It was 12 hours of combat training. And I got yelled at for just grabbing a drink of water! ‘Cause there’s ‘no water breaks in the real world’,” I continue my rant, grumbling into the material of your shirt.

I feel like I’ve been talking—complaining—for hours, probably because I have. But it’s warranted. Today has been hell.

You let me rant. Being a great listener is one of your best attributes. That and the amazing head scratches you give. I swear, I’ve nearly forgot what I was talking about a hundred times because of the way your fingers weave through my hair.

This has become a weekly occurrence. My father ropes me into some crazy, and apparently, necessary training for God knows what, and then you bring me back down to earth. You always know what to do to help. Even if that’s just being near and breathing.

Lately, it’s gotten worse. As I’ve gotten older, my father has been pushing me more into his lifestyle. The mafia. I’ve always sort of resented the business my father is in, but it puts food on the table and a—quite extravagant—roof over my head, so who am I to complain, right? He wants me to take over one day, but I don’t want any part of it. I have to play along while I still live at home, but as soon as I can get out on my own, it’s over.

And, of course, I’d take you with me.

Your father is a very wealthy, very successful businessman. Not in the same business as my father, but still a bit dirty nonetheless. It’s how we met 2 years ago, at some gala our families were invited to. You were this…princess, and damn if I wasn’t hankering for a fairytale.

You probably never expected that 2 years later you’d be comforting me about my mafia daddy issues, but you stick around. And I couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Right now, we’re at your family’s estate after I’d ducked out after training. Lying in your bed was the only thing on my mind after today. My sore muscles and jumbled mind needed this. I wrap my arms around your midsection tighter, pressing my face closer to your stomach as my head rests in your lap.

“I want out, babe… I don’t want to be apart of this life anymore.”