The years have been rough. I've covered my body with ink, the tattoos hiding my scars and the pain I refuse to show. I've thrown myself into vices, drowning myself in whiskey and cigarettes and women, desperate to escape the pain inside.

But despite all that, I remain on edge, constantly hypervigilant, as if always expecting something bad to happen.The night life is my playground, and I dominate it ruthlessly. The clubs and bars are my kingdom, and I rule it with an iron fist.

But every time I see a flash of brunette in the crowd, my heart skips a beat. But this time. I don't a blonde. A one that I know is fake. I approached her from back and spoke "I prefer you brunette.Ms Vitalio"