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Because he, himself, had been on the receiving end of that. And he knew exactly how it felt.
The moment he'd made that connection in his mind, he'd spiraled out of control.
The rest of the night was a blur as he'd sought to physically hurt himself like he'd done to her. He'd cut at his body, slow, precise cuts that had resulted in the greatest amount of pain.
He'd watch her cry her heart out and he'd hurt himself even more for the bastard he was.
Because at this rate… He was never going to get her love back.
And that was the biggest problem of all.
Right at that moment, Michele felt that her love was the most essential thing to his survival. The only thing he needed to go on. And for as long as she withheld it from him, he was going to suffer unlike he'd ever suffered before.
As the fog from his mind dissipated, he dialed Andreas and told him to deal with the wreckage in his room before he disappeared for the day.
He postponed all his meetings, all his business appointments and he went out into the world.
Since he'd committed to his mission, he'd killed any feelings of guilt he might have had. He'd stripped everything from himself until only anger remained—raw, bleeding but calculated anger. Enough to ensure that his end goal would be achieved while also keeping his wits about him.
In that moment he felt thrust into the past—into a whirlpool of emotions that were as foreign as they were consuming.
The anger was there, but it was at himself, as was the guilt.
And Michele…couldn't deal.
For the entire morning, he wandered about, aimlessly walking the city streets in an attempt to get some mental clarity, yet there was none to gain.
He'd fucked up. And he'd done it in such an uncharacteristic way that he still felt her sobs of pain engrained in his very being.
And though he tried to deal with it in his customary rational manner, he found he could not. There were questions, but the answers did not satisfy him.
Nothing did.
So instead, he did the only thing he could.
He shut down. He completely shut down, killing every bit of emotion within him so he wouldn't have to deal with the pain anymore—so he wouldn't lose himself.
Yet even that one safety mechanism that would have worked in the past seemed flimsy this time. It allowed him to shut out the world. But he couldn't shutherout.
She was still there, in his mind, in his heart, in his goddamn blood.
He could still hear her sobs.
He could still see her tears.
And the blood… By Hades, the blood was the worst.
Before he knew what he was doing—for the real Michele would never do something as idiotic—he headed to a supermarket, buying everything he could think was necessary.
He filled his cart with anything that caught his eye.
Pain killers, pads, ointments, vitamins, teas. He also added a various selection of chocolates and things that might sweeten the deal. To make things even better, he also bought a few pairs of underwear to replace the ones he'd torn.
With an entire bag of goodies and the clock that was ticking against him with Vlad and Assisi's arrival, Michele hurried to the Kuznetsov house, doing his best to by pass security with a huge bag in tow.
But he wasn't deterred.
It was as if his entire focus had switched, only one goal remaining in mind.
