Him & I

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Sienna-Rose Watson works two jobs, trying to earn enough money to escape her controlling mother and abusive father. Being the eldest girl out of six children there are a lot of expectations put upon her from both her mother and father. She must have the look of pure innocence while keeping up with the troubles of life. Having the most brutal consequences for her mistakes while trying to shield her siblings from the harsh reality of their parent's true nature. Trying to figure out why her older brother Olson and her younger siblings are treated so much fairer than her. Damien Black, the king of mafia is a cold ruthless monster. With looks of a God but the personality of the Devil. With women falling head over heels for the dangerous man and males dripping with envy everywhere he goes it's easy for him to get what he wants. Taking home leggy women every night and disregarding them just as easy the next morning is what he lives for. Until he set his eyes on her... The short brunette with the curvaceous body and abundance of innocence not just from her appearance but her personality. A true Angel. What happens when he stakes his claim on her unknowingly? Will he figure out the dark truth of Sienna-Rose's struggles? Will Sienna- Rose cave to the undeniable attraction to the handsome devil? Will she be the light in his dark world? They do say the darkness is drawn to the light...

Romance / Drama
5.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

Sienna- Rose POV:

In a little two-story house at the end of Dretton Avenue on the poorer side of the city, London, lived a family of eight. Yes, you heard that right eight. It was a small house with four bedrooms, one of which belonged to my older brother Olson, he is twenty-one years old and still depends on mother dearest for everything.

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with still living at home once you’ve hit this age, but he isn’t exactly dripping with common sense when it comes to knowing the basics of living alone. He still expects everyone else to run around after him cleaning his mess and making sure that he has everything he needs but when I say everyone, I specifically mean me.

Next room in the house belongs to my little sister Jacqueline or Jacky as she likes to go by, she is as difficult as they come. I don’t mean the whole boy crazy difficult; I mean the ‘who gets whatever she wants’ bratty difficult. She is fifteen and she has never had to work hard for anything in her life. Both our parents will gladly bend over backwards to give her whatever she wants which is a huge indicator that she is the preferred daughter out of the two of us.

Then next to Jacky is Michael, he’s a very reserved kid, incredibly quiet for a twelve-year-old. It is rare that you will catch him out of his room unless he is going to school or getting food. Don’t let this cloud your judgement of him though. He is probably worse than Jacky. Getting on his bad side is like willingly giving your soul to the darkest of evil to be used as a sparing tool. He can raise hell to anyone who disagrees with him. Guess that’s what you get when your daddy’s favourite.

In the fourth bedroom and by far the biggest are the king and queen of hell themselves. My parents. The monsters that will forever haunt me in the darkest shadows of my mind, reminding me that those who you classify as close can be the ones to destroy you. I basically avoid any confrontation with them both because they aren’t exactly worthy of the ‘parents of the year award’ when it comes to me.

My mother was a very caring lady while I was growing up always laughing and with a smile on her face but when I hit 13 and my body started changing so had she. From that moment on I was raised to believe that I had to have the best skin and amazing hair with a model figure otherwise no man would want me. She would start controlling what I was eating, when I could eat it and how much I could eat. Half the time the meals were smaller that Dianna’s, I will tell you more about her in a little while. Her reasons being “A man will choose a skinny bitch over a fat bitch every time.”

That wasn’t the only thing she was controlling, I had to stop hanging around all my friends because they were, and I quote “Not good enough for your image!“, the way I was acting had to portray an image of pure innocents otherwise I would have the worst punishment she could imagine. I tried to be me once while my mother wasn’t around but as soon as I got home, I knew I made a mistake. She knew and she wasn’t going to hold back with this punishment, I still have the scar on my shoulder as a reminder of the consequences to my actions.

Let’s not forget about my father, he had always been a man of very little words but when he did start talking you would soon start wishing he wasn’t. Every word that comes out of his mouth is insulting, well it is for me anyway. I tried not to blame him for that though growing up because he is an addict and an alcoholic, I know that it is his fault for turning to those alternatives for his problems, but he was my dad.

When I was fourteen an even darker setting decided to present itself to the Watson household. It was the first day I watched my father strike my mother out of anger and jealousy, this started to become a regular thing as time went on.

I would try and make sure that my siblings were no where to be seen while he was in this state, but everything has its consequences. I was caught sneaking around one day after making sure that the babies were safe and that is when my father’s victim took a change from my mother, too me.

After that dark and depressing note, now onto my favourite humans in the household. Dianna and Emma, they were the youngest Watson kids. With Dianna only being eighteen months old and Emma being three months they stayed in my parents’ room. Not that I was comfortable with it, but baby monitors can come in handy with situations like these. I love those babies like they were my own, this might just be due to the fact that I practically raise them both while my parents were off doing who-knows-what somewhere in the city. They were the only good things living in this house and I was dreading the day that they begin to get corrupted by our so called ‘parents’.

And then there was one. Living in the Watson household isn’t easy especially for me, I work two jobs to help support my day to day needs to survive like my food and clothing, while also making sure that Dianna and Emma have everything they need after my father blows all our income on drugs and booze. I have to stay in the attic because that’s the only place they were willing to put me once everyone else chose their rooms.

It’s drafty and cold, if it starts raining, I have to squeeze myself into a little corner of the attic and pray that it will be over soon so that I don’t get sick.

There isn’t much that I own because it is either too much to bring into the confined space or I simply don’t need it. I have a set of draws full of all my clothes a low bed frame bed which I brought with my first paycheck and an alarm clock. I hardly spend time at home anyway, so I didn’t see the need in trying to make it as homey as most people. I work at a little café called ‘café l’amour’ Monday to Friday every week. This is normally from 9am till 6pm, however if I’m lucky I get to finish early if it isn’t too busy. Then on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and the weekend I work at club Luminous as a bartender and a server for the VIP rooms when needed. That’s from 7pm till 5am on a good day, so I’m constantly busy.

The changeover in uniform is pretty simple too because I get to wear my own clothes while at the café so I can go straight to the club without looking to ‘out of place’ while walking there. However, the outfit that we are required to wear while at the club is mortifying. It is a leather top which looks more like a sports bra than an actual top, with a short skirt to match with only just covers the butt and fish net tights. There is a lot of skin on show, but my boss says that it will bring in more customers which increases business.

I’m personally not comfortable with the uniform because my stomach is on full show as well as my thighs. I’ve always been conscious of both because I’m not exactly stick thin, I’m more curvaceous so my thighs are bigger than most of the girls I work with meaning my hips are wider as well to accommodate my rounder butt which can hardly be fit in the skirt but I manage to make it work. When it comes to shoes Marcus is awfully specific in what we can and can’t wear and how high they have to be. I chose to wear black six-inch stiletto heels because they were probably the comfiest option in my opinion. I wouldn’t want to wear the thigh high boots and bring even more attention to the area I’m least comfortable with but if that’s what women feel comfortable with then who am I to stop them.

I don’t necessarily hate this job but there have been quite a few incidents where I’ve had to call over one of the bouncers because of a drunk guy getting to handsy while I’m serving their table. Some people just don’t understand the concept of being told no. No means No, it’s not me playing hard to get or trying to make it seem like I’m too good for them, so they need to get of their little pedestal and sort that shit out!

That brings us to the present moment. It’s currently 3am on a Tuesday and I can’t seem to fall asleep. My mind has been going haywire with all the stress mentally and physically that I’m put under on a daily. I lay and watch as the time slowly ticks by on my alarm clock at the side of the bed and finally accept the fact that it will be another sleepless night.

I’m beginning to get use to functioning with the lack of sleep I get when it comes to days like these but I’m glad that it is a Tuesday and not a day that I need to work at both the café and club because there is nothing worse than working back to back shifts with zero sleep. I did it a few times but by the time I make it to the club I’m too tired to care about the service I provide plus I may have slapped a few old perverted men without thinking of the consequences. So, then tips aren’t as hefty, and I’m left short on bus fare for the next day or two.

When the clock shows 7:02am I’m already awake and getting ready to start my shift at the café. The walk is only a twenty-minute walk from my house, so it isn’t very far, but I like to get there early to greet Sophie Hernandez, my boss, the sweetest women on the face of the earth. She has basically been a mother figure to me, making sure that I eat in the mornings even if it is something as small as a pastry from the shelf because I’m “too thin for a growing woman.” But I disagree, I believe that my figure is too big for a female of my age and height. Being a 5 foot 4 nineteen-year-old is all fun and games unless your body shape is like mine and you start to resemble a walking pear.

As my shift begins, I start to stock up the pastry unit, only to be reminded of the pain in my lower back and wrists from my father the evening before. Where I was shoved up against the wall with my wrists in his tight grasp locked between his hands and the wall so that I couldn’t move them while he screamed in my face and repeatedly kneeing my stomach for added effect. Shortly after being thrown across the hall into the corner of the dining table straight onto my lower back causing a sharp pain to spread itself up my spinal cord, making me feel lightheaded and nauseous. Definitely sporting nice bruises on both of my wrists maybe even a fracture in my left wrist considering the brass darkness in colour compared to the right one. Too late to cover them now, I’ll just have to keep my hands in my apron pockets so that not too many people will notice.

Just then the bell above the door chimes alerting the whole place that someone has arrived.

“Would you mind serving these people while I finish up out the back for me sweety?” Sophie is always so polite even when she is under pressure. It truly baffles my brain how she can stay so calm and collected while trying to run this place.

“Of course, Sophie, already on it.” I make my way from the storeroom to the front, only to be met with the most enticing eyes I have ever seen, an electrifying shade of pool blue eyes staring straight into my green eyes.

Just like the beauty of his eyes he has a face to match. Dark black hair, only just long enough to run his fingers through, high cheekbones to accompany the strong jawline with a generically defined nose to pull it all together. He didn’t look much older than me, but the way he carried himself was very mature and probably seen as intimidating to others around him. He was pure perfection.

As I slowly made my way over to the handsome stranger, I couldn’t help but notice the difference in our height. From my first guess I would say he was around 6 foot 3 maybe 4 he was definitely pulling it off. He wasn’t a lanky tall he was a broad shoulder, bulky guy who probably spends all his free time in the gym to maintain the pack of abs that are slightly showing from the white shirt he was wearing. His long muscular legs were clad in black denim jeans which was paired nicely with the shirt to give off the whole ‘I didn’t even try this morning, but you still need to respect me’ vibe.

“How may I help you this morning, sir?” I was trying to keep it professional and not wonder over the god of a man standing in front of me with my eyes. It was like the sound of my voice pulled the mysterious stranger out of his dreamlike demeanor. With the shake of his head, I finally had a voice to match the looks.

“I’m here to see Sophie, would you mind getting her for me please?” With a quick nod of my head I made my way into the kitchen out back and was met with Sophie covered in flour while fighting with what appeared to be cake mix. Muffling my laugh, I decided to tell Sophie about the sexy stranger.

“Uhm, Sophie? There is a young man here to speak to you out front. Should I send him back here?” With her attention now on me, she scurried past me without saying a word as if she was in a rush to see this guy. Like the thought of keeping him waiting was as terrifying as it comes.

Deciding to stay behind to give them their privacy, I walked over to the abandoned cake mix and began to work my way through it prepping it ready to be baked. I wonder what they were talking about.

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