37| Profession

Lorenzo arches an eyebrow curiously at me as he enters my room, his footsteps slow – almost wary.

“You look awfully pale,” He comments, closing the door behind him.

I tear my eyes away from his face, suddenly interested in the design of my room all over again. I don’t know how I should look at him or who to look at him as.

Lorenzo doesn’t look like a fucking murderer, there’s no way he could’ve slaughtered people.

The thought alone makes bile rise in my throat.

I’ve seen murderers before, I’ve lived with one, and I know how unregretful they are. How getting blood under their nails doesn’t faze them. Lorenzo doesn’t look like that. Lorenzo doesn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer.

I trust him, he isn’t a murderer.

“Willow…” Lorenzo calls cautiously.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I mutter feeling everything surge up my throat as I race for the bathroom. I make it to the toilet seat in time and pour out revolting piles of vomit.

I flush the toilet. I go to the sink, rinse my mouth, b