The Revenge Games Duet

Flynn makes no sense. Babies bring people together, not distance them.

“Why would it stop her? If anything, it should have brought her back.”

“No,” he says with finality. “Milana’s biggest fear is inheriting Mom’s disease. If she doesn’t procreate, no one will suffer. So, in a way, I saw this breakdown coming. I lived in denial hoping she would fall in love with the baby and forget. You can do this… she needs you.”

The call ends, the tone lingering while I continue to sit motionless. It fucking hurts reliving every moment we were together, searching for signs, clues, or anything that would lead me to where I might be able to find her. And for such a long time, I numbed the pain which made it all the worse.

Finally, the feeling consumes me, stabbing me in every nerve and crippling my ability to think straight. I can’t escape it, screaming on the inside for some sort of relief.

And even through these thoughts, I’m reeling, still unsure of how this all happened.

At what point did this become us? A baby who belongs to the two of us. Something we created out of desperate times, unknowingly. What fucked-up plan did God have in store for us? Yeah, I still fucking pray, all right. I remember being a good little Catholic boy once upon a time.

Since the moment she left me, I haven’t allowed myself to think about her. My ego, bruised and cut up, has nothing against that constant ache that lingers from her absence. I have spent the time away from home, on remote locations and will do anything I can to not remember her.

Okay, so I’ve fucked up.

Felicity’s a big fuckup.

A weak moment.

I just want to rub salt into Farrah’s open wound. She wants me, and I love the fact that she begs like a goddamn whore.

And yeah, being the dick I am, it’s payback for leaking mine and Milana’s relationship to the press. Not only did I begin fucking Felicity, I ran my mouth off to the press about Farrah’s baby daddy being a big Hollywood CEO.

It took the heat off me, and was fun while it lasted. Nothing more satisfying than watching Farrah scream like a psychopath in the middle of a live show. But like anything, it was short-lived.

Milana always found her way back to me through my lingering memories.

To know her is to love her, and never to forget her.

Occasionally, something will trigger a memory of us. Like the time I was sitting at Olive Garden and Barry Manilow showed up. I remember smiling to myself, wishing she were with me so we could take a selfie. She would have fucking loved it.

Then, at other times, the taste of her skin becomes this focused memory and lingers on my tongue taunting, teasing, and itching every nerve inside of me.

Those were the times I would get high, and that cycle’s nasty.

I stare at my wall for too long, and as the darkness shadows the room, my mind becomes radiantly clear.

We both need our cards laid out, all or nothing, ride-or-die type of moment.

Fix what we both simultaneously broke.

I refuse for Katerina to grow up damaged like I have become. Gina may have fucked me up for good, but I’ll be damned if my daughter has to experience the same fucked-up life I’ve endured.

And I swear, I will fucking slit Gina’s throat if she dare hurts my kid. Not only her but her pathetic excuse of a husband. I’m done with her emotional blackmail. She may have allowed me to be abused as a kid, but that cycle needs to be fucking broken.

As for Carson, the sleazy prick, I made sure he got what was coming to him. Tax fraud. It’s a fucking little bitch when the IRS finds out what dodgy deals he’s been doing behind their backs. Jail time suits him. At least he’ll get fucked in the ass more times than he’s attempted to rape women in Hollywood. The man deserves everything he gets. I just should have seen the signs. Never let him lay a single finger on Milana. God, I’ve fucked up so many times. I should have fucking killed the bastard right there and then.

Okay, stop.

Focus. I need to find her.

I text my new personal assistant, Deidre, asking her to book a private plane to Alaska. If Milana will be found anywhere, I suspect it will be near, if not with, her mom.

Deidre is like my knight in shining armor, or whatever th

e fuck that saying is. Though, I’m glad to have chosen an older woman to be my personal assistant, my biggest problem is whether she will retire in a year to Boca or Palm Springs. She’s efficient, makes sense of my chaotic life, and invites me to dinner once a week with her and her husband. He’s ex-military but plays a mean game of chess.