Arrange Marriage Gone Right

VICTORIA'S PERSPECTIVE I bid my colleagues goodbye as I clocked out of my shift, humming on my way home. By tomorrow, I'll finally be getting my paycheck and I could barely wait. That money would go a long way in helping dad with the bills and the rest, I'll use to get that purse I've always wanted. I entered our house and everywhere was silent. Then I heard footsteps from the bedroom, frantic movements… like someone in a hurry. “Did someone break into the house? s**t! We're being robbed,” I muttered to myself. I tiptoed to the kitchen area and carried a pan. Then I gently tiptoed to the room, lifting the pan above my head. I was about to hit the man but was shocked to see that it was dead in a frenzy. He was hurriedly packing things into a traveling bag. “Dad… what's going on?” I asked, confused. I placed the pan down. “Pumpkin, you're back. Go into your room and get your most valuable things. We are leaving.” “Wait what?… leaving?” He didn't answer me, he just kept on packing, leaving me to wonder what was going on. I stood still, calculating the several reasons that came to my mind but only one was glaring; we were about to be on the run. But why? I couldn't just fathom what could be the reason. Were we being chased? Did mum have another episode? Is the world ending? Dad has not been the best father of the year but still, he tried all he could for us, especially with mum sick and needing money for her upkeep. Dad became my best parent since fifteen. Mum was cool and my best friend growing up but suddenly, she changed. I still don't know the reason why but she became an alcohol addict and since then, everything went down the drain for us. Our life changed. She developed a serious illness and needed treatment. Dad did all he could with his menial plumbing job but it was not enough to get by. So, I had to start working and now… this? “Dad… what's wrong? What's going on? Where are we going?” “Pumpkin, I'll explain everything to you on our way.” I stood still, unmoving, making him stop. He walked up to me, held my shoulders and said, “Please, just go get some of your valuables now.” I looked at him and couldn't help the tears that threatened to fall off. My eyes were red and I was scared. “Dad… you're scaring me. Just tell me what's going on, please…” The look in my eyes must have gotten to him because he paused and then sat on the couch. Quiet, his face showed no emotions and that scared me more, worried me. “Dad… you can't just possibly ask me to pack my things and leave to heaven knows where. My life is here, my job, my friends, my… everything… you've got to tell me what's going on…” My voice was high pitched now but he still kept quiet. Then, his phone rang. We both looked at it. The caller read; Marcello. I looked at dad and saw him begin to fidget. He began to bite his finger nails in worry. I furrowed my brow in shock. My father was always this stoic and composed man. No matter what life threw at him, he was composed and I loved that about him. But now, he seemed scared. The line went dead and began ringing again. Whoever this Marcello was, I already hated him for getting to dad this much. Fuck it. I picked the phone. “No…” Dad said, stretching his hand to grab the phone from me but I took some steps away from him and answered the phone. “Who are you?” I asked, trying hard to contain my emotions. “Child, give the phone to your father,” a man with a mexican accent spoke into the phone. Child? Who does he think he is to call me that? He hasn't earned that right, not when he's leaving my father in such a fuss. “Mercello or whatever you call yourself, you speak to me now. So, what the hell do you want with my father?” He laughed heartily. My brow furrowed. Was something funny? “Oh… I see your father has no balls to pick my call anymore. Now, listen to me, give the phone to your father before I put a bullet down that leg he is using to pace around right now.” It hit me. We were being watched because indeed dad was pacing around. Who is this person really? I removed the phone from my ear and dad grabbed it, putting it on speaker. “Have you been avoiding my call, amigo?” Marcello's voice rang through the phone, calm but commanding. “No… no Marcello. Of course not,” dad said, still pacing around. “Where is my money, cabron?” “Marcello, amigo. You know how it is with my situation… I asked for more time and I promise I'll pay you, please…” dad was scared and I hoped that this Marcello guy would buy what he said. “Shut the f**k up!” Marcello thundered. He was angry, I could feel it from how thick his Mexican accent was now and how dad almost jumped out his skin. “Don't ever call me amigo, amigo. You think I don't know? You're about to run away with that princess of yours without paying back, pendejo!” We both exchanged glances and dad stood frozen. Seeing how scared dad was, worried me. It scared me. It was obvious this guy was not someone to joke or play with. Of all people to borrow from, he had to borrow from bad guys? What has dad gotten us into? “Marcello… I…” “You know the drill, pendejo, you either pay in cash or kind.” “No… no… no… Marcello. Please… just give me more time… I promise I will…” The line went dead. Dad took the phone off his ears and looked at me, petrified. “We have to go, now!” He thundered. He ran to his wardrobe, took some cash, our passports and placed it into my bag. He picked up the travelling bag, held my hand and at this point, I knew this was dangerous. I didn't fight it. He led us to the entrance door hurriedly. As he opened the door, we saw two hefty bulky looking men and one smaller chubby man with a cigarette in hand. The chubby man puffed the cigarette at us and said; “Where the f**k do you think you're going?”