Mafially Yours

7

I wasn't sure how we got to the point where he stood in front of me, his life on the line. I wasn't sure either how we got to the point that I lost all my patience and pointed a gun at his head. He convinced me that we needed privacy. So, we walked to our room. We walked in, and he closed the door behind him. The next thing I know, I am sitting on the chair in the corner of my room, and I am sitting in bed with the gun still loaded in my hand.

"Listen." After this word, bullshit always follows, so I made him cut it.

"You listen, Huncho. I am here to know the truth. So just get to the point." My voice was so strong, but then it cracked when I said, "Why did he say that I caused my father's death?"

"I'm not going to bullshit you," He raised his right arm and said, "I will tell you everything as promised; I am and will always be a man of my word." He paused. "But let me remind you that knowing will cost you way more than not knowing."

"I want to know."

That was it. That was the last sentence I said before knowing everything. Before seeing everything differently. Before hearing words that kept my body alive but killed me inside—words that kept me breathing yet breathless.

"It's all because of the vacation you insisted on going to." When he started explaining, my heart dropped. Maybe he was right when he said that it would hurt me more to know than not, but I'd rather know than stay blinded and live with comments that I didn't understand. His voice was almost unheard, and for the first time, I finally felt like he was terrified. Not because I was holding a gun to his head, but because his words and his explanation will be stronger than the strongest bullet. "At that time, we had a big problem with... You know, some people, and so your dad was supposed to stay here, in this house, where no one knows where he is until we find a solution with them. But one day, he came back home and told us that he tried to tell you that he needed to cancel this trip, and you got so sad and so disappointed, and he couldn't do that to you."

His voice was drawing back the flashbacks of my father talking. He asked me if I would mind if he cancelled. My loud voice blamed him for all the time we spent apart because of his job. And my tears fell down my cheeks when I told him that I missed him. I remembered that he hugged me and told me that he would make it happen, no matter the consequences. He told me no matter the consequences.

"We told him that if he needed to go, we could come with you guys; at least we would be there if anything happened, but he said that he didn't want to scare you. He said that he wanted you to have the best time. So, you guys went. We made sure that no one was following you without your father knowing, but then we came back. What I guess happened is that they didn't know where you went and waited for you to be back from the trip. They knew that he would be alone. They knew no one of us would be there."

My heart dropped.

I knew then that Damien was right and knew that if it wasn't for this vacation that I insisted on going on, he would still be alive. I could feel the gulp rise in my throat, but I was paralyzed. I couldn't cry, no matter how much I wanted to. My hands were becoming loose, and before I could stop it, the gun slipped down. But Huncho hurried to catch it. It didn't even move me. I didn't care.

Huncho unloaded the gun, placed it on the floor in front of me, and sat next to me in bed. "Elena," his voice was soft, softer than it ever was. When I looked at him, and my eyes met his, his eyes softened too. "It's not your fault." A tear escaped the corner of my eye and rolled down my cheek. He shook his head, not knowing what to do or what to say to make me feel better. But he was right to feel that way because no matter what he could have done, it wouldn't have helped.

"Elena," he started again, but his tone was hurting me. He sounded like he felt bad. He felt guilty for telling me. He felt sympathy knowing that I was the reason my father got killed, and I hated that.

I shook my head, tried to swallow my saliva, and said, "Just..." I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him I was okay because I wasn't, and I couldn't smile because it was impossible to bring my face to form any sort of expression. I closed my eyes, wishing to forget. "Can I be alone?" I finally said. He looked at me, unsure of what to do. I nodded once and looked straight into his eyes. He wanted to say something. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked away, then nodded.

"I will be next door," he almost whispered. His voice was barely heard. He got up and walked to the door. He opened it and looked back at me for a few seconds, debating whether he should tell me what he wanted to say, but again choosing not to. He shook his head and walked out, closing the door after him.

And I was left alone with my deadly thoughts.