Love or Justice

The words of a ghost

Alessandro's words hung in the air, a fragile whisper in the sterile silence of the motel room. "A life with you." The phrase echoed in my mind, a phantom promise, a ghost of a future that could never be. I looked at him, his face etched with weariness, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made my heart ache.

"Alessandro," I began, my voice trembling, the words catching in my throat. "I..."

He cut me off, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "Don't," he said, his eyes filled with a distant pain. "Don't say anything you don't mean."

He turned away, his gaze fixed on the flickering images on the television screen, his expression unreadable. The silence returned, heavier now, laden with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

The days continued in their monotonous rhythm, a cycle of waiting, watching, and wondering. Alessandro's contact remained elusive, a phantom figure in the shadows. The tension in the room grew, a palpable force that crackled in the air, a constant reminder of the precariousness of our situation.

One afternoon, as I sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the grimy window at the desolate landscape, Alessandro spoke, his voice low, his tone contemplative.

"You know," he said, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, "my father... he was a hard man."

I turned to him, my eyes filled with a quiet curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"He taught me everything I know," he said, his voice laced with a mixture of respect and resentment. "How to survive, how to fight, how to control."

He paused, his eyes filled with a distant memory. "He also taught me that trust is a weakness," he continued, his voice barely audible. "That love is a liability."

"And you believed him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes filled with a haunting sadness. "I had no choice," he said, his voice laced with a bitter resignation. "He was all I had."

He looked away, his gaze returning to the desolate landscape. "He was also wrong," he added, his voice barely audible.

The silence returned, heavier now, laden with unspoken confessions and the ghosts of the past. I wanted to reach out to him, to offer him comfort, to tell him that he wasn't alone. But the words caught in my throat, trapped by the weight of my own deception.

Days blurred into nights, the monotony of our confinement broken only by the occasional phone call or the flickering images on the television screen. The tension in the room grew, a palpable force that crackled in the air, a constant reminder of the precariousness of our situation.

Then, one evening, the phone rang, its shrill cry shattering the silence. Alessandro answered, his voice low, his tone cautious. He listened for a moment, his eyes narrowing, his expression hardening.

"When?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Where?"

He listened again, then hung up, his movements swift and decisive. "We're leaving," he said, his voice hard, devoid of any emotion. "Tonight."

He packed a bag with supplies, his movements swift and efficient, his eyes constantly scanning the room, as if expecting an ambush. He was a man prepared for anything, a man who trusted no one.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, the fear tightening its grip on my heart.

"My contact," he replied, his voice laced with a cold indifference. "He's arranged a way out."

He led me out of the motel room, into the darkness of the night. The air was cold and sharp, biting at my skin, but I barely noticed, my senses overwhelmed by the fear of the unknown.

We drove through the deserted streets, the silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. We reached a secluded airfield, a deserted strip of concrete surrounded by darkness. A small, single-engine plane was waiting, its engine idling, its propeller spinning slowly.

Alessandro helped me climb aboard, his eyes filled with a chilling intensity. "This is it, Julia," he said, his voice cold, devoid of any emotion. "There's no turning back."

The plane took off, soaring into the night sky, leaving the darkness of the airfield behind. I looked down at the city lights, a distant, glittering reminder of the life I had left behind, the life I had betrayed.

As the plane gained altitude, Alessandro turned to me, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating gaze. "You know," he said, his voice low, his tone 1 decided," he continued, his voice laced with a chilling finality. "That I can't trust you."

He reached into his jacket, his movements swift and decisive, and pulled out a gun, the cold steel glinting in the dim light of the cabin. "It seems," he said, his voice laced with a chilling calm, "that you've outlived your usefulness."