First time my Carlos told me he was involved in this gang, I didn’t believe him, I laughed at him. He then had a very disappointing look upon his face. My laughter was soon silenced. He showed me his tattoo, showing he was in deep with these members. He continued to tell me story after story of the people he’d help kill and how he had done so with no more than his bare hands.
I could not grasp how someone so kind hearted, that picked me up from being alone because I was the new student, is so murderous. He has shown me all of what I know about Madrid and all of Spain. He’d done stupid little things with me like hold my hand, hold me through a thunderstorm, and watched the sunset with me. These were not actions that were advertised of killers. Advertisements of men like him painted evil pictures of men who were unable to love with a true heart. I was supposed to think of Carlos as a bad man, as someone who was going to hurt me.
I refused to believe it and told him so. The look upon his face showed me that he intended me no harm. He had given me nothing but love and now wanted me to fear all I’ve known of him, impossible. Informing him of that thought I was invited to meet him tomorrow night. This invitation however seemed slightly different. I have yet to meet him somewhere, because he had fear of me getting lost or jumped, and it was much later than normal. I would not protest however, because I do love and trust him with all my heart.
* * *
One crack and the world is sideways. Staring down a dark alley, unable to blink, I lay. I can feel my heart unknowingly pumping the remaining blood from my body. My lungs pleading and heaving for that last breath of air. Dying, I lay on the cold, now stained alleyway. A scarlet puddle blocking my sight to where he had gone.
Called here by my so-called love. Approach he did, in a fashion in which I was very unfamiliar with, a way that appeared unsure yet anxious. Not thinking a thing of it, I went to greet him but was welcomed by the barrel of a gun pressed to the bottom of my forehead. Uncertainty was my last feeling, not fright. How could one fear one that once loved you? The tears running down his nervous face should have been the clue that I should have felt uncomfortable. The shadowed men standing behind him should have been the trigger of fear. I was unable to grasp the concept of fear, as was intended. No scream escaped my lips, but only a question, “Don’t you love me?” A quick pull, crack, and fall to the ground was followed by a whispered, “Yes.”
I could only see his feet as he left with the shadowed men. ‘This is how love truly feels,’ I thought. My throat filled with the lack of air and my heart stopped beating, as the rain began to pour, washing away all that I once had.
