What Might Kill Us(7)By: M.N. Forgy
Looking up and down the hallway I sprint. I run, and run. Turning down a long corridor where another man stands guard there. I stop, my bare feet squeaking along the marbled floor. The traction making me fall on my ass, this gaining the guard’s attention. He gives a double take before realizing who I am and starts after me. My eyes widen, fear setting its claws into my chest. I raise the gun, my hands shaky.
“Don’t!” I threaten weakly. My breathing harsh. “I’ll fucking shoot you, I’ll do it,” I say with a shaky breath, barely able to stand on my own two feet from the rush of adrenaline.
He glances over my shoulder, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.
A clicking noise sounds and my spine goes straight with its recognition.
“Drop it Anahi,” Alvaro rasps.
My lips tremble as if I’m cold, my world crashing at my feet.
“Let me go,” I plead. Hoping that there’s compassion left somewhere in Alvaro’s heart for me.
Cold steel presses into the back of my head once again, and my eyes sting with the urge to cry. Angry that I ever trusted Alvaro. I push my head back onto the barrel. A side of me just wanting him to pull the fucking trigger already. To end everything.
A clap sounds, making me jump out of my pity.
Uncle Benito walks out of the adjoining room, a cigar between his teeth.
“That! That is what I have been waiting for! Awaiting the lion cub to see its potential and go turn into a man eating beast!” He beams, pointing at me with praise. “This is why I had you locked up for so long. I knew you were capable of such evil things, I just had to poke the beast I see,” he chuckles and I shake my head − confused. “Others are a work in progress,” he eyes Alvaro, his humor gone.
“I admit, I started to wonder if you had any Gomez in you at all, Anahi. Maybe too much of your whore mother, or maybe you were a bastard child.” He squints his eyes, the cigar now in his fingers. “I was wrong. You’re very smart; brutal. What did she use to kill Kulo?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. A guy steps by me, acting as if I don’t have a gun raised, and dangles the braided string. What’s left of it anyway.
He shakes his head, his face elated with praise.
“Fucking brilliant!” he booms. “I thought you were making a damn bracelet.”
Angry and done with the misplaced praise, I pull the trigger. The gun making a loud clicking sound, but no gunfire. It catches everyone’s attention and Uncle Benito’s happy go fucking lucky face falls when he realizes I just tried to kill him.
I panic, looking at the gun for the safety lock.
“Do it,” Uncle Benito orders, and the cold steel that was pressed against the back of my head slams into the back of my skull, knocking me to the ground in a stupor.
“Get the drugs, we’re doing this now,” he demands, the sound echoing through my throbbing head.
A hand caresses my face. I want to pull away, to cuss at the contact but I can’t move. The ache in my head too much to bear.
“Welcome to the family, baby,” Alvaro coos as he places his lips against mine briefly before withdrawing.
“She’ll make a pretty drug mule if I ever saw one!” Benito chuckles loudly and I feel myself giving in to the blackness. “You both have more than earned your bandanas, kids.”
I open my mouth to reject, not wanting to be a part of his crew but the darkness rushes over me, it smothers what’s left of the little girl that liked to pretend she was a princess.
It forces a hostile bitch to rise. Ready to cut someone’s throat if that’s what it takes.
But this won’t be the end. As soon as my feet hit American soil, I will run. I will not let this be it for me.
Three Months Later
Sitting at the bar I palm the glass, looking the amber liquid over. In my head I know I don’t need it, but I can’t seem to put it down. I started drinking excessively when I lost the woman I loved for so long in secret. It helped dull the ache that rooted itself in my soul, tangling and snubbing out my spirit to the point I hardly recognize myself anymore.
I tell everyone I can quit when I want, but the truth is I’m not so sure I can anymore. When I don’t have a drink at least once a day I begin to sweat and become sick to my fucking stomach. I can barely ride my motorcycle my hands begin to shake so bad. The only focus digging in my brain is when I’ll get my next sip of burning alcohol.