I turned the sink on, leaning awkwardly over it so that I could rinse my hair free of my brother’s blood. I had to pause, gagging over the sink, before forcing myself to finish scrubbing my fingers until they were clean too. Then I splashed the cold water on my face until the rest of the blood was washed off and swirling down the drain. I grabbed a handful of paper napkins and began dabbing my face dry.
My hands were shaking and my teeth chattering so hard it was painful. I stepped back and lifted up my shirt, revealing a smattering of red splotches that I was sure would become bruises across my abdomen and rib cage. I gently pressed down on my sides, wincing as I grazed my fingers over each rib. I couldn’t tell if they were cracked or just bruised, but it certainly hurt like hell with my whole body still involuntary trembling.
I stripped out of my clothes and whimpered at the sight of all the blood covering my back and legs. I turned to the toilet just in time to vomit. Everything fucking hurt a hundred times worse when I finished.
Focus, Shiloh.
I put on the clothes I had blindly shoved into my backpack. Javier’s hoodie dwarfed me, the scent of him overwhelming. After several deep breaths of his scent, I grabbed the bloody clothes from the ground and shoved them into the front pocketof my backpack. Without all the blood on my face, the only major thing that stood out was my busted lip and nose.
I was startled by someone banging on the door and I hissed as it jolted my ribcage.
“Hurry up! I’ve gotta piss,” a man’s voice shouted.
When there was more banging on the door, I placed my backpack on my shoulders and exited, handing the angry customer the key. I walked out into the parking lot of the gas station and realized I still didn’t know what time it was. Or where I was going to go. It was probably after midnight, which made it sometime in the early hours of Sunday morning. I had nowhere to go. And even if I did, I’d never endanger their lives. I’d sooner go home than have to live with the guilt of someone else’s death.
I scoffed at that. Home. It was never really a home, was it? My mind was threatening to flood with memories, and I pushed them to the back, focusing on a destination. I lied to myself that this was all a fucked-up nightmare and that I’d wake up soon as I slowly headed towards the 24-hour drugstore.
???
The seven dollars that I had in my wallet were gone, as was my wallet and everything else that I had in my backpack last night. Well, minus two nickels that must’ve gotten stuck when it was being shaken empty by Peter.
After walking around the drugstore for an hour and a half, I was politely asked to leave unless I was planning on buying something. I was tempted to five-finger discount some items, like a bottle of painkillers, but I never found the right moment since I was the only customer in the store. It was almost fivein the morning by then, the red letters on the sign outside the drugstore flashing the time and date.
The pain was getting to be almost unbearable, and I didn’t think I could walk around much longer. When the sun rose, I finally stopped, sitting down on a tree-covered park bench in one of the wealthier neighborhoods in town.
It was impossible to push out the memories of what happened and all I wanted was for Javier to tell me what to do. I needed him there with me like he was a drug that would make everything feel better. The urge to relieve the pain I felt was so debilitating that if I had access to hard drugs, I would have taken them.
I’d never once had the desire to take any of the drugs that were in my house growing up because I was terrified I would end up like my dad. Or worse, afraid that I’d be taken advantage of during a vulnerable state. Sure, I’d smoked weed on occasion, but that just relaxed me a little, and I always did it when Javier was there to protect me.
But right now, I needed something to numb the searing pain in my chest every time I took a breath, the burning ache in between my legs that made me want to vomit, the throbbing in my head…And I didn’t think alcohol or weed would cut it.
My eyes were too heavy to keep open, but the constant buzz of anxiety beating through my body was preventing me from fully relaxing as I tried to get into a comfortable position on the hard park bench.
Why didn’t Javi try and fight back?
Why didn’t I try harder to stop him from being murdered?
I didn’t even get to tell Javier that I loved him.
Did he know that I did? Did I show it enough? Did I tell him enough times?
How much longer was Carlos going to let me live before he came for me?
Would he make it quick like he did Javier’s death?
Cinco.
Fuck!
Five fucking seconds and I didn’t even tell him I loved him.
The thoughts were too much for me to cope with, my stomach churning and the back of my neck prickling with sweat. I hobbled to the grass behind the bench and retched. When it finally stopped, I returned to the bench, wiping the tears that had involuntarily formed.
The dam had broken, and I gave into the sob’s wracking my beaten body, crying so hard that I could hardly breathe. It’d been eight years since I’d cried and there was no shortage of tears.
I wasn’t even strong enough to defend myself. The second he was gone I was raped. All those hours training me went out the window when it really mattered. Javi was right. I was never going to be strong, and I was only glad he wasn’t here to witness it.
The thought of going after Carlos crossed my mind, but it was fleeting and a pointless fairytale to entertain the idea. The local police were in Carlos’s pocket. And, apparently, Los Siete controlled not only Texas but the whole of the Southwest.
