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“Please don’t leave me,” I whispered, squeezing his hand until I couldn’t feel my own anymore. “I could never leave you Cecilia, but I need to go home and sit with the fact that you will someday,” he unwrapped his fingers from my hand and walked away, leaving my heart shattered in my chest.
“My plans are you, pendejo,” I punched him in the shoulder, and he dramatically faked the injury.
There was the time I picked up an extra shift at work and my mailman, Fred ended up triggering a detonator meant for me. Poor fucking Fred, he was a dick who never knocked hard enough to hear and always made me pick up my packages at the Post Office, but he didn’t deserve to die for me.
Santos was a machine when it came to taking lives, and his cousin had a mega boner set on using his skills for his own benefit.
“If you want me to leave, you’ll have to do more than threaten me. What waits for me is death, so unless you plan to kill me now, and put me out of my misery, you’re closer to my salvation than my reckoning.
Bro, you fucked up colossally! I brought Blondes, you brought the goddamn apocalypse, man.”
What they hadn’t realized was that they would have to do a lot more than just pluck away at my petals if they wanted me to wilt and die. I wasn’t a flower; I was the bronze fucking cow made in the shape of God in the heat of scorching fire. I was the statuette that mere mortals kneeled for reverence in hopes of a rainy day, and I was that same rain that bathed away their sins.
I had forgotten the queen that I had been molded to become, so I would have to thank Ronan for the reminder. It was time these fuckers dropped to their knees and worshiped.
Where Ronan was fire, consuming everything in his path - whether in passion, hatred or anguish - Mateo was an ocean waiting to pull me under until all that was left was waves upon waves of his current washing through me, slowly cleansing me of everything I once thought I was.
If Mateo was the ocean, Santos was the air. Everything about him was so light and free, and filled me with life like a lungful of the purest oxygen. Even when the past tried to weigh him down, he could rise above it.
I wanted to rip him open and bathe in his blood.
Because If death is what waited for her outside of my doors, I would keep her locked away inside until that death came knocking, and even then, it would have to cut through me to get to her.
That was their thing, hurting themselves while hurting each other. It was an annoying by-product of them growing up together, where sometimes they acted more like brother and sister instead of lovers.
“Don’t you get it? Everyone who’s ever gotten close to me has ended up dead!” She cried out showing a sliver of her true emotions for once. “I’m already dead anyways. I have been for a long time.”
is that the most effective way to get someone to talk, was to find and use the thing they care about most in this world. The problem with this method was that if Santos was right about Cecilia, and everything she’d been doing was to keep Berserk safe, then we weren’t ever going to get our answers. Because the thing that she cared most about, was the same thing that was trying to break her for the truth.
Without her I would sink into the bottomless ocean of all consuming guilt that made its home in the void of my heart. No, she’d made her home there too now.
