After she went home safely, I dragged myself the same night to get rid of the footage of the security cameras around the gas station. Some of the bodies and bikes were still there, and there was no sound of wailing. Even Zia told me she already called the police. As expected, the police were late as usual, as if they knew that bikers were the ones who beat the one innocent man, but they didn't know that I was not that innocent. There was no innocence left in my soul. Erasing the footage was easy, but the memory of the person was a bit harder.
Shit. I saw Winston's face, bloody, messy fucked up face.
My baby doll was quite something, huh?
And about the time the wailing sound of the police finally arrived, I hid myself back in the woods. Some of those fuckers must be back to their place. I waited until they took care of the bodies; they carried Winston's body in the ambulance, and they left the scene.
If he died, good, but if not, I had to ensure he did. But before that, I had to erase the memory of his minions. Making sure that no one there witnessed it. I won't let anybody target Zia, even cops, high authorities, and that fucking Winston's gangsters.
I trashed their place at the back of Oldwood Street. Some of them were already badly injured, and I had to repeat them so we were on the same page. Some of them, well, returned to Mother Nature.
After that, I went to the hospital. His brother, Welton, was waiting outside, talking on the phone angrily, not in tears or mourning. I snuck in without them noticing and did the deed. I quickly snooped out before the rest of the nurses stormed inside because of the emergency sound. I couldn't stay to let the doctor check my wound, even though I felt a bit of aching pain, but it was just a fucking ant biting me, a fucking thousand of them to be exact. I hurried to get out and back to my house before the sky turned bright.
I looked at my wound. The stitches that Zia did for me looked messy, but they tightened enough that even after the long active mission, they didn't open. My Zia was the best; she was great at everything she did. I needed to take care of my scar. She put her effort into making art for me. I would cherish it forever.
The news arose as the following day came. Winston's death was around the town, and the suspects weren't that far away from the police's eyes, but they could do nothing since the witness and the evidence were destroyed.
Then something disrupted in the worse fucking time. I just had time or a chance to be with her—closely. It was the time for me to spend my miserable life with a rare flower that bloomed in the rare time that she, my Letizia, planted it for me, a whole garden. A life that I couldn't imagine, running and watching myself and her—holding each other through the peony and rose wilds, even with thorns; I would not feel any pain, only love and warmth. But the call from my father changed everything. I had to visit him and join the military for him. No, for my mom's sake. She begged me to honor his will before his breath would disappear from this world. I didn't want to. I didn't fucking care if that man had died. But how could I say I loved my mum so much that I couldn't see her sadness.
So I went—left,
I left my mom, and I left Letizia.
When the silver car parked beside the road, the long black hair and milky skin shone right through me, along with the sun was about to set down from far away. It was her, Letizia, my girl, the girl I dreamt of her every fucking brutal night, and even I opened my sored eyes every day. I had to glare so hard to ensure it was her. I noticed the girl next to the driver, Ivan's sister, and then I knew the beautiful girl in the back was Letizia. I couldn't believe my eyes that it was her in front of me. I had waited and crawled myself out from the dirt to see her.
Oh, fuck, my Zia looked so stunning more than I imagined her. Her long black hair slid down on her cheek, over her shoulders. She pulled her high knee stocking on that beautiful leg before every man's eyes—she was so nonchalant. Did she know that every fucking man here wants to snatch her away?
I heard the conversation between them. Of course, all the boys wanted her. They would run after her kitten tail, but I was almost surprised that she was not with anybody, and I realized that they were boys. They were intimidated by her, which I didn't understand because of her fierce looks under the cutesy, sweet, gentle face, or perhaps her bright dimension of blue eyes that could cut through boys' skins. However, she would like a man who takes action to pursue her rather than be afraid of denial and let their friends feel shame instead of themselves, and probably talk behind her back, so childish.
As she walked inside the garage, her sapphire eyes sapphire me right through my black shield helmet as if she knew where my sight was at her.
FUCK.
If my eyes could be drooling, that could be it.
And that fucking Kay, the son of the owner of this garage, the son of the bitch who she ran to hug him, and his face was full of fucking joy, and he also dared to ask her, was she pleased? He found her a rare custom engine just because he wanted to get under her skirt.
Before introducing myself to the town, I had to introduce myself to her first, but I didn't want to scare her away or build a wall between us. She didn't know who I truly was before, and I was so fucking sure that she wouldn't know who I had become. I needed the plan to slowly present myself in my own way so she couldn't deny or resist being with me even after tasting my darkness. I didn't want to force her to do anything she despised, but if it was uncomfortable, it could become accustomation. If it was fear, it would follow her everywhere: her mind, her bones, her soul, even her heart, and soon enough, she would turn to face it, and not only would her feelings change, but her body would be able to handle, welcome, and embrace me.
I had to know her routines, times, schedules, and every habit she had been doing. Who has she been interacting with? Who was on her wrong side? And Who was she interested in? Who she kissed or any fuckers who tried to get in her pants.
The house—my own homey house which my mum lived in, without her wasn't homey anymore. My father left us when I was ten and never fucking came back, and he had the fucking urge to call my mum and wanted me to leave her the way he walked out on her. I wouldn't have to—even scratch my liver out. I would never ever leave my mum if it wasn't for my mum and for her, my Zia. I got into my bedroom, pushing my old clothes hanging out in good condition—my mum. And all the dust flew out; I pressed the passcode in the hidden corner, and the wooden door opened. The secret room I built for my work, the security cameras around my fucking house and my street that secretly set them up without the police knowing, they would be shown on my computers and on six televisions that pile up next to my desk. It still worked—ideally, I replayed the clips since the first day I left my house, the town. All night, I kept my eyes open, watching her. My sweet Zia ran to my house, interacted with my mum, and smiled at her until my mum was not here anymore, but still, she didn't stop to look up at my humble home. It was like she was obsessed—addicted to my house, to me—oh fuck please—I hoped it was me.
She didn't only fucking save me, she also saved my mum—kept her alive, kept her smile. Fuck, my tears ran out without realization. She pushed through that gas station, strugglingly, agonizingly. She has been suffering from the awful past that I caused for the past two years. I hated myself for that. After I had witnessed everything, I was so proud of her. She always faced her fears, even with the tears in her eyes, even though we hardly see it.
The reason I came back is because of her and only her. No one fucking matter to me anymore, and I do anything to make her mine be one of my souls, and I will make her choose me willingly, and we can start officially—a family together, just two of us. No one deserves her. I even doubt myself, but it's not going to stop me, and I will prove to myself and her that I am the only one who can be that man—protector, provider, and lover. I will kill anyone for her; I will be her executor if she wants me to be. I will do anything for my baby doll.