Zhara POV
Marco and I pulled up to the house and he cut the engine.
"That's all he said," I asked him, talking about Angelo.
"Yup. And then he proceeded to separate his Oreos from his milkshake—."
"I've noticed he only does things like that when he feels uncomfortable. Or stressed. Whenever I tell him he's doing something wrong he just resorts to arranging stuff," I replied.
He sighed and leaned his head on the window. I could tell he was distraught by this, as was I.
"I was actually going to mention it to you and Cane. I don't know everything that went on in there. And I know from us three talking that Cane did his best to keep him away from the bad stuff, but I think there's still some... damage that we need to take care."
He glanced at me. "What are you suggesting?"
"Therapy. I—."
"I'm not against it but—."
"—I know. I know he can't go telling just any therapist what's going on, but maybe you guys could find someone."
"I'll get Sergio on it now" he said, taking out his phone and sending a text. We stepped out of the car and walked to the front door quietly. I felt myself tear up and stopped walking, turning around to wipe my tears.
Marco was behind me in seconds, turning me so I was facing his chest; I crumbled at his touch.
"Shhh... it's not your fault," he rubbed my back slowly.
I knew it wasn't my fault, but I couldn't help but feel guilty.
"He's home now. That's all that matters," Marco whispered. I nodded, taking in deep breaths to calm down. We walked in to a quiet house. Footsteps sounded from the stairs and down came Cane.
"They're knocked out," he said, walking to the living room. We followed him and took a seat on the couch.
"Why do you look high," Cane asked, opening his can of beer.
"What I told you earlier," Marco said beside me.
"Ohhh," he mouthed, taking a sip and wincing. "He'll be fine. A little trauma goes a long way in this life."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Marco muttered.
"But he's so young," I commented absently.
"I was born a bastard, disowned, lived in the barracks till I was old enough to leave, killed for the first time at 16, mom died on my 21st birthday, spent a year and a half in jail, moved drugs for a small dealer in my hometown and almost died in a drop gone wrong, met a psychotic bitch and dedicated 4 years of my life to her nonsense just to be left for dead in the end," he paused, taking a sip of his beer, "I think I turned out just fine.
He smiled and looked to be reminiscing.
I raised a brow, realizing I'd never learned so much about Cane's past. The room was silent until I felt a peak of curiosity.
"What's your trauma," I asked Marco, my head resting on his shoulder. He didn't respond, and I was about to repeat myself, but he finally spoke.
"Grew up with an alcoholic mother. She almost killed Natalia and I when I was 5; drunk driving. On at my 6th birthday, I watched her try to take her life when my dad said he was going to miss my birthday... again. At 7, I watched my grandfather stab a man through his throat. I took a mans life for the first time at 16 too. Also met a psychotic bitch that I got engaged to. Found my next fiancé in a pool of her own blood the morning of our wedding. Discovered I had a disowned half-brother, and found out I had kids 5 years after they were born—the list goes on," he said.
