The Darkness That Consumes Us

Chapter 11

Marco

Pulling into my apartment complex, I'm still thinking about the feisty, dark-haired woman who just so happens to be one of my best friends little sister. I'm not going to sit here and say I've never met any other girl like her because that makes her sound like she's weird. And if I'm being honest that's the most cliches thing I've ever heard in my life. I've just never met someone and had this type of connection. I haven't ever felt this way and if I'm being completely honest not only did I never think I would, it scares me.

I've never liked commitment, never liked being tied down. Especially not the way I grew up. I was raised with the mentality that the more you have, that just means there's more to lose. Never get too comfortable because eventually, you'll get the rug pulled out from under you. And you better be ready cause if you can't afford to stumble and fall. Everybody needs to be disposable, cause all you ever really got is yourself, and if you don't know that you aren't ever going to survive in the foster care system.

I lived by that rule for so long, that it's been engraved into the darkest corners of my brain. Habits like those never really go away, there's always going to be a part of you that always questions whether or not you're good enough for people to stay. I mean, my parents didn't want to so why would anybody else?

That's the truth behind every foster kid, hell every kid on this earth. All you ever really want is to be loved and the kids who don't want that. Those are the ones that have been hurt the most. All they've ever known is being a nuisance to others, never feeling like you have anybody to ever count on, they don't understand what it's liked to be loved, the idea of it itself is almost laughable.

Kids like me.

For a long time, I thought love wasn't real, and even if it was it wasn't for me. I was far too damaged to ever drag somebody down with me. But, when I saw her, I saw the secrets she held behind her eyes. They were kept under lock and key and I want to get to know her. Not just her secrets but what makes her, her.

I know it's too early to feel this way, and I'm definitely not in love with the girl. But, for the first time, I find myself thinking, maybe I got a shot. Maybe I got a shot at finding my person. I don't know why I feel like this, all I know is that she makes me feel some type of way. And I don't know whether to run from it or run towards it.

Maybe she is or isn't the one for me, but I'll never know if I don't try. I can't keep living my life scared of losing people. I can't keep being that scared little boy, I need to be a man. Society thinks being a man is defined by how masculine you are or the things you wear. When really it's about the courage you have, the faith you have in yourself. And how comfortable you are in your own skin, it's owning up to what you did and who you are. Admitting that you have weaknesses, just like everybody else, and knowing that it doesn't make you weak. It makes you human, one that's living and not letting your life pass you by without taking risks. Not taking risks leads to a boring life, and I don't want to lead a boring life. I don't think I was built for that anyway.

I know for a damn fact that woman will keep me on my toes and there will never be a single dull moment with her. I just hope that she wants me as much as I want her.

And that's the instant I knew I liked my best friend's little sister. Fuck. He's gonna try and jump me.

Would you look at that, she's already keeping things interesting and I haven't even asked her out yet. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I met her.

With those thoughts swirling in my head, I get out of the car and walk into the building. Entering the pristine lobby, decorated in simple yet elegant furniture. The walls white with pops of green in form of plants and streaks of silver in the furniture. Looking to my left at the front desk I see Mrs. Rodrigo sat there typing away at her computer.

Feeling another presence in the desolate lobby she looks up and smiles at me. Her dark wrinkled skin still luminous and her eyes emitting warmth, her nurturing aura could make anyone like her. Her dark, full, curly, hair has several streaks of grey mixed in, and is pulled back in a tight bun. The crow's feet around her eyes prominent.

"Hola, mijo. Por fin llegas. (Hi, son. You finally arrive.)" she gives me a knowing look.

"Yes, Mrs.Rodrigo. I'm finally home, and no I didn't get into too much trouble before you ask."

"Bueno (Good). I'm going to head home, it's late and you're finally home," she says while getting up and packing her bag up. Her short stature and pudgy physique remind me of a grandmother.

"You know, you didn't have to stay late to make sure I made it home. You shouldn't cover for Philip's sorry ass," I tell her with an almost chastising tone, but there's no mistaking the fondness I have towards this woman or how grateful I am to her.

"Por supuesto que si. (Of course, I do.) Who else will look after you?" She turns back to me with her bag packed and a mocking smile in place.

"Buenas noches (Good night)."

"Buenas noches, señora (Good night, señora)."

As she leaves, Philip walks in without even sparing her a glance. That mother fucker never liked me, to be fair I never liked him either. When he started working here a few months ago he nearly called the cops. I had just got home from a fight and had some blood and scratches on my knuckles and he though I came in here to cause some trouble. It took Mrs. Rodrigo reassuring him several times that I lived here to get him to back off. The lanky, pale, bald man takes his place on the other chair that's his and ignores me.

Trying not to roll my eyes too hard I get in the elevator and press the button for the top floor where my apartment is. The bell dings signaling I reached my destination and walk to my door and unlock it.

Walking into the eerily quiet penthouse, I make my way towards my bedroom, still seeing the mess from earlier. I should probably clean that up, eh I'll do it tomorrow. It's about three-thirty in the morning and way too late for me to care about this.

Looking around the sparsely decorated and impersonal room, makes me realize that the entire penthouse is like that. This isn't really a home, I never had one and I guess I still don't. Not a real one.

I take off my shirt and pants then grab a pair of grey sweats and slide them on. Sighing heavily as I get into bed and look up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing for a while. As sleep welcomes me into its embrace, I think about her luscious hair, her rosy lips, big brown doe eyes that hold so many secret and pain, framed with long lashes. And my final thoughts before my eyes close is when I'm going to see her again and how she would make this place feel like home, and that doesn't have nothing to do with decoration.

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