Alexis

Morsi Esposti

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Photo source-- Pinterest

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When I got home, I went up to my room to take a shower. The water was as hot as the anger in me. I wanted to know why my dad's murderer was at his funeral! I wanted to know why no one did anything! I wanted answers!

Except, my emotions were a huge mess, and I couldn't stay on one for long. I started to move the blame to myself. Why did I do nothing? How pathetic could I get? I did NOTHING but stand there and look at my father's murderer!

A dry, angry sob left my lips. I needed to listen to my own advice and stop biting! I reached up and grabbed my razor. How do I do this? I'd have to take out the razor, right? I didn't know if not taking out the razor and simply running it over my wrist would have the same effect.

I clicked the razor blade off and pried apart the weapon. Angrily and without thinking, I sliced two short vertical lines on my left wrist. I didn't have a plan but whatever it was it disappeared when my blood started to show.

No!

It reminded me of my dad and, again, the anger came back. I needed to stop focusing on myself! I need answers!

I hated how I couldn't seem to focus. It was as if the neurotransmitters in my brain were malfunctioning. I was constantly jumping from feeling to feeling, never lingering on one emotion or thought for long enough to adequately process it.

After I got out of the shower and put bandages on my wrists, I brushed my wet hair angrily. How could that man look at me? At the daughter of the man he killed? What sick, twisted fuck was he?

I got dressed in baggy sweatpants and a loose sweatshirt.

I was so angry. I marched downstairs. I needed to see Vincent or Dante. I needed to scream and yell at them. I kept it in for too long. How did I let myself take the blame? It wasn't entirely, no. It was Roberto's fault. He shot my dad. He killed him.

Dante was sitting on a stool at the island, his back to me. I marched right up, angry. My hands formed fists. My nails dug deeper into the dents I made earlier. He turned around once he heard me enter.

"Hey, kiddo–"

"Don't!" I snapped. "He was there! No one did anything!" I yelled. "Youze just stood there and let that fucker stand!"

He sighed out. "Alexis, it was your father's funeral. He specifically asked for no violence on that day, didn't you read his letter? On top of that, the President and Secret Service were there. It'd be a case–"

"So fuckin' what? He killed my father! Does that mean anything to you?" I demanded.

"Of course–" Dante looked over to the door when it opened. He slowly looked back at me but didn't continue what he was saying. He took a deep breath.

What? Was I irritating him? Was he fed up with my bullshit? Well, I didn't give a fucking fly fish fucking flying fucking fuck! Fuck! Fuck him! Fuck Vincent! Fuck everyone!

Fuck!

"What? Nothin' to fuckin' say?" I demanded. "You let him get away and you have nothing to say? Are you proud of yourself? You call–"

"Alexis," a deep voice called.

I knew that fucking voice.

I felt like what I would imagine Mike Tyson felt like during a fight. I was ready to dual and beat everyone up. I was so mad at them. I was mad at the world.