Delgado

Chapter 20

A/N - back way sooner than expected, 5k words and I think the longest chapter I've written across both books😭😭

This one is HEAVY, so TW for the entire chapter: violence, scenes that you may find upsetting, and Santiago in general😐

I cried three times writing this so do what you will with that info...I'd say enjoy but yeah😜

~~~

Zane

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like had my cards been dealt differently.

Had Santiago not been my father and Maria not been my mother, where would I be now?

Then again there was the phenomenon of the butterfly effect: a small change in an initial atmosphere could lead to a completely unpredictable outcome in the future. Take my parents' decision to have seven children; that probably contributed to where we are today on a large level- however if that number was changed, even the gender of one of us, was different- I believe I'd be telling a whole other story today.

But I wasn't.

And this, unfortunately, was reality.

Defined as the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them. In summary, the cards I'd been dealt- the cards we are all dealt, are permanent, unchangeable, written in the stars if you will.

And it was down to me, as my siblings' protector, to see this chapter of the story come to an end.

~

I watched each individual droplet of blood fall into the sink as I gripped it with both hands, more and more appearing by the second as the throbbing in my nose intensified and my eyes squeezed shut.

It was for them, Zane.

It's worth it.

I turned on the tap in one swift motion, the deep red circles turning to a diluted orange, then ceasing to exist. Cupping my hands I brought them under the taps, the warm water feeling like acid against my raw knuckles and the open wounds on my palms.

You'd think using a whip was old-school, but not for my father.

He called it the best form of punishment, the most efficient, the most painful.

My palms and back would agree.

I rinsed what I could of the blood away and threw some water on my face, wincing at the sting and letting out a pathetic sigh.

He'd laid a finger on Chase today.

That wasn't something that happened often, Chase was the best behaved under this roof. Even the times when our father lost his temper at him, he was never at fault. We were never at fault, yet bruises, cuts and scars were all that remained after an interaction with him.

Chase had been reading, glasses perched on the edge of his nose and hearing aids on the table, pretty much dead to the world if you asked me, when our father entered and made a beeline for him like he'd set the house on fire.

'You missed training, Chase', he'd told him, 'you've let me down'.

Training. For an eight year old boy to learn how to fight, how to shoot. Chase didn't shoot anymore though, not since the incident two years ago- he didn't like to talk about it.

'I'm sorry', Chase had apologised, closing the book and sitting up straight, 'I got distracted'.

I remember watching our father closely, one move towards my brother and I'd be across the kitchen in a heartbeat, I watched him rip the book from my brother's hands and throw it across the room to which it knocked over a plant pot with a smash. I placed my glass of orange juice down and rolled my sleeves ever so slightly, ready to jump to action at any given moment.