~ Alejandra ~
"How can you tell?"
Gabriel looks over at me after we've spent most of our time since we left school in silence. While his face doesn't show it, his silence tells me that he doesn't know what I mean.
"How can you tell who's like you?" I clarify.
Thinking about it, my words even confuse me, but I don't know how else to word it. I mean, what does that even mean? Like..
"Gang members?"
I nod.
He stays silent for only a couple of seconds before answering. "Usually markings like tats or something else."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, the funny little hand things you guys do, I know." I interrupt with a huff.
He scoffs. "Yea those funny little hand things could be life or death you know."
Still stupid.
"What I mean is.." I say, facing him. "In their demeanor. Or on the street without checking for tats and goofy handshakes."
"Signs-" He corrects.
"Whatever."
I look at him expectantly. He pauses, but once he looks at me, his eyes almost roll knowing I'm not going to drop it.
"On the street, guys try to show off." He begins.
"They like to try to pick up women or flash their weapons when shit gets heated."
I listen closely, compelled by the thought of being able to tell who is who. Knowing what the real deal is or who.
"They're usually low level runners or just some wannabe gangsters off the streets, looking to show off."
I turn my head. "Runners as in.."
He looks at me without saying a word and I know my answer.
Drugs.
"Then there's the real deal." He looks across the street, waiting for the walk sign.
We got off the bus around ten minutes ago and we've been walking ever since.
The bus got off right in front of central park and although I've never been, I could tell from the fancy restaurants and elegant glass buildings on the avenue that we're on the Upper East Side.
"What do those look like?" I urge him to continue.
The wind blows past us lightly, adding the perfect mixture of chill and warmth given by the sun.
Families are playing in passing play structures, couples are spread on blankets, friends are throwing balls or walking and talking the way we are.
From the outside, we look almost normal amongst the crowd.
We almost look like friends.
"Why are you asking me this?"
His tone is bored as always, but what I've learned about him is that he never asks a question that he doesn't want or need to know the answer to.
"To go tell the FBI." I state, sarcastically.
Even when keeping my eyes on the never ending park path ahead of us, I feel his unamused stare on the side of my face as we walk.
Turning to meet it, those hazel fuckers that I can't seem to ever ignore look back at me, saying things within their gaze so he doesn't need to.
Everything he thinks, he finds a way to communicate it with those eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Facade
RomanceAlejandra Martinez had the perfect life until she lost her mom and childhood to a violent tragedy that she witnessed. As a result, her dad fell into many patterns of abuse, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of it all. She continued life as bes...
