Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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*Faint mentions of $uicide themes throughout this chapter*
There're good days and bad days, but I didn't expect everything to turn upside so quickly. How can things be so wonderful one second and a freaking shitzu show the next? Soft hues of orangey-pink mesh together in the sky with a bottom layer of yellow from the sun. It's setting, leaving room for the moon to shine during the night.
Oddly enough, the colors blend to form the shade of indigo.
My eyes sting. Out of all the heads on the table, seeing Indigo's head destroyed me the most. Isiah, Issak, and Isa weren't always the best brothers, but I never wanted to sign their death sentence. Our environment shapes us, and being a part of one of the deadly families in the New York state area didn't help them become noble citizens.
Indigo didn't deserve this at all. A tear slips from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks as I flip through my childhood photos. Mika used her many contacts to find these pictures for me. Whenever I'm homesick, I flip through my memories. What is there to be homesick for? The familiarity of my family.
Five droplets land on the younger version of Indigo and me-- he's pushing me on the swing, and in the following image, I'm on the floor because of Issak, my knee bleeding. It wasn't funny at the time, but now I feel like laughing. I'm so dramatic. Maybe I should've valued them more.
Now, I have to live with the fact that their blood is on my hands.
Never did I expect Julian would give my family's quarters away. It's my fault. I put faith in him after the birth control mishap. I don't care what the circumstances were-- nothing is worth betraying my trust. Who cares if I was at stake? Did giving my family up change the outcomes? Either way, I'm covered from head to toe with bruises.
My bottom lip stings as I dab the tissue on the dried blood. It's terrifying to look in the mirror-- reading the lines of bruises on my skin. A sinister, violent shade of purple emerges on the side of my right eye, aching from a single tap. A mixture of merlot and cherry red stains my vanity table. It's a miracle I haven't passed out from all the blood loss.
It will all heal.
Scars are just scars.
I have plenty of them. Sometimes I don't understand why Julian puts me on such a high pedestal. It's his way of separating us because he thinks I'm a naive girl that I can't have any ugly, jagged pieces within. I've been on my own since I was fifteen, and I've done enough things to land myself in hell.
My eyes fall on the bloody stained ribbons on my wrist. They would blend well with the rest of the scars. When life is fast-paced, it's easy to erase all the wrongdoings from my memory. That day seems so far away... I wonder how the world would be if I completed the task. A little less fudge up?
I would just be a tragic soul that had enough.
Is it giving up if I'm just tired? It's always an uphill battle filled with countless bumps down the road. Photos scatter to the floor, tumbling from my lap as I hoist up from the balcony. I unhinge the window. The breeze soars through the small opening, skating through my dress. Why did I think I had a particular road to lead me to the winning spot?
