Samuel Gray Davidson is a ghost. No one knows his name except for his nickname: Red Death. He has become an expert assasin, never been caught nor injured in any of his missions. He's feared and he gave power to Miguel Rodriguez, his adoptive father...
We were currently in the car. Matteo, that asshole, was driving us somewhere I didn't remember even though Mick has told me plenty of times. I was bored, the car ride seemed to never end and it wasn't doing me any good. Did I mention that I was hyperactive?
"Stop moving so much!" Mick said, still a little bit of sweetness in his voice.
"I can't! This car ride is taking too damn long and I feel constricted between you two!" I said, almost whining like a little kid, almost. "Plus it's a limousine! Why the hell are we sat in one fucking couch!"
It went silent, I tried to still my body but after a while my leg trembled, my fingers tapping on it. Max closed his laptop, he was working on it since the car began moving but it seemed that he had finished whatever he was doing.
One of his hands went on my tapping hand, stopping it as well as my trembling leg. I looked at him only to see him looking out of the window at the beautiful landscape that his birthplace had. I put my head backwards, resting on the seat as I started thinking about anything and everything.
I closed my eyes as well and tried to zone out every little sound that I could hear. My breathing slowed down and all my body relaxed; it was a trick that my mother had taught me when I was younger. Back then I was way more active then now, I couldn't even stay put for a few minutes.
School was a nightmare: staying seated all those hours with a little break of 10/15 minutes always drew me crazy. That and my lack of my attention made every kid my age stay away from me and every teacher gave up.
In second grade, I was already all alone and teachers didn't even care to correct or actually explain to me. They simply went on with the program, not even sparing me a second glance even though I didn't understand. I considered myself lucky...I wasn't bullied after all...but I wasn't even unacknowledged.
Although school was shit, at home I felt so loved and cherished. My father was a second teacher, he would patiently explain and show me how everything was meant to be done: from writing my name in cursive or resolving a way too complicated math problem.
The last one was where we spent most of our hours; math wasn't a problem for me, I could easily do calculations or draw graphics but resolving problems was on another level. I remembered that I didn't understand why a person would buy 100 watermelons.
If my father was the teacher, then my mother was that funny janitor that every school had. She liked gardening and studying animals, so she always took me out, even for a walk or just to play in the garden. She taught me the meaning behind every flower, we had even started to communicate by giving each other flowers or just saying the name of one.
She usually gave me an red carnation that was a symbol to express strong feelings, affection, love, energy and a wish for good health. She would put it on my nightstand in my room so, when I woke up I could see it. It was always an orange one because she said that it reminded her of my hair.
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