MAYA, a girl who goes through life with an unwavering smile-around other people that is. While juggling four jobs to support her father and a side hobby of modelling, Maya is rarely at home-to her content. Even through the mental and physical turmoi...
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"THAT WAS THE most anticlimactic thing i've ever experienced." Nish sighs as we watch the clean up crew begin to dismember his body. "i wanted that mother fucker to at least put up a fight."
we showed up, all hands on deck, snuck around back and surrounded the house before Nisha, two men and I went in, only to find him unconscious on the couch, vodka bottle in his hand, above a large wet stain on the carpet where i assume most of if poured out when the fucker passesed out.
one shot and it was done. to be honest, i wanted him to put up a fight too. i wanted an excuse to 'accidentally' shoot him in the kneecaps a couple of times before finishing him off. "i'll go get her some stuff for tomorrow." Nisha says, sending one last glare to the fat, pathetic excuse of a man.
i follow her to the other side of the room where the walls meet. three doors face us. the first of the few doors we open leads to a small but relatively clean bathroom, and the second is followed by lacey's room. i know it's hers because it smells like her. Lilacs and vanilla.
The room is sad. like most of the house, it's made up of scraps. she has no bed frame, no dresser or bedside table. she has a mattress on the floor, and a closet with the door off it's hinges.
i don't realize i've been staring until Nisha speaks, "ready to go?" i nod.
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Nisha's bed is so comfortable; it's not even comparable to the bed i have back home. it feels like I'm laying on a cloud. i stay in my position, eyes closed, covered with the duvet for a long time. i could lie and say im just to tired to get up, but the truth is im just lazy and comfortable.
i've never had such an impeccable rest. i feel like i've been asleep for days. the mattress cradles me in a way that makes me never want to leave, but as my thoughts wonder further away from my comfort and more towards what awaits me when i inevitably do get up, it's not the way it hugs me that keeps me rooted.
I know Papa is dead. I know that at least part of me should be sad, but I'm not. In fact, I think this is the least pain I've felt in a long time. Mentally and physically.
I should hate Killian. I should hate Nisha. I should hate anyone who had anything to do with Papa's death. That's how a normal person would react, but i just can't. They saved me. he saved me. and no matter what else happens, i can't not be grateful to Killian.
