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"We were friends, close friends. Me, my mum and him sang sometimes together." Her nail dug into the skin of her thumb. "I cared about him." Silence, fear. "My mum went to look after Luke for a few hours, just until his parents would get home. They were out for their twelve-year anniversary." A bittersweet smile.
Weight in her chest. "She was supposed to be gone for only two hours—just two." Panic, breaths. "I was with my dad and Carlos, we were watching some movie I don't even recall." She laughed, why?
"We heard two gunshots." Trembled lips and hands. "Later, we found out one shot was for her and the other one for him."
Panic. Panic. Nails scratching skin. Breaths.
"He was shot too?"
There was blood somewhere on him, where though?
"Yes, on his arm. He got lucky."
"So, it wasn't his fault that your mother died."
Gaze snapped, widened eyes. "What?"
"You blame him, but he was a victim too."
No, he wasn't.
"No, he wasn't."
"But everything you told me lead to two men murdering your mother, not him."
"Yes, but—"
"So why hate him? After all these years, you still want revenge, why?"
"It's his fault, it's his." Fragile whispers.
"How? He couldn't do anything Julie, he was just a kid—"
"He could have save her." Determination.
"How? Two armed men against a young boy who was shot."
Violently shaking her head. Chest tightening.
"He could have tried!"
Her chair clattering loudly against the cold floor.
"Why did she die, and he lived?" Shallow breaths, unshed tears."Why?"
"Julie, he was just a kid. You just want to blame someone,anyone, for—" Suffocation.
"He should've died that day. Instead, he is here reminding me every single day that my mother is dead. And all that because he was too weak to do anything."
—————
Julie held the pills tightly in her grip, a fragile bridge between her and the abyss. Last time curiosity had gripped her, she was miles away, hidden beneath the blue waters of Greece. For the Molina family, summer meant escaping to tranquil islands, while winter brought solitude at her aunt's house in Puerto Rico.
She stood by her window, watching the snow cloak the sidewalks in its silent, unblemished shroud. Winter was settling into her town, dressing the city in a ghostly white veil. To a girl from Puerto Rico, snow was a rare dream, and even in Los Angeles, it was a mesmerizing anomaly.
