Enzo
Days passed, and I still couldn't forget Mia. She used to call me, even though I didn't answer. She kept sending messages, though I rarely replied. Now she was gone, and she would never come back. Whenever I thought of her, my heart filled with pain. I couldn't believe I would never hear her sweet voice again. I would never hear my name from her lips.
If only I could hear her one more time, just once more.
I covered my face with my hands, lying on my bed, drowning in pain, unsure what to do. I had slept in this same room, this same bed, my entire life. How many times had I cried in this bed? And here I was, still on it, crying. It made me feel even more depressed, as if all the sad memories of my life were trapped in the atmosphere of this room. I got out of bed and went directly to Papa's room.
Papa was watching TV, smoking a cigarette, and sipping on some whiskey.
"Papa," I said.
"Enzo," he replied, the cigarette hanging from his lips. He had somehow learned not to call me baby as often. I was okay with that. I wasn't a stupid baby anymore. Babies were stupid, and I didn't want to be like one.
"I want to go somewhere," I said.
"Why? What happened?" he asked, surprised.
"I don't know. Just take me somewhere. I don't want to stay in this house anymore," I said, hugging him and crying.
"Okay then. Let's go," he replied.
He didn't ask anyone's permission. He just took his gun.
"Where's your knife?" he asked.
"In my room," I replied.
"Alright, take this," he said, handing me a knife. I think he was still worried about my safety. I hated that I always had to worry about it every time I stepped outside. Why couldn't I just go out like a normal person? It made me anxious.
"Can I go change?" I asked, realizing I was still in shorts.
"No, let's go," he said. He wore a white vest with black shorts, looking every bit like a thug. He winked at me, and I managed a small smile before following him to the garage.
"Which one do you want? Jaguar, BMW, or McLaren?" he asked, looking at my three cars.
"Let's take the McLaren. I want to put the roof down," I said.
"Okay then. That means we'll need shades. But don't complain about the dust and sun," he said, scratching his hair. Now he looked like a handsome, scruffy thug.
"All my cars have shades in the glove box," I said. I was obsessed with them, but I sometimes forgot to bring a pair, so I kept extras in every car.
"Yep, you sure do," he replied, opening the door for me to get in.
"You can use one of mine," I offered to Papa.
"You know we're about to break some rules, right?" he asked.
"Yeah. Those stupid rules," I said, annoyed.
"Are you ready to face the consequences?" he asked. The truth was, I wasn't ready.
"Let's ask Pedro then," I finally said. Papa's joy faded, and he started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like a drumbeat.
"Yeah, you're right. You're not just any random boy," he said and made a call.
"Boss, Enzo is really stressed. I think it'd be good to take him out right now. Yeah. Where? But he hates that. Okay, boss," I heard him say into the phone.
