The Girl And The Mafia

To Breathe Again

The scilence in the hallway was bitter, hanging by the fingertips of anger and dispare as I looked at the woman in front of me, "Octavia?" Her voice lingered in the distance between us, hanging like a knife over my head.

She took a long step towards me, causing me to stumble backwards into the hard surface of Will's chest. With hands on my shoulders Will swiftly turned me around and began pushing me forward and away from my mother, in a hollowed daze I left my feet stumbling along as I mumbled the thoughts that leapt in my head.

"Will," I tried to stop the movement down the hall, digging my heels into the ground, but he continued pushing me forward, "Will, why-,"

"Not here," He looked down to me, his eyes lost as his feet lured mine forward and down the twisting corridors and up the stairs.

I could see her eyes in my head, the way she had looked to me, how she had said my name. Could that really have been her though? The police reports declared her dead. It couldn't be her, could it? What if my father was here too?

On the fifth floor down from the top we turned to the corridor and I was quickly pulled into one of the rooms with a white line above the handle. With the same set up as my room, but colored in maroon and black, I stood in the middle of a dorm shaking and swaying like a broken compass.

I looked to Will, "My room." He answered without question, "Was that really her."

Starring at him, my mind spun at a nauseating pace, "What?"confused for a moment by the woman's eyes that stood imprinted in my mind like a tattoo burned into my soul.

"You called that woman your mother, is she?" His eyes locked with mine, the woman's curious eyes were replaced with his bright ones that softened when he looked to me, "I'm sorry, it's just, everyone here has dead parents-"

"My mother is dead," I tried fighting the confusion and avoided his stare, "My parents died in a gang raid on December twenty-second, nineteen ninety-nine. Her cause of death was never decided. She was buried in Calvary Cemetery on December twenty-fourth next to my father, his cause of death was not-."

"Don't do that to yourself," Will's hands pulled mine and loosened the fists I don't remember making, showing nail marks that leaked blood down my skin and onto the wooden floor.

The red flowered on the ground as I starred down to it, wondering if it was the same red the doctor saw on my parents, wondering if red would have looked nauseating on my mother the way it did on the wood. Maybe her and my father would have matched, such a nice idea, a happy family all matching together.

I could see the photo that was kept under my pillow at the orphanage, how I would stare at the hospital room they sat in; how they both looked like they had just won the lottery as they held a screaming child in their arms. The commitment of life fresh in their eyes and setting my heart on fire with the idea that they could have been my life, she could have changed everything.

 But that couldn't have been the same woman, the one in the photo seemed so full of life, so excited to be holding such a small child in her arms, so ready to raise her daughter. The women I had met seemed cold and calculating, almost an artificial version of the woman in the photo.

I was vaguely aware of a voice echoing my name, she had said my name, I thought, didn't she chose that name? She had said it like ice, like a chill of poision on her lips, yet like a flowering rose to my ears to hear it from her. "Octavia," The voice wasn't soft, but wearing my mind away from the dreams of the woman in my head, pealing away the paint that I had since covered over her picture.

"Octavia," The woman's eyes finally faded away into Will's blue ones, "Right now, Octavia."

The lack of natural light in the room turned his dark hair into a redish color under the artificial lights, suddenly I was aware of how small this room seemed, how everything felt so compacted together, so close I could feel the walls breathing down my neck, "Outside," I hugged my arms around myself, I could feel my lungs contracting, my head spinning through the air mixing in with the must of the room.

Without a question Will began walking out of the door, leaving me trailing behind him, hiding my tearstained face from the people who walked by. "This way," He mumbled, picking up his pace as he hit the steep stairs.

The world seemed to be crashing around me in a haze of eyes starring down to me with looks of pity and hatred. Judging me for being so weak, but telling me to run and hide from my fears that bombarded me.

 Finally we hit the top of the stairs, another branch out of corridors and we reached a small metal door with a glowing panel next to it.

Placing his hand on the panel, Will blocked my view of where the buzzing noises were coming from, but suddenly the door budged open. He pushed it forward, letting air that swept my thoughts away and the light of a sunset that bounced off my clothes in warmth.

I stepped through the threshold, in front of me was a wide gravel path with high mountains rising up on either side. We were standing on top of a mountain that laid in the middle, starring down at a city that shinned brilliantly in front of the oranges and reds of the sunset.

I took a deep breath in, remembering how it felt to run in the grass  in front of the orphanage with the kids, how their laughter filled the space around me. "Thank you," I said, not looking to Will as I walked over to a rock on the side of the pathway. We both sat there in silence, taking in the light before he spoke up, shattering the quiet into small glass pieces.

"I never told you why you are here," He spoke, still starring out, "There is an organization, the Sanitatum,  that the government created after the civil war. It's purpose is to end any chance of another war in America. Originally it was only meant to calm citizens while the country was rebuilding, but its gotten stronger since then. They have control over nuclear plants, gun manufacturing, poisons, and just about every weapon the government has, and even beyond them."

"Why does this matter," I bugged in, wondering how something like that could effect us in any way, but taking in the opportunity of distraction, "Its not like we are going to start a war."

He looked over to me, a stern look on his face, "No, we are going to stop them. With all of the power they have they could wipe North America off of the map, it wouldn't be an issue if they weren't planning on doing it soon.

"With all of the riots and tension between civilians and police right now, to them a war is inevitable. That's where the Venatores  come in, very rich people who don't want their lives ruined began sponsoring us. You see, if the underprivileged population is whipped out, the rich will be middle class. And now we are here," He finished, moving his eyes from mine.

"So now I get to die wondering if my mother is alive or not and with you bossing me around for the next five months, this sounds like a horrible movie plot," I kicked at the rocks bellowed my feet as I listened to Will laugh. A smile tipped my lips, pulling the dried tears on my check taunt.

"It could be worse," He joked, "It could be zombies." I laughed as I pushed the rest of the small pebbles away from me, starring down to the scabbing cuts on my hands and the blood that stuck under my nails.

"So, now what?" We both stood up, setting and end to our time outside with the devastating darkness, "Should I talk to her? Or should I save the world?" I puffed out my chest like the superheroes do in the movies, looking off into the city beyond this mountain.

"That's up to you, Octavia," Will placed his hand on the panel next to the door, letting me back into the confines of the compound. We walked down the hallways laughing and teasing before we hit my floor, "I'll see you in training tomorrow."

Edited 6/2/2017