15 Reasons To Live

Chapter Twelve

15 Reasons to Live © Copyright Brianna Howell 2013

I looked away quickly avoiding his pleading eyes. How could I say no?

"Where would you want us to take her?"

I asked warily.

He looked pensive for a moment, as he stroked the stubble on his chin.

A defeated sigh escaped him.

"Anywhere" he said. "But she can't stay here. The people she hangs out with-" he shook his head and looked away.

"They even scare me!" He looked old and worn out all of the sudden, like it weighed him down more than he said it did.

I kept quiet and let him speak, figuring that he didn't get the chance to talk freely very often.

"But it's not just them, or her 'babe'" he said disdainfully, putting air quotes on 'babe'.

He sighed again and looked around us quickly, motioning for me to follow him. We came to a secluded area in the park and Rodrigo sat down under a tree. I followed him warily wondering what was going on.

No one was around, and despite the muffled sounds of the city off on the distance, things were eerily quiet.

Rodrigo looked like he was coming undone, and his face was buried in his hands.

It shocked me, because this was hardly the Rodrigo I knew, or thought I had known.

I felt guilty suddenly and reached out a hand to his shoulder.

When he looked up his eyes were red and watery.

I decided not to press him for information, and after a few seconds, he spoke.

"When I was little I lived with my family in Argentina."

I bit my lip and prepared myself for his story.

"We lived in a little place, my mother, my brother Miguel and ms. and we didn't have much money since my mother was the only one who worked."

His eyes bore straight ahead into the grass, and as he spoke he sounded like he was far off somewhere else.

"Or at least that's what I thought."

He paused of a moment, twirling a blade of grass through his fingers.

"My brother would sneak out after we were asleep, and run errands for a local gang." His hand found the lace on my boot and he played with it distractedly.

"It wasn't much at first. He would sweep the floors of their place, or go buy matches. But one night he came home and he wasn't as quiet as he had been before."

His hands started to shake, and I grabbed one and held it in mine on instinct.

He sent me a small grateful smile, and I knew that it affected me more than it should have.

"I shared a room with him" he started, tearing his gaze from mine. "And he woke me up that night with tears in his eyes." He spoke coldly and somberly, sounding unattached despite his shaking hands and clenched jaw.

"He hand blood on his hands" he said quietly. "They had sent him to kill a member of a rival gang, and he did."

I gasped.

"I helped him clean the blood, but I didn't realize what was really going on. And he was never the same after that."

His eyes were hard as he gazed at me, but I could see the desperation behind them. He smiled lightly and patted my hand.