HATE (Editing)

1b

'Lane, ' I heard her voice.

It was Katrina. The woman who had taken me in on that fateful night. She had found me crying by the roadside. This was after I alighted the bus. I told her that I didn't have a home. That was the only thing she knew about me. She took me to her home. At first, I was scared of her husband, what he could do to me. He never did anything that scared the shit out of me. I was glad. Somehow, I felt that Katrina had told him what was necessary for him to let me stay here. He never showed any signs of any emotion towards me. Not love. Not hatred. Not understanding. Nothing. Maybe he didn't like me that much. At that time I had been seventeen. I had stayed with them for more than a year. I had just recently turned nineteen, not that it mattered anyway.

'Lane, you were shouting last night. Terrible dream?'

I nodded.

'Come to think of it, you never told me if you had any relatives?'

“The ones I had are all dead.”

'How? '

“I only had a father. He died of a heart attack when I was fourteen.”

'Who took care of you then? '

'I had a friend.'

A lie. I had joined the mafia. A people and place I could once call home. My thoughts travelled back to the day I got the news that my father was dead. Some men in black came to give me the news. I assumed they were officers. Maybe. I didn't like the stiffness they exhibited. They looked devoid of any emotion. They wanted to take me to a safe place. I didn't know any safer place than at my father's house. But... What if I was wrong. A young man, younger than the two grim looking men walked into our apartment.

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"'So, where do you plan to go,"' a young man walked in asking.

“I don't know,”

"'What do you plan to do?"'

“I don't know that too,”

"'Come here,"'
He unzipped his jacket smirking at me.
"'Don't be scared,"'

“Who are you?”

"'My name is Jack,"'

“Are you a friend of my father?”

"'You can say so. Come here..."' his expression looked sincere enough.

I headed for him wrapping my arms around his torso. He pulled me closer for a warm embrace as my tears stained his shirt.

"'I'm sure he didn't want to leave you. I'd never leave you,"'

“But you don't even know me,”

"'Would you like me to?"'

“I don't know...” I stepped away from him conscious of me embracing a stranger.

"'If you don't figure anything by next week. Call me. I'll come for you..."' he handed me his number.

“And if I do?”