In God We Trust [SPORADIC UPDATES]

OCHO

chapter eight ✗ hipocresía

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"WHO DO YOU think you are?!" I screamed at him from his office, still quivering in my seat next to where he had been just moments ago. The door was still open, and I was now alone. The guard had gone off to look for cleaners and a body bag while I was still in the room with Alexei's cadaver. I avoided looking at it because if I did, I'd throw up again. Meanwhile, his blood was feeling as if it was searing into my skin, while also simultaneously staining my white, designer Gucci t-shirt. 

I couldn't be angry at him and call him a monster, a murderer or a criminal because then, I would be a hypocrite. For me to suddenly find homicide disgusting was paradoxical in its own humourless way. My father, my brother, my relatives and even some of my friends murdered because they were in this industry too. Perhaps I had brushed it off my whole life because it hadn't actually happened in front of me, but now that a life had been ended in front of my own two eyes, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt like crying and shouting and throwing up all at the same time. 

So I did what any insane, traumatized woman who acts on impulse would do-- I ran after Mateo. My legs felt heavy as lead the entire time I did so and it seemed the hallway stretched for never-ending miles, and when I finally got to him, he was making his way down the grand staircase. I followed him the entire way down, and when we got to the bottom, he continued as if my presence didn't matter to him. His strides were long due to his height, and although I was the opposite of short, I had to jog in my stilettos to keep up. 

When my hand clamped around his shoulder to force him to turn around, he halted in his tracks and faced me. There were various guards and several others, some I recognized and some I didn't, loitering around, and now, all eyes were on us. I didn't care, though. I was splattered in blood, my hair was slightly matted with it, and my eye makeup was black and smudged under my eyes from tears. Crimson was also spotting his own clothes and face as well.  "What's your fucking problem?!" I yelled. 

"Ve a tu habitación." ("Go to your room.") He whispered lowly, his jaw clenched tightly. 

A cynical left my mouth, and even though a part of me screamed to obey to avoid more trouble, the more argumentative, prominent side of me stood its ground.  "Fuck you, Mateo!" I screamed, "Don't tell me what to fucking do!"

The entire fell so silent I could hear the slight creak of a floorboard from upstairs. I couldn't hear anyone breathing except for myself, only, I was panting. 

"You're a fucking maniac!" I looked like a psychopath. "Who the fuck does shit like that and is okay with it?!" I couldn't stop my hand from reaching up and landing a blow to his cheek. My palm struck his face with such force that it stung, and his head snapped to the side. 

Now I wasn't even breathing.

He didn't turn his head to me instantly, he just stared at the living room beside him where people crowded with their mouths hung open. Mateo's jaw was tight enough to convince me it would break teeth under the pressure, and his eyes were hard and cold as his skin began to redden from my assault. When he turned to me, the air left my organs, and I had the instinct to ran far and wide, away from his furious stare directed at me.