It Was A Whole Thing | Herophine

Mundane 2: Dangerous

Dangerous.

That was my life summed into one word. Every single day was a struggle to survive. I woke up every morning with a target on my head and just did whatever it took to get through the day without being shot dead before laying on my bed at night, only to do the same thing all over again.

I admit, at first it was addictive. The high I got whenever I rolled with my father, the power I felt in my veins knowing that I held the life of everyone who came in my way at the point of my gun. I was raised in a family whose wealth came from drugs and exploitation. I grew up thinking that it was normal to lay on a bed filled with blood money. I grew up hearing gunshots and seeing men after men fall on my father's feet with a bullet between their eyes. That was my normal, anything else was just... not.

When I started knowing the difference from right and wrong, from good and bad, I justified my father's deeds as a necessary evil. I thought that what my father did was necessary for us to survive. With his merciless attitude, our family thrived and so did the people around us. But when I actually started to feel remorse, I was too far gone. I knew what we were doing was illegal but I couldn't stop. My father and my mother and two little sisters relied on me to carry on the family business. It was something I was born into. It was something I was destined to do.

And yet, it was something I could no longer stomach.

I wanted out but I knew I couldn't leave my mum and my little sisters behind and dad has been falling sick that time. It was time that I filled in his shoe and that's exactly what I did. I went through the motion, only this time, my decisions were the only things that mattered in our house.

Dad died and so did my hope of turning my life around. I was the new patriarch of an empire I no longer wanted to be part of but couldn't bring myself to leave. It was sickening but it was also necessary. For my family.

But that all changed that one fateful night in a dark alley in Sydney.

Of all places, it was in Sydney. Literally halfway across the world from my life. I was doing a deal with this up and coming hipster druggies who had massive balls to call themselves drug lords. It wasn't such a huge deal but I figured I'd do it personally since I wanted to take some time off from my life in London as well. I underestimated them, well... I just got too cocky to be honest. They tried to double cross me and shots were fired. I thought I got all of them but it turned out, one was able to fire another shot to my arm before I knew what was coming. That guy ended up with a bullet straight between his eyes, just like what my father taught me so well.

I was left alone after two of my men lost their lives that night, and I had a gunshot wound. The commotion did not go unnoticed and minutes later, sirens were heard all over the area. I had to get out of there but I knew I can't risk being traced by using the rental car one of my men got for us. He's dead and it'll raise red flags the moment I drove out with it. So I ditched the car and ran. I was losing a lot of blood and by the time I thought I might pass out, I collapsed near a dumpster in a dark alley. I didn't know where I was exactly and all I had with me was my passport and wads of cash together with my wallet. I can easily slip back to the hotel and grab my things but those are disposable. Nothing in there would lead them to me. The real me. All I needed to do was to get that damn bullet from my arm and book the earliest flight back to England.

And then I met her.

The blue-grey-eyed girl with the sweetest and most innocent face I had ever laid eyes on.

She was nervous and I hated the fear that crossed her eyes when she realized who I was... what I was. A wounded criminal on the run. Even though she was just forced to take me back to her flat and treat my wound, I was still grateful for her naivety. She could have easily reported me to the police while I was there sitting on her couch, weak as a lamb. But she didn't and she treated my wound with so much care that I immediately felt like a complete piece of shit for threatening her with my gun. I had every intention of compensating her for the help but I didn't despite my pockets being full of rolled up cash. I guess I wanted another reason to see her again, as fucked up as it sounded. But then she handed me a guy's jumper to replace my torn and bloodied clothes which made me think she had a boyfriend who left clothes in her flat or worse, lived there with her. That was all the more reason for me to leave and refuse her offer of staying the night though deep inside me, I knew I wanted to. I just couldn't risk it. The cops are probably looking for me now and I had to disappear from this city, fast. I left her with a silent promise that I'll come back to see her again.