Honor and Infatuation

Prologue

I sit on my windowsill, listening to the thunder and rain, watching the water droplets aimlessly drip down the pane of glass in front of me. I can hear people quietly talking downstairs, sympathetic conversations and the occasional sob. Today was my dad's funeral and the wake is taking place in our small Boston apartment. I can hear my Tia Benita dramatically crying over her brother. It's funny, with the impression she's giving, you'd assume that she was really close to my dad. In reality, I haven't seen her since I was 12 for my abuelita's funeral, which was a good 9 years ago.

All day I've been hearing, "How are you doing? I'm so sorry for your loss. Time heals all wounds," like this wasn't completely inevitable. I was never very close to my father, as it was hard to look past the fact that he was an absolute monster. You see, I come from a line of contract killers. My dad was the fourth generation hit man in our family, and he intended to pass the line of work to me. He was caught in a shootout between the two crime families of our city, my family and the Santos. I can't fathom the idea of me taking on such a heinous position. I'm in my second year of college now, with no intent to quit. With father having passed, I'm going to need to work another job to pay for my mother's medical bills. My mom had a heart attack a few months ago, which left her in a coma.

Being optimistic isn't easy when it comes to these things, especially when there's absolutely no hope. The doctors don't think she's going to wake up and dad never had the heart to take her off life support. With him dead, that's left to me. I know that I'll be able to do it, but the thought of it makes me feel sick. I always pictured my mom living till she was tiny and grey, taking her last breath while surrounded by her kids, her grand kids, and her husband. God, I wish that were still a possibility. Her hair hasn't whitened yet. She hasn't been able to hold her grandchildren yet, nor has she even had the opportunity to have any. She was still so youthful and full of life. It's strange how someone's entire life can change and end within a few seconds.

It's midnight now, everyone's left. I didn't even realize how late it got. I finally took a step out of my room after avoiding human contact for the entire day. The soft sound of my footsteps echoed throughout the apartment. I grazed my fingers over mom's apron, dad's baseball cap, and the blanket dad used before he left for work for the last time. It's so quiet here. Moms novelas aren't playing on the tv like they always were. Dad isn't snoring ridiculously loud and waking up the entire apartment complex. The silence is deafening, yet it's strangely peaceful. Is that a weird thing to say?