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My finger was on the trigger, and as it started to tense up, I came to the realization, the only realization I could have in that moment: I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t fucking kill her, because I was in love with her. I’d loved her from afar for years. How could I look at that beautiful face and pull the trigger? How could I end her life before it had truly begun?
She deserved to live. She should have a happy life. She shouldn’t die tonight.
I could give us some time. Maybe make Miguel see reason. In order to do that, though, I still had to hurt her, but when it came to life and death, pain was better than the cold, hard embrace of death itself.
I did the only thing I could: I shot her. My finger pulled that trigger, sending the bullet flying—after a quick aiming adjustment. No longer a kill shot, but one that would inflict a lot of pain, enough pain that she wouldn’t try to come after me tonight, try to take me on in an effort to discover my identity.
The Glock was louder than I remembered it being. Or maybe that was just because the streets were eerily silent at this hour of night. Either way, after that loud bang, Giselle stumbled back from the impact of the bullet in her stomach. She said not a word as blood oozed out onto her dark dress. She was too busy staring down at the wound, at what I’d done, trying to piece it all together.
The next time she glanced up at me, I lowered the gun, and then I turned around and ran away. I ran because there was nothing else I could do. I ran in an effort to clear my mind, free myself of the instant hurt and regret filling me.
I’d just shot the girl I loved. The thought didn’t sit right in my head, and yet it was the truth.
Giselle. She truly deserved a man far better than me.
If I would’ve said no to Miguel, she would be dead by now. Miguel would’ve had someone else do it, and I didn’t doubt he would’ve found a way to get rid of me, too. Probably put a bullet in the back of my head for my disobedience. If I would have told him off, told him to go to hell, he would’ve sent me there first.
I ran away because that was the only thing I could do.
Well, no. That was a lie.
I could run, and I could hate myself and what I’d done.
That night, I didn’t know what to do. After running, I’d stopped once I’d reached a good distance away, when I found an alleyway that held not a soul. I’d dialed an ambulance, telling them a girl had been shot, and when I told them where she was, they’d said they were already on route. Someone else had discovered her, which I found odd, because I thought I’d been the only one stalking her.
Maybe I’d been too caught up in what I had to do, too wrapped up in what Miguel was making me do to pay attention. But that wasn’t quite right, was it? I was always on the lookout, even when I wasn’t. It was a habit of mine, the reason why Miguel wanted me to watch over Giselle in Cypress in the first place.
Unless… unless this had always been his plan?
Either way, I hadn’t seen who it was. I’d gone home, changed, and waited, waited for Miguel to contact me, and when he did, his voice was terse and short; Giselle was going to a nearby hospital. He wanted me to meet him there.
I took my time in going, wanting to get there after Miguel. I didn’t bring the gun; you couldn’t bring guns into hospitals anyway, unless you were the police. Metal detectors just inside the main doors stopped you from bringing inside anything like that. I went to the desk, asking the receptionist where Giselle Santos was.
She was in surgery right now; guess they’d gotten her in quite fast. I hoped the bullet didn’t split into too many different pieces. I hoped the doctors wouldn’t have to dig out too much inside her. I got the room number she’d be in after surgery, and I headed there. I rounded a corner, finding Miguel talking on his phone, his back to me. It was a stance I recognized.
He was pissed. Pissed at me, probably, for not killing her like he’d ordered.
I turned right back around and walked the other way. I didn’t want to see Miguel right now. I only wanted to see Giselle, talk to her, hold her hand, tell her I was sorry for everything I’d done—except I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her what I did or who had ordered it done. I’d have to lie to her, and that didn’t feel right.
But what other choice did I have? What else could be done?
I went to the main lobby, toured the gift shop. I didn’t really find anything that screamed Giselle, so I didn’t get her anything. The others would get her shit, I bet. The Black Hand, the others wanting the soon-to-be vacated position. She wouldn’t need any extra flowers from me.
What could I write on the card, anyway? Sorry I shot you, at least you aren’t dead? Yeah, I didn’t think that would turn out too well, so it was best to just not get her anything.
I ended up sitting in the main lobby, at one of the tables near the few food places there were for visitors and the workers. I didn’t know how long her surgery would take, but if I had to sit down here to avoid Miguel for twenty hours, that’s what I’d do. I didn’t think I’d be able to look the man in the eyes, not after disobeying him, not after everything.
I still didn’t get it. Why kill Giselle? Was having all that power really worth her life?
To me, nothing was worth it. I’d give it all up for her, throw everything away if she asked me to. She wouldn’t, I knew; that was the thing about Giselle. She was like her father in that respect.
In a way, I had thrown everything away, not doing what Miguel had ordered me to. After this, I wouldn’t be his right-hand man. I wouldn’t be anyone to him.
Only the man who didn’t do what he was told.
But I already knew how I was going to play it when Miguel confronted me about it. It wasn’t a conversation he’d have over the phone; no, he’d want to look me in the eyes. I’d tell him that it was an accident, I’d been aiming for her heart, but I misjudged how she was standing, and the dim streetlights hadn’t helped.
I waited, and then I waited some more. I did a whole lot of waiting. The night turned into day, and the morning wore on. She had to be out of surgery by now, but she was probably out of it, drugged up with the anesthesia or whatever. I needed to talk to her, to hear her voice, to know she was alright and I hadn’t fucked it all up by doing what I did.
