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I left before he could find out what I did.
Before his look of affection would change to one of disdain—this time forever.
More time passes and with it, my own sense of selfhood slips away one flashback at a time. That becomes even clearer when one time, I wake up screaming, my body shivery and cold. Sweat drips from my forehead and on to my flushed cheeks.
My breath comes in short spurts as I will my eyes to focus.
"It's not true," I whisper to myself. "It's not true. It was just a nightmare…"
But what if it wasn't?
I'm breaking down. How long I'm going to be able to keep going like this, I don't know. It's only a matter of time before I either go fully insane, pinned to the ground under the weight of my sins, or I simply give in—erase myself and what's left of my sanity of my own free will. Embrace that side of me that still lays dormant—though not for long. Accept the fact that I've beenwrongfrom the beginning. I've just managed to astutely hide it until now.
My walls are crumbling.
And behind one thick, steel wall, there's anotherme.One that's been buried a long time ago; one that yearns to be let free. I hear her fists banging against that physical barrier, her screams echoing in my mind as she begs me to let her go.
And I'm tempted.
If only to end this torment that won't let me be.
But just as I'm about to take the last step forward, a fear unlike any other assails my being—one not for me, but for Raf.
Now, I can still lie to him with a straight face because I don't know the extent of what I've done. But once Idoknow? What then?
I won't be able to look him in the eye and not feel guilty for everything I've done and for the pain I've caused him—even if that pain comes from losing the one he loves.
I am at a crossroads. More than anything, I am at war with myself and my thoughts. There is an inherent contradiction that languishes in my mind, going to such an extreme that I'm both glad I killed Lucero, but sorry I caused Raf anguish at the same time.
I regret it, and I don't. Isn't that fucked up? I regret hurting the one I love, but I don't feel any remorse for committing murder.
The lock clicks, the door opening to reveal a smug Michele as he makes his way inside my small cell.
"Here to gloat more?" I raise a brow at him, forcing myself not to show any weakness.
"I wanted to see how my little prisoner's been doing, that's all," he shrugs, coming further into the room.
'That's all?" I roll my eyes. "What do you plan to do with me?" I ask squarely.
"Haven't decided yet. Although," he pauses, staring at me intently, "I have a good idea." He whips out his phone from his pocket, dialing a number and putting the call on speaker.
"I told you I'm out. Stop calling me," the man on the other line says through gritted teeth, and my eyes widen when I recognize that voice.
"Pancho, Pancho, you know that's not so easy," Michele tsks, his tone amused yet his face reveals none of that.
He's still looking at me, almost as if he's waiting for my reaction.
"Raf knows. You can't threaten me anymore. He already knows I was feeding you info…"
"And he let you live? I'm impressed," Michele smiles. "But then again, my brother was always the sentimental one."
A muffled curse and Pancho suddenly asks.
"How is Noelle? Did you hurt her? She's innocent in this, damn it!"
"Well, that is exactly why I was calling. You see," his eyes meet mine, "I won't ask you to betray your principles again—not that it was that hard the first time," he chuckles, "but I'm going to ask you some questions that may or may not help Noelle."
"What?" He asks, his tone full of urgency.
