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2
Isabella
As a girl, I always dreamed about my wedding day. I suppose at some point, every girl does. The idea of marriage and a happy family is instilled in us, long before the harsh reality of life sets in.
Back then, when times were simpler, I always thought I’d have a pink wedding. I’d have long golden locks and a poofy pink dress with ribbons running all around it. Even a magic wand with a little star on the end. A mix between a Barbie-doll dream wedding and some fairytale love story.
But, I’m not blonde, and magic doesn’t exist.
Dreaming was easy back then. I didn’t know that my father was head of the mafia, or that my mother was going to die unexpectedly. We were a happy family, in a big house, with everything we could ever dream of. The future was bright, and a road of gold stretched out before me, paved with promises of how great my life would be.
Oh, how time taints the simple beauties.
What’s worse, the fictional wedding I had actually embarked upon hadn’t brought me any satisfaction. With Maddox, I had had some small chance at having a semblance of my imaginary, perfect wedding, but that came tumbling down, too. I couldn’t even pretend to get lost in fantasy, before it was taken away from me.
Now, I’m in a hospital’s intensive care unit, looking at my dad, who has pipes and tubes extending from all over his body. His breathing is shallow. The heart rate monitor reports that he’s alive, but only just– at least that’s what every beep sounds like to me.
I’ve never wanted to run further and faster before in my life.
These dangers aren’t my own. One misfire from the gunman, and it could’ve been me in this bed instead of Dad. I shouldn’t be happy that it’s the reverse, and maybe I’m not. But, I am relieved. I am glad to be still alive, and unharmed.
Days ago I wanted to run, and if I had, this situation might have been avoided. No wedding, no priest, no gun, no danger. Now, it seems, the only thing to do is go anyway. As terrible as it sounds, my father’s incapacitation gives me the perfect opportunity to do it. Everyone’s too busy hunting the killer or beating on a priest.
They wouldn’t even notice my disappearance for hours, maybe even days. I could be gone on the back of shadows, traveling to some far-off destination of purity and perfection.
But, what if Dad dies while I’m away? Will I miss him? Will I feel bad for having left his side?
Probably, but I can’t let that hold me back.
The ICU room is dark, cool, and quiet. Apart from the life support machines hooked up to my dad, there is little else to distract me from this nightmare. I brought a book to read, but ended up not turning a single page. I spent my time half-deliberating my escape, while the rest of me wept for my dying parent.
I’m too old to be an orphan, yet too young to be on my own.
While I’m sitting, lost in thought, the door swings open. I expect to see a doctor, but it’s Maddox stepping in. There’s sweat on his brow, and a few flecks of red on his white shirt, beneath the tuxedo jacket. He’s out of breath and tired-looking, but his face lights up at the sight of me.
“How’s he doing?” Maddox asks.
“The doctors have him stabilized. They removed the bullets that didn’t go straight through. He’s been sleeping since he got out of the operating room. I can’t imagine they’ve got him on anything but the strongest painkillers,” I reply. “The cops are doing the rounds and trying to find out what happened to the shooter.”
“Has anyone told them it was the priest?” Maddox asks quietly, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s there.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” I shrug. “There were a lot of people who saw it happen, but I can’t be certain everyone knows what happened to the priest, after he was taken away.”
“This is bad,” Maddox says. “And, I’m sorry, Isabella. If I could’ve, I would’ve done everything in my power to prevent this.”
He walks over to me, and I get up to accept his embrace. There’s no stopping the flow of tears that pours from my eyes. Maddox strokes the back of my head, not pushing me to talk, nor trying to stop my emotion.
In a different life, maybe I could’ve been happy with him if we hadn’t been forced into this thing, and we’d met under different circumstances. I know he’s a monster, in some form, but he’s only ever been good to me. Still, that will never change what we’ve been thrown into.
I hold onto Maddox, until I’ve got the strength to stand on my own. I wipe the tears away with the back of my arm and give Maddox a smile. I’m pretty sure it’s weak and flat. If he observes it for more than a second, I don’t doubt he’ll know it’s forced, as well.
“I know you wouldn’t have let it happen, Maddox. None of this is your fault, and you don’t have to think it is. This is just part of the business, right? One of the many risks we run on the daily,”
I take Maddox’s hand and lead him to the area where the chair I was sitting on sits among others. They’re old, plastic, and brown with a soft-ish material for padding wrapped in synthetic leather. I sit and Maddox takes the chair next to me. When I release his hand, he doesn’t try to take it back – though I kind of wish he would.
He’s trying to give me space, that much is evident, but I’d be happier with him taking charge and giving me comfort. We don’t have to be madly in love, to give one another support.
“Risks can be avoided with proper planning,” Maddox says, dead-pan. He still hasn’t looked at my dad, not once. Maybe he’s afraid to see him in this state. If he does see him, he might feel like a failure for letting it happen.
