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Santiago gets up, rolling his shoulders while focusing on Florian, who has a bored expression on his face. The only concern he shows is when his gaze lands on me. Yet the body on the bed earns only a snarl and a muttered, “Rot in hell, fucker.”
All of them share my sentiments on the matter, but I continue to rock, too shocked to utter a word while thoughts just fly in my mind as they argue, their voices exceptionally loud in the silence of my mind.
“He turned eighteen last month. If we call the cops, they’ll put him behind bars,” Santiago says, and the guys wince.
What did I do?
“He can plead self-defense.” Remi gets up, hissing a little when moving his arm. Did I hurt him? “We can serve as witnesses.”
Serve as witnesses in what? What did I do?
Florian shakes his head. “This won’t count as self-defense. He was holding a fucking knife and stabbed him repeatedly. He doesn't have any injuries.” He lifts my shirt, probably showing them there are no fresh wounds on my skin. “Proving self-defense will be almost impossible.”
Self-defense. What did I do?
The headache becomes so strong that sweat breaks out on my skin while I breathe in and out, willing my mind to give me some clarity instead of being stuck in this frozen bubble where there is no past or future, only the confusing present.
“He’ll still get years behind bars. Either way, he’s gonna end up in prison.” Santiago supports Florian’s point. “Even years of abuse and a psychiatrist claiming he wasn't in his right mind won’t save him.”
“Fuck!” Remi exclaims, stepping closer to me.
I just rock on the spot and chant, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” My bare feet tap the floor, smearing more blood on my skin.
Where did the blood come from? What did I do?
“If we don't call the cops right away, our asses will be on the line too.” Santiago addresses a valid concern. “The longer we stall, the guiltier we become.”
They need to leave. I did something horrible. Uncle Lucian and Uncle Jacob don’t deserve all this trouble, and my friends all have bright futures ahead of them.
What did I do?
Florian pulls at his hair, standing up and pacing back and forth. “They have security cameras. That might be good evidence.”
“And how do you plan to get them? Doesn’t Antonio oversee this shit? I hardly doubt—”
A harsh clattering sound echoes in the space, interrupting Remi, as glass shatters into tiny little pieces behind them. All our heads swing to the doorway where a man stands, a tray lying by his feet.
We stare at one another for several moments. Antonio’s gaze darts among us all and finally settles on me, then the dead body.
He gasps, covering his mouth, and trembles slightly.
Several emotions flash on his face, wave after wave, before he finally straightens up, adjusts his butler’s jacket, and addresses Remi of all people. Maybe because Santiago is a stranger to him, and Florian hates him.
Then again, my best friend hates anyone who directly or indirectly hurts me.
“The driver took Estella to visit her friend, and the maids have the day off today.” His quiet voice is barely audible. “The camera footage is downstairs in the basement.” He looks among us. “What should I do?”
By my friends’ stunned expressions, my actions didn’t affect Antonio’s newfound loyalties.
What did I do?
A chuckle slips past Santiago’s lips. Florian pushes him in the shoulder, and all the amusement is instantly gone. “What’s so funny, Santiago? Octavius might end up in jail!” he shouts, raising his arm. Santiago blocks it and punches him in the gut instead, so he stumbles back.
“Then he shouldn’t have killed his stepfather for everyone to see.”
I did what?
“Fuck you!” Florian spits, lunging for Santiago again, and that’s when Remi stands between them, shouting, “Shut up, both of you! Shut up! Fighting right now won’t help! We need to think!”
