Before they lost it…
Angel De Santos
She’d never known terror. Not likethis.Even as she lay on the cold marble with her blood seeping to the floor and the hands of death climbing her spine like a damn snake, she’d never known fear like she did today. Because there, right in front of her, stood her trembling son. So small, so quiet.So afraid.
Even as the pain smothered her consciousness, she forced herself to keep her eyes open. To slowly, but carefully inch her hand towards him.
“Angel,” Isabella Rodriguez’s voice was a mere rasp. But it was enough to drag her son out of his panicked reverie. She saw and stifled the sob that rose up her throat when Angel lifted his amber eyes to hers. There was once a time when she’dhatedthose eyes. Had been so overcome with rage andfurywith their meresight,that she could feel the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Now, as she looked at those same eyes, all she could feel was purefear.
Fear for what his life was going to become.
The pain from her wound washed upon her like a tidal wave as Angel rushed to her side, sitting in her blood and soaking up his small ninja pants. She looked at him with wide eyes, trying and failing to hide the fear at the fate that was laid for him now. She saw her blood on his hands as he clasped hers. Saw it on his T-shirt, on his face.On everywhere.
Tears blurred her vision then, fogging her soft gaze as she mustered as much strength as she could to lift her calloused hand from his and touch his cheek gently.
Her small boy cried as her hand grazed his soft skin.So beautiful,she couldn’t help but think as he cried out,
“Qué pasó mama?”
His words punctured her heart so deeply that Isabella couldn’t help but let out a wet chuckle.
Angel’s gaze widened as she turned her sad, wobbly smile to his.
“ListenMijo,”she whispered and her beautiful son inched closer. Isabella bit back the hatred that rose in her chest at the man who’d caused all this. At the man she’d tried andfailedto kill. At the man she’d fuckingmarried. And now, Angel would deal with the consequences. All because of herstupidmistakes.
“You trust no one.Nadie, comprendes?”she forced her tone calm, told herself that in due time her son would understand. There was no way thatmonsterof a man wouldn’t take advantage of all this. Wouldn’t use Angel and turn him into another deadly version of himself. And even as she slowly felt her life seep out of her chest, she vowed to all Gods above.
Vowed that she wouldn’teverlet that fucking happen.
Angel’s amber eyes glistened with unshed tears as he leaned forward. Isabella shook her head, forcing the determination to enter her eyes as she carefully chose her next words.
“You listen to me.” She rasped, her resolve, herhatredquieting her boy. Forcing him to look at her as she raised her chin even as she lay bleeding on the floor, “You are aRodriguez. And your Papá? He will try to take that from you.”
Angel shook his head, “No,”he whispered and looked at her. His lower lip wobbled as her hold on his hand tightened, “Qué mamá?”
“You won’t understand the words I say today. But youwilladhere to them.” The sob in her throat threatened to rise again. She remembered a time when Angel had been content. Free. She thought of all those happy times with him, how her Angel had run into her arms every day after school.
How his amber eyes had glowed whenever he used to talk about his friends and about how beautiful and kind his teacher was.
She managed a determined smile nonetheless. Isabella Rodriguez would bedamnedif she would let her death take away his chance at freedom.
“Look behind you Angel,” she said, and Angel’s gaze snapped back to the telephone that lay on the floor. She was about to continue when her wound throbbed again and she groaned, almost doubling over.
“Mierda–”she gasped as her hold on her stomach tightened and Angel’s gaze snapped back to hers.
“Mamá?”
But Isabella shook her head, her other hand grabbing his small fingers and pulling him closer. This close she could already see how his amber eyes would turn to steel over the years. Could alreadyfeelthe pain he would go through every day.
“Escuche Angel,”her voice dropped, and her gaze widened, “There is a gun under that table. A, apistola,”she said pointing to the table underneath which the telephone lay. Angel’s lips wobbled as he looked at the table and back at her again. But Isabella forcedallher composure as she looked at him straight in the eye,
“You take that gun, and ifanyonecomes through that door, you point it at them.”
She knew what she was doing. What sort of fate she was condemning him to. But it wasthe only way out.
“Your papa, he’ll be happy. So, for the next few years of your life, you play hismierda de juegos. His stupid games.”
Maybe one day he’d understand. One day he’d forgive her for the life she’d given him.
