"So you joined the people that killed our father?"

I shake my head, "Not to mention, they tried to kill you as well."

I'm staring at, in fact, the man that is my brother. We were in the office at his 'Gang house' as he calls it.

I try not to let the emotion in my voice peek out but it's something that is hard to control. A part of me wants to run and hug him, tell him how much I missed him. The other part has burning questions.

Did he know what mom does to me?

Did he know I was alive?

What body was buried at his funeral?

If he's alive, does that mean dad is too?

The last questions sparked a small sliver of hope in me. The thought of my father being alive as well would be my prayers coming true, but I am well too aware that would make life too easy.

"Lorena-"

"Don't call me that." I snap.

I didn't mean to, I really didn't but I can't stand the name - not anymore.

"Sorry I didn't mean to yell at you," I apologize, "But I don't go by that anymore,"

He nods.

"Is that why you told Cole your name was Rose?" He asks, sitting behind the dark brown desk in the room.

"Who?"

"Cole, the guy that was with me. Also the leader of the gang." He answers, staring at my leg.

Oh, so that's the blue-eyed devil's name - It's fitting

His eyes stay to my leg, looking at the wound. I did a pretty good job stitching it up. Even if he were to try and tend to it, I wouldn't allow him. I didn't want help from anyone in this building. I felt sick to my stomach even being in here. I feel as though, by being here, I'm betraying my father in some way.

I'm quiet for a moment, sitting on the green velvet couch in the room.

This makes no sense. I can't figure out how I want to react. My emotions are running circles in my head, it's impossible to hang onto one.

"She used to beat me every night," My voice comes out strangled from biting back tears.

"Ros-"

"Every - fucking - night!" I seethe, "I had to drop out of high school when she started doing drugs to support the bills,"

He's quiet, looking at me with softened eyes.

"I'm 19 years old, and I don't have a fucking GED!" I yell, not directly at him, "All I've ever wanted to do was be a veterinarian, to help people, and she took that away from me."

He lets out a strangled sigh. I look at the large dark door, behind it is where Cole stands.

Giving us some privacy

"I can't tell you how many times I've wished it was me who died, not you. That bitch of a mother we have didn't let me forget what happended to you," I shake my head at him.

"Every night she used to say 'I wish it were you' and every time I would think 'Me too'-" I choke.

"-but here you've been. Sitting up in mansions and rubbing elbows with the people who started it all," I spit, everything in the room has to be at least more then I make in a month.

Working both jobs

"Tell me, Brother." I squint over in his direction, "Did you feel loved? Did you feel like you belonged? Here, with them?" I gesture to where Cole stood behind the door.

"I thought about you every day,"

"Did you?" I laugh humorlessly, "It's been 11 years, Elijah, 11 years,"

"I mourned your death, every minute I was awake. I cried for you every night. Your lifeless eyes haunt my dreams," Tears start to cloud my vision, "But you thought of me?"

His head is down, I can't see his face anymore.

"I screamed for you, begging you to wake up!" I cry, standing despite the pain, to face him, "I replay that accident over and over again in my mind and every time it brings me to my knees in grief,"

"I understand-"

"You will never understand, never," At this point, the venom in my veins can be felt laced in my voice.

I see my mother in him. I know it's not his fault, and I know I'll forgive him eventually, but this has to be said. I'm not only telling him about my pain and grief, but I'm telling myself as well.

I am hurt

I'm in pain

I am broken

And it's

"Hurt, I'm fucking hurt and don't act as if you care. Because if you did, you wouldn't have done you did," My head is reeling, an all too familiar feeling.

"I'm sorry," He whispers, his voice cracking barely.

"Don't be sorry, I loved and trusted you. My mistake, not yours," The tears fall freely down my cheek. It was so quiet in the room you could almost hear them hit the floor, "It hurts, but it's okay I'm used to it." I grab the bag I came here with and moved to the door.

Before I touched the handle, he speaks.

"I didn't want to leave you like that," His voice hoarse, "If I knew about how we'd end up. I would've done everything differently,"

"You know," I start, "The worst way to leave someone is in silence," Turning my head over my shoulder slightly, "Me merecía un mejor adiós."

(I deserved a better goodbye.)

Finally swinging the door open, I walk out. Cole's leaning on the wall next to the door, eyes already on me.

I don't even look at him, looking around for an exit. I see the glass back door, outside of it is a beautiful garden and water fountain. Deciding they probably wouldn't let me leave anyway, I walk towards it.

Pushing through the doors, there is a beautifully paved stone walkway that takes you through a maze of flowers. I walk through the garden, touching flowers, letting my silent tears blend in with the loud sound of running water.

If only under better circumstances

I always say that, but it never gets better. I think I've just been dealt a shitting hand in life. I've been hurt so extensively, it's almost lost its meaning. Yet, it still engulfs me, and I feel it all.

People love to say how much they've been through and how they hate their lives. The truth is, most of them have never even experienced pain.

Pain is not your dog dying of old age

Pain is not you having a bad day at school

Pain is not your boyfriend of two months breaking up with you

No

You don't know pain until you're staring at yourself in the mirror with tears streaming down your face and you're begging yourself to hold on and be strong.

No matter how much you want to let go.

is pain.

I hate hating myself, but I don't know how to stop it. I have this underlining hatred for the world around me that I don't know to fix it. I use to see the world as a playground of opportunities.

Now hell is a place on earth - and I'm living it

I stop in front of a water fountain, it's a female. Even through the statue, you can see the beauty within her eyes. The water sprouts around her, creating a mystical effect.

"It's my mother." The familiar deep velvety voice speaks up from behind me.

The mixture of the heavenly water's chime and his devilish voice is dangerous to my heart.

I stay quiet.

"It's a tradition for all mafia leaders to carve their beloved wives into a fountain and set it at their gang house." He continues. I give him a quick glance.

"I'm fine." I state rather bluntly.

"You don't look fine,"

"Then stop looking."

He chuckles, and damn does he. His voice is just dessert for the ears, his face is candy for the eyes. If I wasn't so pissed off I might've swooned over him.

"How can I? When an angel is so close to me," He smirks.

I fully turn myself towards him this time.

"Were you there? That night?" I have to know before I think about him in this light any longer.

"No." He doesn't even hesitate, "But my father was,"

"If I may ask, what in the hell prompted him to take my brother from a car accident?"

He plasters on a tight-lipped grin, a small tick in his chin.

(Beautiful)