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Siara

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Curiosity is what I feel as I stare at the picture, my mind creating scenarios that make no sense to me.

I can tell that the people in the picture are Mr Martino's parents. They look so much like him, and no one can convince me that the two aren't related to Mr Martino.

However, I do have doubts about the two being his parents. They look too modest, and religious. Something that Hunter and Mr Martino don't seem to be.

I know that judging people is wrong, but a lot of the people I see that are like Mr Martino's parents are very controlling. They never want people to view them wrongly.

And the woman I met today seemed like the type to smack him for being... him.

I doubt she would allow him to live the life he lives. I can already picture her throwing a fit because of Mr Martino's lifestyle.

I grew up in the church, and I know that they are a lot of people that seem to be very religious. When, in fact, they are related to the devil himself.

Growing up, I never missed Sunday school. I was in the choir, and I had a lot of good titles in the church.

I was well know by almost everyone in the church, and that's because my parents had and still have a lot of influence there.

They still go to church. Though, they don't spend a lot of time there. They're always found in the back, leaving immediately after the service is done.

My parents have donated a few things to the church, but when it comes to making decisions of the church, they leave. Something I love about them.

I admit that I loved hearing people say good things about my parents.

Their good words were like music to my ears.

I loved seeing love in people's eyes, smiling at me as they waved at me. I was happy that my family was loved and respected. I loved the church and everyone in it.

However, everything changed when I began to see people's true colors.

"When one's body begins to grow; their minds will begin to develop, their eyes will begin to see things they never noticed, and their ears will begin to hear things they never heard before." My mother and father used to tell me when I was younger, and only when I reached my teenage years did I finally understand what they meant.

I started seeing the jealousy of the people. I saw the envy and hatred that accompanied their smiles.

I began to hear all the bad things they said about my family and I.

Their snorts and murmurs grew louder, and they're spit became clear to see.

People in church are quick to judge others, but they always forget to judge themselves. They forget that they are sinners as well.

I stopped going to church when I saw the negativity. Everything was too much for me to handle; I didn't want their negativity to rub off on me.

My parents grew concerned when they noticed how distant I grew from the church. And they began to ask questions, and my answer was simple.

"A lot of people in the church have a connection with the church, and never with the Lord." I said to my parents as they looked at me confused. "I have seen how greedy, selfish, and jealous they are... A lot of them claim to love each other, they claim to love us, however, they throw stones at us when our backs are turned... They say that they're saints when their actions prove otherwise. They judge others, knowing fully well that they are going to do the same things, if not worse, behind closed doors."

My parents didn't like my decision, but they never persuaded me to go back there; something that I appreciate to this day.

I don't think going to church with an impure heart is the key to heaven, and nothing will change my thought on that.

The woman in the picture looks like a perfectionist. She looks like the type that will gasp in disgust when she sees someone in a bikini, at the beach.

Same goes for the man standing next to her; he looks like the type of person that will spill anointing on a woman for wearing shorts in summer.

Such people are very controlling, and they never want the church to view them badly.

They don't care if they hurt their family. They just want to be praised for being holy.

Such people can make one commit suicide. And if they are indeed Mr Martino's parents, I have no doubt that they contributed to his current state.

Mr Martino has a complicated case, and it seems that his personal life is just as complicated... If not more.

I can already feel my fourth headache coming: and I haven't even been awake for six full hours! Life is not being fair to me, and I don't like it.

"Can we talk outside?" I hear Hunter's voice, snapping me out of my messed up thoughts.

I nod at him, my eyes turning to look at the bed, where I see Mr Martino sleeping with an IV connected to his hand.

It pains me to see him in such a state.

His body looks so strong, yet his face looks so fragile and tired.

It hurts me to know that Mr Martino has more demons than he let's on. It's so difficult for me to accept the rumors that I heard about him now.

Mr Martino doesn't look like a heartless murderer; he looks like a broken man that has passed through a lot of hardships.

Hunter looks at Mr Martino for a few seconds, sighing as he nods at me, telling me that we can leave the room now.

I walk out of the room, silently wishing that Mr Martino gets better.

I really hope he finds strength to fight his demons.

Hunter leads me downstairs and into the kitchen, which looks splendid and homely. And also very expensive, like the rest of the house.

"You can sit wherever you want," Hunter murmurs, walking towards the huge steel fridge that is across the room.

I nod, walking towards the kitchen island, taking a seat on one of the soft and cozy chairs.

"Can I get you anything? A beer, maybe?" Hunter asks as he looks inside the fridge.

I shake my head at him, wanting to slap myself in the face when I realize that he can't see me.

"No, thanks... I don't take alcohol," I state, remembering the time I almost died with a hangover. That's a night I'll never forget.

"Alright." Hunter closes the fridge, coming towards the kitchen island with a can of sprite and three bottles of beer.

He passes the sprite to me, which I take, murmuring a thank you to him. Hunter nods, opening one bottle as he comes to sit besides me.

He sighs as he gulps the beer, his eyes closing as he stares ahead with exhaustion on his face.

I can still remember what happened a while ago. I remember watching as he placed a finger down Mr Martino's throat, which led to him, Mr Martino, vomiting all over him.

Hunter did not seem to care, though. He removed his shirt instead, calling out to one of the guards to help him lift Mr Martino offthe floor.

My mouth hang open when I saw him grab an IV bag from one of the bookshelf, skillfully connecting it to Mr Martino's hand.

It looked like he has done it one to many times, which makes me wonder how many times Mr Martino has overdosed.

"I know that you have a lot of questions to ask about Diego's case, and I'm willing to answer them all with honestly," Hunter says, looking me in the eyes, which makes my palms feel sweaty.

"But I don't want to hear what we'll discuss here anywhere else," He adds with threat in his voice, making me swallow hard in nervousness.

He sighs in relief when he sees me nod, grabbing the two remaining beers after he finishes the first one.

I fidget in my seat as I watch him, knowing fully well that this will be a long and crazy day.