Grace

Chapter 8

"It's not the same," Nonno said to me. My grandfather doesn't understand that I witnessed a girl almost kill herself. A memory that has scarred me since I was ten.

"I know," I said. We sat in silence for a while then he chuckled.

"You like her, Nipote?" * My grandfather asked with amusement laced in his words. I don't have the time to like someone, plus it's too dangerous.

"Grandfather, you know that even if I do, it can't be anything," I said and he shook his head.

"You're living your life in anger and fear," he said to me and I rolled my eyes.

"And you wouldn't? Given the history?" I asked and he remained silent. "I'm leaving,"

"Be safe," he said and then went upstairs in the elevator. I waited for him to reached upstairs before I headed downstairs into the basement.

"Velez, take a break," I gestured with my head for him to get out. Grace laid on the bed with her eyes closed and her breathing steady. I reached out to touch her but paused. Her smooth, dark skin looks drained and tired. The blood is staining her and by the look on her face I can tell the stench is getting to her.

The way her curls just laid underneath her head and her baby hairs laid down against her sweaty forehead, made me want to reach out and just caress her head with soft strokes with my thumb.

She turned over to face me then opened her eyes. She stared at me with no emotion or sign of life in her eyes. Her breathing increased as her eyes watered.

"It's okay," I softly said to her. I hate seeing a woman cry, it breaks my heart. "Taking a life isn't easy,"

"How did you deal with it?" She asked. Her voices sounded raspy and dry.

"I don't," I honestly told her. "I don't know how I deal with it but for you it's different," I walked closer to her and she flinched. "For me it's either kill or be killed and today was the same for you, but think of the pain he put you through,"

Grace nodded her head. "This is the most you've ever spoken to me,"

"I know,"

"You never have any expressions on your face," she pointed out again. 

"Neither do you," I said.

"Where's the bathroom?" She asked. "I want to bathe," she tried to get off the bed but ended up falling onto the floor.

I squatted down to her level and offered my hand. She looked at it for a bit but pushed my hand away. She used the bed as support and stood up.

"I don't need your help," she rudely said. I'm not a helping or kind person and I'm going out of my way to help her but she wants to be stubborn.

"Well the bathroom is upstairs," I said and walked away from her. I could hear her struggling to walk but ignored it. I reached halfway up the steps before I heard a thud. Looking over my shoulders, I can see her on the floor.

"Come on!" She began whispering repeatedly. She began sobbing and ended up just laying down on the floor. A crying woman isn't my strong suit.

"Dio mio! Questa ragazza sta andando a farmi impazzire! Lei meglio accettare il mio aiuto," ** I said in Italian as I stomped down the steps. I picked her up, bridal style and began up the steps again. She tried to fight me but soon gave up.