WURAOLA

FIFTY TWO



I eyed Tino as he paced around in the living room, yelling at someone on his phone. My nostrils flared as I watched him.

Not in desire. But in anger. I wasn't sure of where the anger was coming from but I was growing pissed. Furious. Hurt.

Taking a sip of my vodka, I inhaled.

The house was on fire. Not in actuality. The tension was flaming. Hot.

It had been seven days. Seven fucking days without her. Seven days since my entire world came to a stop. Seven days since she was taken.

"You know...this..." I moved my hand around, unsure of why my vision was getting blurry.

"This is y-your fault! I told you to take care of her and this is what you do?" I spat at him and he turned to me. His eyes were red and he stank. He smelled like he drowned in a tub of nicotine and gin.

"Shut the fuck up before I sh-"

"What? Can't bear to listen to the truth? I knew I shouldn't have left her with you" I whispered and shook my head before I took another sip of my vodka, hoping it would take the pain away.

We were playing the 'blame game'. It was easier than to admit that we should have done better. Easier than to admit that right now, we should be doing better.
We should have protected her better. We should have known that something was gonna happen.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. Wura. Was she safe? Who took her? Did they hurt her? Was she thinking of us? Had she given up hope?

I placed my head on the arm of the couch and laid on the couch.

Had we failed her? Of course, we had.

We had been trying to hard to find her but we didn't get any leads. The only enemies I had were in Italy -inherited enemies- and whatever started in Italy ended there.

It wasn't Miranda. It wasn't her mother, so who the fuck was it?

"Fucking find her! I need something! Anything...proof that she's alive." He yelled and I exhaled, my heart and head ached. I felt like I was drowning in an abyss of pain.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. How could I?

I stood up, everything was blurry and I stumbled as I walked, tripping on air. I sniffled, walking past Tino.

"Fucking asshole" I grunted, shoving my shoulder against his arm. He froze up and turned to me.

"Go take a fucking nap and get rid of that damn attitude because if I fucking lay my hands on you, Gianni...I swear to God, I'll fucking beat you" he snarled and I chuckled, stumbling a little. My heart clenched at the sight of the bags underneath his eyes. I wanted to hold him tight but I couldn't welcome his comfort when I wasn't sure of where Wuraola was.

"Do it" I pushed, tilting my head at him.

"Get out of my face, Gianni" he warned, walking towards me. My fist clenched around the half filled glass of vodka in my hand.

Don't do it

I threw the drink in his face and it was like a split second when I felt his fist rain blows on my face.

I felt relief -and pain of course. Stumbling back, I tripped on air and crashed on the glass table. Tino didn't stop. I smashed the glass in my hand against his head and I held my hands up to deflect the blows but he didn't stop.

Every blow born from anger and frustration left a splash of lasting pain.

Maybe it would take the guilt away.

I could feel his fists jam into the sides of my face as he cursed at me, my vision blurred and I decided to hit back.

I managed to land a couple of blows on his face but he held my hands above my head.
He was breathing heavily and his usually olive skin had turned red.

It had been a long time since we fought like this. Before Wuraola.

I smirked, satisfied at the sight of vodka still dotted on the side of his face. His chin and the side of his head had turned red, definitely from my successful blows. His messy and uncombed hair fell like curtains as he stared down at me.

"Get the fuck out. Go take a shower and go to bed" he snapped and got off me. I eyed him as he had one hand on his waist and the other combing through his hair as he paced around in the living room.

I looked away from him and stared at the ceiling.