The Truth About Mila | Mayans M.C.

| Pain and Pride |

A human can do terrible, awful things. Coco knew that best. He saw people die before and took lives when saving his skin. That was never a problem. Never the issue. Johnny Cruz is known for his insanity, and, at times, he can be irrational. Emotional on his bad days. A sickness that developed way before the age of eighteen. Dead bodies rest on his shoulders, and their sins tread in his hands.

But never, in his years of living, did he think he could do something so sinister. So disgusting.

Rocking back and forth on his knees, Coco hummed to himself with sorrow. His hands trembled as they wiped the water away from Celia's frozen cheeks. Then, with a shaky breath, he wipes the blood falling from the corners of her open mouth.

She lay beside him on the kitchen floor, still in her drenched robe, pillow tucked underneath her head.

She did not exhale her lungs, nor did she flinch.

Celia Cruz lay deceased. Her only son drowned her. And here he sat, in a broken mess of remorse, whispering to himself and her. In some way, Coco prayed this to be a twisted dream. Undoubtedly his anger couldn't have made him do something so terrible.

A knock on the door stopped Coco's sway, recalling the text he sent Mila not so long ago. Despite his anger towards the woman who made Coco lose his hope for normality, he needed her. She angered him deeply. So much so Cruz knew he could never fall in love again. Yet, the urge to see her face weighed in.

With a wipe of his eyes with the side of his thumb, Coco stood and slowly made his way to the front door within Celia's two-bedroom apartment. His fingers unlocked the bolts, and so on, through the tiny crack - there stood Mila.

She wore her pajamas underneath a coat that appeared more expensive than Celia's apartment. Shoes that had been worn covered her feet, and her short hair rested on top of her head like she hadn't brushed it since yesterday. She held her purse in one hand and her phone in the other. Squeezing them both tightly.

"Johnny..."

Coco opened the door a little wider, revealing Celia's lifeless body on the kitchen floor.

Mila let out a shocked gasp, surprised to see Coco had done what she hoped he wouldn't. A man's rage can make him do anything. Killing his mother isn't off the table. Realizing the scenery of death before her and the chance of any passersby seeing this, Mila hurried into the apartment, shutting the door behind her. Her fingers managed to lock every bolt, and before she knew it, Mila stood two strides from Celia and Coco. Her eyes kept on the woman who didn't appear to be sleeping peacefully like the movies made the dead seem. Celia just looked dead.

"Johnny," Mila whispered, placing her soft gaze onto a hunched-over Coco. Like before, Coco tried his best to caress Celia's cold skin dry. He scarcely took a chance to reply.

Mila placed her phone and purse on the kitchen table then slowly walked to the other side of Celia.

"Johnny, what happened?" Mila questioned as she squatted beside Celia.

Finally, Coco raised his tearful eyes, licking his dry lips. The answer sat at the tip of his tongue, and it would never go away even with a sip of water. All of the events happened so quickly; every moment felt like a blur. There, Celia stood in the bathroom - saying one thing or another. The next, her lifeless body lay at the bottom of the bathtub, where water had already been drawn minutes before his arrival.

She wanted to bury him for assaulting her, and that hurt Coco just as bad. The thought that his mother could break Letty and spew such vile phrases made Coco see red.

"I fuckin' killed her," Coco states the obvious.

Mila looks down at Celia, contemplating what could be done with the crime scene. Sooner or later, the police will be sniffing around for the missing woman. Though, Mila also knew no one would ever look deep into Celia's death. She, a prostitute, is not worth their time. She'd be thrown to the side, and no one will remember her eventually.