Chapter Twenty-Five.
"I mean think about it Citrus, really think." —Keishawna Michaels.
Eden Park Projects
Citrus's soul had been at sea for so long, it had forgotten the feeling of land.
For years she lived on simply burying her trauma underwater. Trying her hardest to discard the identity she was forsaken with by creating bonds and putting her all into them. Never taking a moment to put her energy into herself. She clung onto those who claimed to care for her, tighter then most in fear of losing them just as she lost her family.
Though along the way she was done a disservice by every single person close to her. Her lost soul was deliberately sacrificed by those who could have saved her with ease, yet they stood and watched her drown. Watched her bury her identity and independence into them, and even at times using it to their advantage.
Never once stopping to save her.
Though worst of all, the good people she came across she poured that trauma onto them. As opposed to taking their rescuing hand, she pulled them down right with her.
Citrus had became a caricature of her own self.
The moment she had been waiting for, had finally arrived. For months, the whole reasoning why her relationship with Yair Nixon had intensified; was put on hold. For a minute there, she had lost sight of her purpose. Now today, she was being faced with it and she couldn't say that she was all that serene about it. Yet, she had come this far and there was no point in backing out now.
"Sad to say you're sleeping with the devil," Yair placed a box filled with papers in front of her. "I resent that family so much because they took everything from me Citrus. Your husband being tied to the reason for it all and it's because of them that I have nothing left; and babygirl you won't either after you learn the truth."
His fingers skimmed through the collection, before they clamped around a rusty newspaper article. He then handed it off to Citrus, next grabbing for a handful more and sitting them on the table.
Citrus looked at the dated papers, her nose wrinkling at the cobwebs and dust that blanketed them. She felt her eyes water due to allergies and quickly wiped at them.
"This should lay out the foundation of things for you," Yair cleared his throat.
Citrus flipped the newspaper over so that she could properly view it. The main photo plastered along the print; a soiled tarnished scene. In the picture lied burnt rubbish covering the ground and body bags spread all along the grass. The architecture of the building in the background was no more.
A ball formed in her throat as the date stuck out to her like a sore thumb. April 24th, 2001.
"How did you get this?" She looked at all the faces in the room, "What does this have to do with anything?"
"Somebody I loved deeply was in this fire," Yair admitted. "The fire that was set by Qadir Senior. The fire that—
"My father died in," Citrus picked up on the direction Yair was heading.
"It was intentional too," Image popped her gum.
"But why would it be Qadir's fault? He was just a kid. This doesn't make any sense," Citrus looked to Yair for answers.
"We all how powerful your father was, he was a well known man. He had a lot of money, and a lot of enemies. This family being one, they seen him as a threat so they got rid of him," Yair responded, "Deeds was on the way to taking over all of Louisiana and with the Bukhara's on the rise, they couldn't have that. The people that I loved so happened to get in the way, and they took them from me. It may not be your husbands fault, you're right...he was a child. But now he's a grown man that knows all of this and never told you. He's just as bad as the one's who made him."
