C.R.I.M.S.O.N

S.H.E

There she sits. In a pool of blood. Her hands were drenched in the red crimson substance along with her white attire. She was scared - not afraid to die. But to get caught. So she got up. Disposed of the body, and cleaned up the blood that wasn't hers.

I was 15. To keep it short and simple i killed my mother. After years of mental and physical torment i was done. Done with her, done with her bullshit, but most importantly done with being treated like a fucking fool.
She always painted the perfect picture. At least tried too. I ruined that image. And i received a daily reminder for the last 15 years of my life; "selfish bitch", "waste of my time and energy", "fucking useless whore." It became expected at a certain point. I became immune to her. However, i never got over the pain.

pain.

I'm coming on 20 soon. September 14th.
I spent the last 5 years preoccupied with my father. The kindest and funniest person i know.
I would die for him. 10x over, again and again.
i never understood how a man like my dad could love a woman like my mum. My dad owned a business, it was clear my mum was nothing but a skank for his money, i'm pretty sure my dad knew that too. But when you're told you have cancer at 30 and won't be able to conceive, it's hard not to fall in love with the woman that carries your child 2 years from then. My dad had a tumour, they identified it as cancer when he was 31. stage 2, they were lucky to have found it when they did. It was removed and quite frankly saved my dads life.
He's now 51. Loves his hip-hop and is obsessed with always looking good. For a man of his age and what he has been through. Many would expect a run down - non-reliable old man.
He's nothing of the sort: despite his grey hair and forehead wrinkles. Which i never let him forget about.

"Dad have you used that face cream i borrowed you?" i asked. He sighs and thinks of a response before saying: "i may or may not have used it already..."
"All of it! Already?! i only bought it on Tuesday."
It was now sunday. My only free day from work. Which i would never spend any other way, than with my dad.
"Yes princess, i would apologise, but it's not my fault my face is the size it is. therefore i need more cream per use. Not everyone has naturally good skin ou chéri." My dad speaks fluent french - as do i but just not as well - my dad did some business in France before he met my mother in New York.

translation- darling

" oui, oui je sais. So have you heard from that guy who wants to buy the company?"

translation- yes, yes i know.

"Not him personally - his assistant reached out again, i'm not interested though. You will take over CostaLimited. I have told you this from the start Charlie."

Costa is my fathers last name. Despite him speaking french to me most of the time. His family is originally from Italy. They were very very poor. That was until my Papa became who he was. Frankie Costa, largest independent business owner in New York since 2006.

"Papa, if this is a good business deal don't miss out because o-"

"No. No business deal is better than me watching you take over the business. I didn't build it for some 24 year old to do whatever the fuck he wants with it. Run it into the ground!"

"Only 24?! what did you say his name was again?? Benedetti?"

"Asher Benedetti."