The Code To A Don's Heart

s e v e n t e e n

I hated the number 17.

In my family, anyone who got to that age had something unexpected happen. My dad's father got arrested for rape when he was 17. My mom was disowned by her parents, expelled from school and got pregnant with my brother at 17. She died when my brother was 17. I was 17 when my brother decided to pack it up and leave.

To me, that number brought nothing but misfortune. Everything that happened before that number was sugar, spice and everything nice. As soon as it somehow arrived in my life, I knew nothing good would come.

Viktor had found us a fancier hotel to stay at in Las Pavita. I didn't question the security of it all because he'd picked it and I trusted him enough when it came to life and death situations. I held some form of hope that he wouldn't get me killed.

Our car ride here had been awkward. I didn't talk much and slept or feigned sleep most of the way. Viktor noticed, he didn't talk about it. In a way, he was avoiding me too or I believed so to make me feel better about my actions. Reaching the hotel was the most uplifting experience in the last couple of hours. I was stuck with my sunglasses and I'd added a cap I'd bought from a gas station over my head. I pulled my hair into the space of the back strap to make it neater.

I drowned in Viktor's jacket, having bought him another during my time in the supermarket. I quite liked this one and wasn't willing to let it go. We'd parked the car a few ways down the street from here and once inside the hotel, Viktor was treated like royalty. I'd never seen so many people stumble over themselves to please someone. I wasn't sure they wouldn't talk about how he was here but Viktor didn't seem worried. We'd been escorted to our room and my heart had dropped when I saw the room number.

17

Every action movie had that point of no return when the main character has done something that made the audience think 'Oh shit. Here we go'. This was Viktor and I's point of no return. He didn't think so but wherever I and the number 17 clashed, disaster followed. I wasn't settled.

After settling into the room, mostly, Viktor had taken the master bedroom while I'd insisted on the other smaller room with two twin beds. My reason? I liked alternating where I slept but there was no shut eye for me. I'd showered, changed the bandage on my wound, put my hair in pigtails and even worn some fuzzy socks the hotel provided to keep me warm.

Then, dressed in sweat shorts and a tee, no underwear whatsoever, I lay on top of one of the twin beds and stared at the ceiling. The clock on the nightstand read 3:07a.m. I couldn't sleep. I was too busy worrying because of one thing.

The fucking number 17.

Call me superstitious, call me stupid, laugh if you want but the human mind was a dangerous thing. I knew from past experience nothing good came from this number. I feared it in a way a child would fear a dog if their parent told them it was a dinosaur. I could not get over the fact that we were sleeping in a room where the entrance had this number. This unease had me wrapping a blanket around my shoulders and walking out of the room to the balcony.

I passed the spacious black and gold themed apartment, not paying much attention to detail. I'd seen it when we arrived, the beautiful architecture and the sleek modern look, all dark, regal and daunting. I sat at the balcony and stared at the city below. It honestly never slept. The place was so busy, you'd think the sun had just set.

Looking out reminded me of the nights I would sit at the living room window in our old house and stare outside, waiting for my brother to come home, both before and after he left. It gave me peace then, knowing I'd be the one to greet him at the door and help him to bed whether he was drunk as a skunk or high over his head. I wouldn't complain with him at those times. I'd just help him to bed, wait for him to sleep and then try to find my own rest.