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I shot again, only to miss—again. To say I'd been off my game since finding out Rodrigo had escaped would be an understatement. It was all I could think about, before I went to sleep, when I woke up, when I played ball, that was literally it.
I'd honestly avoided Marquees and everyone since then. I wasn't exactly embarrassed, but their slick comments would only piss me off and that's not something I needed right now.
Besides Mr.Jay, the only person I've really talked to is Destin. I knew he wouldn't really judge or pry, and I needed some sort of company. Call it what you want, but beside family, he was the only person I wanted to be around.
"are you okay?" He asked softly, eyes trailing me as I grabbed the ball and took a seat next to him.
"I'm fine." I shook my head, lying straight through my teeth.
"You don't seem like it," he spoke, "these last couple of days you've been different, I don't know. I haven't known you for too long, but it just feels weird."
His words were timid, cautious not to offend me, or press any buttons he was unaware of.
That something I found odd about him, he was always so cautious of everything. Like he was just waiting for the person he was talking to, to snap at him. I'd felt like that before, back when I was mixed up with the Cartel, but I had reasons.
Those guys were cold blooded killers who only cared for money and power.
I was just me.
"if something is bothering you it's better to talk about it rather than hold it all in, you'll never get over it that way." He said softly, looking at me with a gentle expression.
"I can't really talk about this with anyone." I said honestly.
Saying that set in the realization that this would be the story of my life. Constantly not being able to tell anyone the truth because I was dealt with bad cards from birth.
I felt like no one would ever truly know me because they'd never truly understand the real me. Who I am and where I came from would always be something I'd have to lie, or hide.
Is that anyway to live?
"Are you afraid of something?" He asked, his small hand itching toward mine which rested at my side.
He looked as if he was contemplating in his head if he should grab mine, but ultimately decided against it.
"No, it's not that." I said honestly.
Oddly enough, I wasn't scared; I wasn't afraid of the same man who'd almost killed me.
Why? I'm not even sure myself. I guess it was more so anger that drowned out the fear. That anger that stemmed from so many things, but was directed at Rodrigo because he caused so much of it.
