Looking back on the whole affair, several hundred miles away, with rose-tinted glasses...it could have been so much worse for everyone. Really. I should be thankful she never said a word. She really didn't have to the last time we met, though. Looking back on it, it's a lot like a hideous car wreck. You see it coming, but you wonder what's going to happen even though you know it's going to be bloody and painful and probably kill you. Looking back, I was selfish, wrong, flawed, and stupid. But honestly? There are some parts I'd never change for the world.
My mother had seven kids. Seven. I have six brothers, all different from me, but still very much the same. I'm the second-oldest, so it was always my duty to look after the younger ones when Sarafin wasn't around (i.e. pretty often). I did an alright job of looking after them, I think, but myself? Not so much. I really don't remember my earliest years in America. I've been a citizen for ages, so don't bitch to me about immigration laws and that stuff. I was born an entrepreneur and after trials, tribulations, The Uncle fronted me the money to open our little chain. I love it so much, it's like my own child.
Not that I've ever had any others.
But I digress.
So here I am, managing my own place and doing alright. I meet a pretty white lady and marry her and her extensive family. She loves me even though I'm defective and daft, and things are alright. Her kids are so great and I love every one of them. For a while, at least. I'm pretty happy. Well, sort of. The root and sum of this whole snafu started there. Marriage is inevitable, and I thought maybe this could be The One, and there'd be my next fifty years. She wasn't perfect, and I'm not either. But it's verbatim to the Rule of Dance:
"Women who love to dance always marry men who hate to dance."
Only in my case, it would be...
"Men who love to screw always marry women who have migraines."
So my wife has a headache. A constant headache, which I constantly told her to get a physician to look at. She gave me the Pissy Look and I left it alone. This goes on for entirely too long, and since home isn't as happy as it could be, I throw myself at work.
And work kinda threw itself at me.
Customers are nice and the staff gets along well. I love every one of the guys, they put their all into what they do. That's why they got the job. Then, one day, I took the time to talk extensively with one of the more frequent and faithful patrons: Officer Arion. He's incredibly nice and is automatically respectable (for me, at least) for being in law enforcement. He was sitting with another man and a girl. The other man was a businessman, but more of the suit-and-tie type. He never struck me as one who actually got his hands dirty. When I saw how he treated the girl, I knew what kind of man he was, and I didn't really care for him. But her?
Wow.
She looked older than her eighteen years, had long dark hair, and expressive green eyes. Gorgeous girl that was built like a goddess. Seemingly proportioned perfect to her diminutive size. Which wasn't so bad. When one is tall all their life, things like size are a little biased and everyone is smaller than you are.
I had to know more.
She was staring me down the whole time, sizing me up. Judging. But shyly, she didn't want me to notice it. Then again, I can understand her shyness and always have. I always respected that, even when it was inconvenient and downright dangerous. She looked about decided, so I introduced myself to her with a compliment, trying to at least make her smile after her father's crass behavior.
"So what's your name, bonita?"
She looked like she probably spoke that language, I saw how she watched people's mouths move and hers did too, like she was trying to interpret for someone else.
She stuttered out her name and blushed profusely, not wanting to look at my eyes.
That was alright, I had time.
She was a constant presence in the place. Always flitting about, talking to others, and avoiding me. She really took to that somehow. One night when she was just there with Sarge, I pulled her aside just to inquire to the nature of the problem.
"What's wrong, miel? You're so standoffish. Did I upset you the other night?"
She shook her head and attempted to speak, but stuttering, backwards words came out. It was kinda cute. I saw it was definitely going to be me dominating the conversation.
"What's wrong?"
She looked pensive and stared at the wall behind me, deathly trying to avoid my eyes.
"Please tell me if I upset you, but I have a question."
...no response, just big, wide eyes set in crimson cheeks.
"Do you like me, bonita?"
Her lip trembled and she nodded.
"Like how much? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
She looked puzzled and held up both hands.
Both...what the hell?
Ten? That makes sense, I think.
"Are you afraid of me?"
She made the so-so sign.
"What can I do to make you not-upset?"
