Chapter 17

                                    

                                          
DELANEY
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"Happy eighteenth birthday." He gave me a kiss on my temple — using my hand with the gun to shoot my dead family.
"I hope I've made your birthday memorable and special enough." He placed the knife he used in my other hand before pulling a lighter out of his jacket.
Then, he let go of the lighter and it fell to the floor. Everything went up in flames as he walked away.
Lying between the flames, I tried to crawl to mom. Her dead body stopped talking now. I shook her lifeless body, hoping she was still alive, but she didn't move.
I felt so helpless. The flames took up more space and I knew I had to get out if I didn't want to die.
I wanted to survive that night for my mother. I still didn't feel much. I didn't know if it was due to the shock or the substance they had given me. Whatever it was, it helped me crawl to the front door and leave the villa.
My chest rose and fell, I could feel the wetness of my tears on my cheeks as I was lying on the floor in the cold night.
I could feel the heat of my burning home on my back. I could feel the raindrops hit my body — soothing the little burning sensation on my legs.
Caught between hot fire and cold rain — I survived. Because I wanted revenge.
But I was alone from now on.
 
 
~~~~~
 
 
I feel like brain dead.
I guess I got rid of all the remaining cells I had left in my brain. The headache is real. Getting out of bed is a struggle.
The sun flashes me like an old hag in a robe — making me want to lose sight. Disoriented and with a loss of balance — due to the alcohol still in my system — I stumble around.
I don't only tramp around, I also look like a tramp — like the one we picked up with Alex. My makeup looks like the time I made out with a Mr. Brownie's dick.
Though, the red on my lips is lipstick. Not blood, this time. Lazily, I make my way to the bathroom. Getting rid of my suit, I step into the shower.
Water cascades down my body. I shower with cold — like I am used to. I hope my brain freezes off. I massage my temples. My head is throbbing.
When I was sedated in my mental home before, because I acted like a bad girl, I never had such a headache afterwards. All I felt was numbness.
But alcohol is a different kind of drug, I guess. The effects are the same but the aftermath is different.
Groaning, I hit my forehead against the cold tiles — hoping to feel a different kind of pain. Guess what? It doesn't work.
I need painkillers. Stepping out of the shower — after cleaning up somehow — I wear the first thing I see, a bathrobe.
I am disoriented — literally and mentally. This isn't Sensei's home. But it is big. Ugh. This homes feel like labyrinths.
Barefoot. Hair wet. Only in a robe — I search for the Turtle. Anyone. And I find maids in the halls.
But it is hard to communicate with them. Not because I am mute. They only speak Italian. I think the language is Italian. Because it sounds like Italian. Why? I heard Sensei and Turtle talk in Italian.
I decide to use sign language, but in delulu style. "I have pain," I say, gesturing to my head and groaning.
"Therefore, I need painkillers, you understand? Painkillers." I gesture to my head again and then make a slicing motion across my throat to indicate 'killers.'