Chapter 20
Nenúfarcita
Papa, read me a story."
"We should go soon, Francesca. The bad men sleep light. We don't want them waking up."
They say blood is thicker than water, but I think that only means blood is easier to drown in.
one reason why I never liked Selene, because we are so alike in a way.
I never could understand how I felt, and She never wanted to.
Because how does one feel for someone else who's drowning if they're dying of thirst the mere concept of water would be a fantasy?
How could she understand my lungs constantly filled with the blood of my emotions the blood of my pain, and the blood of those who share that pain, and those who caused it?
To see someone dying of thirst, dying of never having anything to begin with… how could she understand what it truly means to lose it all?
February the 15th 2018
"But Papa, we'll be quiet. I promise. It's not a long book."
"Mommy said we shouldn't stay up late."
"Pleeease?"
"…Okay. Just one. But you have to turn the pages slow, okay? And no giggling loud."
"Hehe. I don't giggle loud."
"You do a little."
My papa was a little different than other dads, and if I'm being honest, that's an understatement.
I don't think there's a man on this earth like him.
Alejandro carefully walked to a corner in the warehouse they were in.
The lights were dim, so it was hard to see the stumps of those who had slept there, the traces of those who had wept, in liquid puddles that smelled of iron and rust.
When Papa reached the corner, he lowered himself down with the biggest criss-cross applesauce you've ever seen.
His knees stuck out so far with like the roots of a tree.
He patted his legs twice and smiled ushering me to sit on my favorite spot.
You better come quick, before someone steals your spot.
I'm a lot older now...stronger and faster...but I remember never moving as fast as I did when I was running towards him, when I was running towards that lap, living a fantasy while reading one with him.
I climbed into his arms and he wrapped them around me carefully, like I was something breakable.
"Okay, Francesca," he whispered, holding up the tablet. "Battery's almost gone. So we only get one story. A short one."
бездушный синий это красный
Papa blinked. "Huh?"
I grinned. "It means 'soulless blue is red.'"
"That's not fair," he said, nudging my shoulder gently. "You know I can't speak that."
"Hehehe. It's Russian. Like how Mommy talks to Grandpa and Grandma and Auntie Ekaterina."
His eyebrows lifted.
"Wow. You can talk to them already? That's… that's amazing."
He looked down at his hands for a second.
"I could never do that. And I'm way older than you."
"Papa, that's okay," I said quickly. "You don't have to. You and Grandpa Terry can talk in Spanish, right? Maybe you can teach me that. Then we can have our own secret talking."
"That's a good idea," he nodded. "But Uncle Terry is sleeping And he's going to be sleeping for a long time. We shouldn't wake him up. That's not polite." He paused. "I'll teach you when I figure it out better."
"Oh really?!" I bounced in his lap. "Yaaay! I can't wait!"
He steadied me with both hands. "Careful, careful," he whispered, smiling those sleepyheads might wake up. "and not right now. Story first."
"Okay! Read Soulless Blue Is Red."
He froze.
"That one's It's above a fifth-grade level," he said slowly.
"I don't know if I can read that good."
That's okay," I said. "Mama says just try your best. And I believe in you ."
He looked at me the way only he could like I had just handed him something cherished a looked at no one has ever given me since him.
"…Yeah," he nodded once.
"I think you're right.
I can do it."
And he started reading, tracing each word with his finger, whispering them carefully like they might run away if he said them too loud.
"mmmh… hnnh…"
A low, rough hum crawled from The peaceful darkness
As one of the stumps shifted on the floor creating sounds that shouldn't be there creating Wet sounds humming sounds and worse breathing sounds
Papa's body stiffened instantly.
"W-what was that?" he whispered, his arms tightening around me.
"We should go. Nap time's over. The bad men are waking up."
No no it's fine Papa Just keep reading the bad men will go to sleep soon I promise
Papa didn't notice.
His eyes were on the doorway.
Papa didn't notice somehow but My little hand slowly ushered closer and closer
toward his loud metal toy resting by on his side.
The one with the quiet stick on the end.
He always kept it close.
Just in case.
The shape on the floor moved again.
And so did I
Pew
The shape stopped moving.
After that funny sound The stump fell back to the ground never to spread its roots again
"Oh," he said after a moment, relief washing over his face. "You were right. He went back to sleep."
"I told you," I murmured, laying my head against his chest.
It was warm. Steady. Safe.
Almost like a pillow.
He patted my back twice.
"Yeah, yeah. You told me. Good job."
And he went back to reading.
The sound of him trying to read could drown out any noise, could drown out any worries or thoughts and losing that is what is currently drowning me.
March 30th, 2025.
12:56 p.m.
glrrshhh… slosh…
hhk
GHHH haah… haah…
kgh kgh
hhhaah… hh…
I steadied my breath and tried to cough up all the water in my lungs.
Finally, I could prop myself up, and I looked around the porcelain bathroom of this cheap motel I've been staying at ever since Ma pissed me off.
My father was always my safe place. Even if he's not here anymore, the thought of him always brings me comfort.
But there is one thought that doesn't.
snff…snf-snff…
My mouth opened, but only air escaped. No words could climb the rootstocks to reach the light shining from above.
So I lowered my gaze and lifted my hands.
and let them illustrate The words that he took with him.
«Ты так и не научил меня говорить по-испански, papa…»
(You never did teach me to speak Spanish, Papa…)
nnngh… snff
huhh… snff… snff…
Before I could go any further, I forced myself out of that tub and began to change on the cold porcelain floors of this bathroom.
In the devil's orphanage, I could never have time like this.
Some may be grateful, but I always despise times like this.
Now, I always despise the moments where I can rest.
Because when I rest, that gives them more time to take another breath of fresh air where my father is unable to.
I could be lying to myself, but when I look in the mirror, I only see the bathwater dripping off my cheeks.
I have no time for tears.
Because the job's not finished…
I open the door to a grisly sight of my own making.
Three dead men sprawl across the floor.
One is collapsed half off the bed, fingers still curled from putting up the best fight.
In the corner, a half-naked woman trembles, mascara bleeding down her face.
Another man is strapped to the bed frame, wrists raw, eyes wide enough to split.
Alive.
The rat gives me a bloody smile.
"Oh," he sighs lightly, "even after a bath, you still look that revolting."
My gaze lingers on him.
"Poor girl a face only a mother could love."
I tilt my head.
"Well, I would say father… but yours is currently rotting. HAHAHA."