Taina
TWO GUNS, ONE LIFE
Who puts makeup on to go to the fucking gym? It’s a question I’m trying not to ask myself as I finish applying mascara to my lashes.
Someone trying to pretend they don’t enjoy the attention they’re receiving from a certain big and tall attorney who smiles like he has plans for them.
I straighten, admiring the way the concealer brightens the dark under eyes I’d earned from far too many nights of restlessness.
A little tinted moisturizer and blush to bring some color back in my face and I feel good. I reach into my bag and pull out a lip balm and use my fingertip to spread it generously over my lips.
I try to tell myself that I miss this part of my personality; the part that loves to enhance her features and walk around feeling good about myself.
Trauma took that from me.
What gave it back? I’m not entirely sure.
Perhaps Mami repurchasing all of my old makeup and adding in some new things I want to play with gave me a kick in the ass. Perhaps it’s that I feel seen for the first time in such a long time. Like I forgot that I was a whole person capable of more than anger and vengeance.
But the thought of giving a man any sort of credit makes me want to gag. Men are filthy, disgusting creatures. I’ve experienced it firsthand.
Even with that thought rolling around in my head, I take time to pick out my workout gear, opting for black tights, a long-sleeve compression shirt, and thick socks with sneakers.
My body, which I typically hide from view, looks different than it once did. I have this detachment to it that makes me account for the changes in a near clinical way.
Wider hips, fuller breasts, weight in my lower stomach that I happen to find adorable.
Even as I gave up on my body, it never gave up on me, gaining weight, holding me as I fought demons that no one could see.
My thighs are thicker, stronger, and my arms can hold much heavier things than it used to before. The gym has been better for me than I ever acknowledged. But, out of all of the good it’s given, it’s given me silence. While I’m strengthening my body, I’m quieting my mind.
I never thought I’d experience that sort of peace again in my life.
And while it’s a reprieve, fear rears its ugly head at the thought of me reclaiming so much of myself. Because if I earn her back, what if someone takes her away again?
What if the man who took her from me to begin with never pays for his crimes because I’ve gotten too wrapped up in something else?
All while I trek down the stairs, prepared to find a protein-laden smoothie when I open my front door, I try to stamp down my anxiousness.
But there’s no smoothie on my step this morning. No, today he opted to go the old-fashioned route. There’s a bouquet of pink roses resting there for me. I try not to smile as I bend to pick it up, because I’m sure some man is out there watching me, ready to run back and tell him everything.
They’re beautiful, soft and dewy, and I wish I could breathe them in the way I’d like to. Part of me wants to toss them just on principle. But I could use a nice gesture. It’s harmless.
I hope.
I notice a tiny card nestled in the bouquet and pull it out, opening the white envelope before reading the card.
What’s the worst that could happen?
An arrow drawn beneath the question makes me turn the card over, and I see his phone number scrawled on the back.
His handwriting is all capital letters and sharp numbers. Clean penmanship. Nice.
Remaining expressionless, I walk toward the car, and when I know the weirdo parked across the street can’t see me from where I stand in front of my driver side door, I shove the note in my jacket pocket. I don’t need my mother up my ass about it if she sees the flowers.
I get in the car, setting the bouquet on the passenger seat. By the time I pull out and head down the street, the man he sends to do his bidding is no longer there. Good.
I hate wondering if he follows me. To the gym is fine. But to my other antics? No.
Imagine if he saw me popping three of someone else’s tires.
I debated on cutting the brakes, but I don’t want to risk him dying that way. That has the potential to be a quick and painless death.
No, I want to kill him.
I need to.
And since there’s no smoothie today, I figure it’s the universe’s way of telling me I can skip the gym. So I head in a direction that’s far too familiar now.
While at a stoplight, I glance over at the pink roses. They make me feel uneasy, like he’s in the car with me or somehow bugged the roses with microscopic technology.
Which is completely fucking insane.
Does he somehow know what I’ve been up to? Had he slipped through the cracks?
No. Fuck no.
But I don’t quite know what to make of this man, Emiliano.
He could fuck everything up for me. I mean, he’s a man of the law.
There’s no way he’d know what it’s like to take someone’s life.
Though I’m sure he’s surrounded by people who do.
And he looks like the kind of guy that gets murderers off with a slap on the wrist.
Maybe he has. Men are capable of heinous things.
He’s nothing like I would’ve expected him to be.
Certainly not when his family is?—
A car behind me honks their horn, and I look up, noticing the light turned green as I fell into my thoughts. A shot of adrenaline courses through me, and I take a deep breath to slow my racing heart.
With a jolt, I accelerate, pulling into an empty parking lot to recalibrate.
I don’t spiral, but when I do, it’s crippling. I need to breathe. As soon as my car is parked, I lean over, my forearms on top of the steering wheel. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and I try to count backward from a hundred.
Ninety-six. Breathe.
Eighty-two. Breathe.
I’m on seventy-four when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s the same feeling I get when I catch someone’s eyes on me. What the fuck…
With a shuddering breath, I turn my face to the side, just in time to see a man pulling a ski mask over the lower half of his face, headed toward my car, a handgun with an attached silencer in his hands.
He’s glancing around as he rushes toward me, but I’ve already shifted my car in reverse to pull out of the parking spot.
My adrenaline is back in full force, but this time, I’m pissed the fuck off.
You think it’s gonna be this easy to take me out, bitch?
He lifts the gun, aiming directly at me as I shift into drive and press on the gas.
I don’t know who this man is, who sent him, if a hit was put out on me. And it’s clear I have to fight this battle alone. Involving the police would be far too messy, so I take matters into my own hands.
“I will kill you, motherfucker,” I mutter as I floor it, swerving here and there to avoid his aim.
This is why I need to carry a gun. One bullet pierces my windshield and goes into my backseat, far too close to my arm for my liking.
Another hits my passenger seat. Before I can reach him, he runs out of the way, and I head toward the entrance of the parking lot to get back out into the street.
In my rearview, he disappears into an alley and I smack my steering wheel, pissed I couldn’t take him out.
He’ll be back, and he may not be alone next time.
I’m about to press on the brake to avoid exiting the parking lot too quickly and ramming into street traffic, but it’s too late.
A car was also entering the lot as I was trying to flee, and I smack right into them, having tried to damn near push my foot through the brake once I noticed them.
For some reason, even after the impact made my fucking brain rattle, the airbag didn’t deploy. I push my seat back quickly just in case it’s delayed.
The smoke clears as I look up, and my eyes widen. I realize just how fucked I am.
A cop gets out of his car, and now I’ve had two guns aimed at me in the last ten minutes.