Some cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
-- william shakespeare
much ado about nothing | act 3, scene 1
A L E X
Chaos. Tragedy. Loss.
They envelop my senses, an overwhelming maelstrom of emotions cascading through my mind. Loss hangs heavy, a suffocating presence that leaves me grappling with questions that claw at the edges of my consciousness.
"How did I let this happen?" I whisper, the weight of responsibility settling like a stone in my chest. The world around me is a tableau of destruction, a testament to the unraveling of what once seemed secure. Did it though? I felt it, like a disaster was waiting to happen and now it has and I can't find her.
We were completely blown apart.
Fuck.
"I'm weirdly comfortable around you."
"Todo lo que quiero hacer es besar tus cicatrices y amarte con locura."
"You are my personal boogeyman."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
"......but inspite of it."
In the tumult of my thoughts, a familiar echoes — Jodie. Panic surges as I desperately search for her within the recesses of my subconscious. "Where is she?" I cry out, my voice drowned by the chaos. Awakening from a haze, reality thrusts itself upon me. I'm amidst ruins, disarray, and the absence of her presence intensifies the turmoil within.
The explosion has torn us apart, and a gut-wrenching fear claws at my mind. "No, she can't be..." I refuse to entertain the possibility. Surveying the wreckage, the remnants of Mansion Hidalgo, fragments of comprehension piece together in my mind.
The pain intensifies as I take stock of my injuries—blood seeping from arms, side, and neck. Cries reverberate, a symphony of anguish as people search for their kin amid the ruins. Amidst the chaos, a troubling realization surfaces — someone intimately familiar with the mansion orchestrated this devastation, exploiting its vulnerabilities.
A voice, ominous and familiar, slices through the cacophony. "On your feet, Alexander." The cold metal of a gun accompanies the voice, a harbinger of threat. Reluctantly, I turn, the world blurring as my eyes meet the person responsible for this nightmare.
The man I've loved, now a shadow against the ruins, the depths of his involvement in this tragedy unfurling before me. His name escapes my lips in a whisper, laden with a complex mix of emotions.
"Andreas."
"Brother," his voice slices through the air, each word heavy with a revelation that shatters my world. "Da un altro padre."The declaration hangs between us, a stark assertion that strikes me like a physical blow. No, this can't be true. We are both Hidalgos, born of the same bloodline, the same father. The absurdity of his statement reverberates in my mind, challenging the foundations of my reality.
"Da un altro padre."
"From another father."
"This is bullshit," I retort, the disbelief evident in my voice. He was the brother I shielded from pain, and now, he stands before me with a gun, a symbol of betrayal that I struggle to comprehend. And suddenly, everything hurts.
"I stood by you for years, waiting for this moment," he seethes, the resentment palpable in his tone. "And now I have it, and you just made it better." His words hang in the air, ominous and foreboding. I straighten up, attempting to glean meaning from the cryptic statement.
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