Page 220 of Bona Fide

“I remember the planes, how loud they were, then all the explosions and screams that followed after it. Everything was on fire, smoke climbed over the treetops, and I knew it hit some of the village. I just didn’t expect it to be the whole village.”

I don’t speak, letting him take another puff of his cigarette before he speaks again.

“My family was killed that night. I never found their bodies. A day later, I was picked up by a group, they called themselves the Samaritans. They fed me, clothed me, taught me how to be a man. Told me of the man who killed my parents and sisters.” Marty turns to face me head-on. “Your father.”

My brows furrow at his accusation. The cavity of my gut sprains into a knot as I examine my brother.

I don’t recognize him.

I see him, appearing exactly the same, but everything he’s saying—they aren’t his words. They are someone else’s.

“They taught me revenge and how to obtain it,” he elaborates. “Pumped me with it for two years. All I knew was anger and madness, it fueled my veins. It gave me a reason to keep going. I finally saved up enough money for a round trip to take out the American who destroyed my whole family so I could come back home and heal. Then I saw you.

“You were wearing a pink dress with white lace at the bottom, eating a vanilla ice cream cone—with him. My mission was to kill your father and his whole family, but I couldn’t touch you. I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you. You reminded me of my sisters, so innocent and sweet, but your father...I couldn’t...I couldn’t let it go.

“So when you went back to the playscape to go down the slide again, I shot him in the back of the head. You heard it, came running up with ice cream dripping down your hand and peered up at me with colored eyes that I’ve never seen before. You told me that I was going to get in trouble and that you were going to tell your mom.”

Marty scoffs and shakes his head. “You snatched my hand up and dragged me to your house, so I followed. I didn’t know what else to do because you were so adamant about getting me in trouble that I actually believed that I should’ve been. I remember meeting Mama; she listened to me admit everything I had done, and she asked me where I was from. It was history after that. She adopted me, had to shake and beat the hatred out of me, but I—”

“Mama would never beat you,” I snap.

My brother’s brows lift. “Wanna bet? I almost killed the neighbor’s cat because it scratched me. I beat the shit out of a kid because he called me dirty—dirty, Tsarina, a stupid-ass insult. I would kill anyone or anything if I felt like they would try to hurt me or make me feel a certain way. Everyone but you and Mama.”

“I don’t believe you,” I deadpan.

“You don’t believe me because you don’t remember. And you don’t remember because Mama took you to some head shrink and had the memories hypnotized out of you or some shit. You screamed at night, I laid on the floor to make sure that no one would come in and hurt you. I knew Mama wouldn’t but...I didn’t trust the new surroundings I was in and...I didn’t want to leave you because I was the reason you had nightmares.”

I take another drag of my fag and soak in everything he just said. It’s not computing, wrangled words that sound like a fucked-up plot of a movie.

“It’s...a lot.”

“Your father…” I center myself on the hotel across the street. “Was he really a bad man?”

Marty shakes his head out of my peripheral. “No.”

“How do I know that? What about my father?”

“He was the commander in chief to the president. He wasn’t super loved by the people, but he wasn’t hated either. He ordered three airstrikes on countries that were not approved by the president serving at that time.”

My jaw clenches. “How? How do you do something like that?” I flick my cigarette. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not sure, I didn’t stop to ask him. And it’s the truth.”

“How do you know it wasn’t ordered by the president himself?”

“I don’t.”

“Marty,” I choke, gripping the metal railing. “He could’ve been doing his job.”

“He wasn’t a good man, Tsarina. I have reports and documents showing that he overused his power. I knew that one day...I would have to tell you. That I’d have to come clean and risk the fact that you might hate me. It wasn’t hard to find—”

“Mama forgave you for this?!” A surge of anger courses through me, and I’m not upset anymore, I’m livid.

“Mama knew what kind of man he was. That’s why he was only allowed limited visitation with you.”

“I guess I wouldn’t know,” I sneer. “I can’t remember him.” I pivot to the inside of the room, but I don’t make it two steps before Marty has my arm and swings me around, promptly releasing it.

“You can’t leave here.” His green eyes drill into me, changing his whole calm and submissive behavior that he just exhibited.

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