Page 10 of Fight or Flight

Lately, that’s all I’ve been feeling like doing. Submerging myself in my art is the only outlet I find soothing for the guilt that’s been crashing me with each day. The deep disappointment and disgust for myself that I have to carry like a heavy backpack strapped to my back as I try to climb higher.

But of course, since the gang was going, I couldn’t say no.

My brother Santiago, who’s ironically being called the Saint by the rest of the guys, decided it’s time to get back out in the open since he felt like “the dust has settled enough”. I couldn’t disagree more. Which I did, as well as repeated my ongoing concern about the moronic decision to stay in Bell Ridge after everything.

At this point, we’re like sitting ducks.

But Saint won’t ever listen to me. He got away with too much shit within his “career” and is getting cocky. He thinks he’s invincible and nothing can touch him.

Well, I hope he’s right. We may have our differences, and I hate the life that he condemned me to, but he’s still my brother. The only person who ever cared for me enough to take me in.

Until I was twelve years old, I kept bouncing around different family members. My mother often left me for what meant to be just a few days, only to be gone for months, until she disappeared completely one day after a quick phone call to my grandma stating that “motherhood just ain’t for her”.

I wasn’t surprised. Just terrified of the vision of going to live with some strangers after my grandmother decided that I was too much of an inconvenience.

It’s when Santiago showed up. Up to that time, he was a stranger to me. A much older brother whom I had never seen before that day. My mother abandoned him when he was just a baby, leaving him with his father.

Living with Saint and the Culebras gang wasn’t a fairy tale in any sense of the word, but I always got food on the table, a place to sleep, and a promise of a brotherhood that would stand by me no matter what.

At twelve, I was mesmerized, not having any idea what being in a gang could actually mean. I just saw the constant partying, doing whatever you want without any regard for other people outside the group, and getting easy money all the time.

I thought it was fucking cool, and I couldn’t wait until I turned sixteen to be claimed as a full member. The tattoo of the snake curling around the bloody dagger was something I honestly dreamt of.

How fucking stupid I was.

Talking about stupid. How stupid is it of me to know I definitely shouldn’t be doing something, yet here I am doing it. This is like a recurring theme in my life.

I should undoubtedly stay away from Claire and keep pushing Saint to leave Bell Ridge. But what do I do? Instead, insinuate myself even more into this new thing with her, wanting to know everything there is to know about her quirks.

I can’t explain why am I still here and not running the other way. I know what I’m trying to do is the peak of my dumbness and can only lead to something dangerous. But the pull is just too strong.

It scares me. No girl other than Claire had this effect on me before. Not one.

Now, I glance at her as she marches on next to me, with her features only illuminated by the faint stream of light coming from the streetlight two blocks down. Long blond hair sways in the wind around her, making her look like a beautiful phantom. Her big eyes move from side to side as she drinks everything in as if she sees it for the first time.

And I can feel a new kind of fascination growing in me. My hands itch to draw her features. To freeze each expression on her face for long enough to let me immortalize her unusual, clear beauty on paper.

Other than her obvious hotness, I’m really drawn to her as a person. The way she views the world seems both childish yet mature, like she possesses some kind of wisdom that the rest of the people don’t have access to, including myself.

Perhaps I am exaggerating. Maybe what Claire claims people say about her is true, and she has a screw loose somewhere in that pretty head of hers.

Or maybe I’m seeing it just right, and those people are just too stupid and ignorant to see the real value of having people like her around.

When we are close to my street, I don’t break the silence. Just continue to walk toward my house. Claire doesn’t protest, so I assume she has to live in the same area as me. That is until we reach the yard cluttered with motorcycle parts and empty bottles and stop.

“How far from here is your place?” I ask, and Claire stops before turning to me with a faraway look.

“Hm? Oh, not far...” Then she points toward my place with raised eyebrows. “Is this your house? I would love to see it.”

“Oh. Sure,” I scratch at my head. I didn’t plan on asking her to come in.

I was thinking about giving her a small goodbye kiss on her doorstep and maybe asking her out on a date. The thought of us being alone right now in an enclosed space excites me, but still, I don’t want to assume we will be doing anything. However, I am just a horny guy, so of course, it’s not so easy to battle the inappropriate thoughts as they assault my mind.

I have to literally shake my head at the vivid images that make me blush slightly as I let Claire into the house.

She reads my expression incorrectly, and her face softens a little as she grabs onto my arm and squeezes.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Aidan. I don’t care about the material things or money.”

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