I couldn't face her. Hell, I was scared of facing her. For some inexplicable reason, I felt so damn responsible for the state in which she was.

Transferring the shopping bag in my right hand to my left, I unlocked the door and stepped inside my flat tentatively. She was sitting in the living room in front of the TV, but from the look in her eyes, whatever was being shown was lost on her.

She jerked her head in my direction, seemingly hearing the click of the door as I closed it behind me. The fear in her eyes made me wince, until it gradually eased out when she saw that it was me.

I walked over to her, setting the shopping bag in front of her and the polythene with takeout from a restaurant on the glass centrepiece. She looked up at me enquiringly.

“I brought you some dresses and underwears from the boutique.” I explained.

“You bought me underwears?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. I nodded, and she turned away from me, cheeks turning pink, then muttered, “Pervert.”

“The shopkeeor selected everything, I swear. She had your figure.” I clarified.

She nodded, returning her gaze to the TV and instantly going quiet. Hating her silence, I asked, “Are you okay?”

She shifted her eyes to me, the brown depths filled with a sudden fear that squeezed hard at my heart.

“Do you mean to ask whether I'm still scared? Then yes, I am. Believe me, it's not an easy thing to find out that someone is suddenly after your neck.” She answered wryly.

That still unfamiliar, restless feeling enveloped me, and I couldn't shake it off. I took the takeout bag from the table and brought out the take out bowl. I opened the lid, and delicious aromas sizzled through the air. I set it on the centrepiece.

“I also got you some food.”

“Chicken burritos?” She looked at me in awe. “You remembered?”

For her sake, I managed a small smile even though I didn't feel the lightness of the spirit to do so and nodded. Back in high school when we'd been history partners, she'd once gone on and on about how chicken burritos was her favourite, why it was the best food in the world and what made it so delicious.

She'd asked me what my favourite food was, and of course I hadn't answered. I didn't have a favourite food anyway.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the enthusiasm disappeared from Montserrat's eyes. Picking up a piece of chicken, she bit into it and chewed it like it was rubber. I clenched my fist on my laps.

I couldn't believe that someone with so much optimism could put so down. She was so strong and yet so vulnerable, so innocent. To think I'd been on the verge of killing her.

What if she hadn't sang that song which my mother used to sing to me when I was a child which had made me stall on pulling the trigger? I would've killed her for sure.

For the first time ever since I'd become an assassin, my gut twisted with guilt. I felt sick to the stomach. How many innocent lives had I taken?

“You know I was. . . thinking about the movie we saw at the cinema today.” She paused, as if contemplating whether to continue. “I know a lot of people will disagree with me, but... Sure, those six men did rape and kill his wife, but I don't think it was up to him to exact justice, kill them the way he did. For me, it stooped him down to their level. It made him as bad as the people he was taking revenge on.”

Her words hit me like bricks because she'd hit so close to home without even knowing it. I'd become an assassin because I wanted to get rid of every cold-hearted murderer I came across. I'd killed the three people who'd personally killed my parents as revenge and due to hate, but they'd been bad people.

Now Montse was telling me without even knowing that I was wrong for getting vengeance for my parents death.

I suddenly felt upset. With her, with myself. A conflicting mix of emotions that made me want to get away from her. I stood up.

“There are two additional rooms here. You can take the one on the right side of the hallway.”

Without even meeting her eyes, I retreated to my bedroom, filled with a confusing emotion I couldn't define. I punched the wall three times and let out a low growl.

Why was Montserrat's words affecting me so much when I'd never cared about what others thought of me and my job? Why did I feel such an intense need to be close to her, such an intense need to protect her, even with my life?

Why did I care for her so much?

***

A mild explosion shook the small house and the little boy curled up in the kitchen. Looking through the peephole of the broken cabinet handle, he watched as three men stormed into the kitchen before his parents could run out of it.

The leader of the four men hit his father on the mouth, causing him to stumble. The ten years old boy wanted to scream, to get out and demand how dared the man touch his father.

But he couldn't. He'd promised his father not to come out of the cabinet no matter what. He didn't want to disappoint his father again like he'd done the last time by failing to not roam about like his father had told him to.

“I told you if you made us come in by ourselves, things were going to get worse.” The man who had hit his father said. His voice was calm and smooth, but the evil was unmistakable.

He hit his father again. The little boy seethed in the cabinet. His mother screamed for the man to stop.

The leader looked at the woman with interest. “I didn't know your wife was this beautiful."

“What do you want?" His father demanded.

“Oh, so we're going to play the fool here, huh.” The man chuckled fiendishly. “I think you perfectly know why I've been looking for you for a month. That's why you abandoned your house to stay in this shack in the middle of no where.”

The man slowly stepped closer to his father. “But just in case you've forgotten, I'll remind you. You dared to humiliate the almighty Godfather in public. I must admit that was bold, you standing up to him like that. But it was the biggest mistake of your life. I don't know why Diablo let us let you go on the spot, but I guess he wanted us to do things away from the glare of the people. When you die, people are going to know it was him, but they are still going to love him. Still pray for him and worship him. That is the kind of power he has.”

“No, please... Please don't hurt him. He was high on weed when he said that. He's sorry. It won't ever happen again. Just please don't hurt him.” His mother pleaded.

The leader sent her a look. “You know, I love the fact that you love your husband so much, but if you don't shut up...”

“Don't you fucking dare lay a finger on her.” His father snarled.

The leader of the goons widened his eyes. Then a smile that spoke volumes of danger fell on his lips as he looked back at his goons. A chill went up the little boy's spine.

“Just look at the boy thinking he can make demands.” Turning to his father, he slapped him on the face before gripping his face, digging his fingers into his cheeks. “Now listen hear you fucker, you don't make demands. I get to choose whether or not I'm going to hurt her. Don't infuriate me.”

“Please don't hurt her." His father whimpered defeatedly when the leader let go his cheek. “Please...”

The leader chuckled. “Oh, please, don't make me feel bad. You make it sound like I'm doing this because I want to.”

He stretched his hand behind him, and one of the men placed a sharp object in his hand. It was a knife.

“I hope you remember that I have nothing against you. I'm only doing my job.”

Without wasting a second, he buried the blade in the little boy's father's stomach. His father gasped, his face scrunched with pain, and he screamed.

The boy's mother screamed, attempting to leap towards him, but the other two goons held her back. When she struggled to free herself, they hit her twice in the face, and she fell down whimpering.

The leader smiled without an iota of emotion. He pulled the knife out of his father's stomach and plunged it right back. The boy watched his father being stabbed three more times before he fell on the floor, groaning weakly.

There was more blood than he'd ever seen. He watched without a sound. Dread and shock had tightened his throat. He just sat in the cabinet shivering, head whirling, paralyzed with terror. Why was the man hurting his father so much?

The leader slowly made his way towards the boy's mother who was still on the floor.

“No... Please, no..." The boy's father reached out, groaning weakly.

The leader knelt down, knife in his right hand. His left hand stroked the boy's mother's cheek. “You are so beautiful. Such a pity I was asked to do this.”

He slashed her throat without an ounce of hesitation.

“No...” His father screamed despite the pain, then broke into painful sobs.

The laughter of the men rang mockingly as they left the house. It took the boy long moments to overcome the shock enough to come out the cabinet.

Both of his parents were dead.

******

I startled awake from my nightmare. No, not just a nightmare. It was more like a memory that had been haunting me for years.

Those men had been so cruel, never displayng a little bit of regret while killing my parents. And Montserrat was telling me that I had no fucking right to kill them as revenge like I'd done?

Well, damn her. What did she know anyways? She was just a naive girl who knew nothing about the realities of life.