GINEVRA
I put on an all back overall, black combat boots, a red wig, and enough make up to help enhance my disguise as I readied myself to attend Ricardo's funeral. My friends thought it an extremely bad idea to be around the Sanchez's at a time like this—a time when they were burying their son who was murdered by me, but I had no care in the world.
How could I bring myself to stay home while a better part of me was being put into the ground?
How could I sit there knowing that if I at least had a little bit of control over my intrusive thoughts, then we wouldn't have been in that messed up situation?
Ten days, one week and three days ago, I shot Ricardo twice. In his heart. And ever since that day, I had been in the run.