Death’s Duet

Looking at Juan, I pushed Matthew away from me.

"You enjoy your little game; I won't stick around for the show," he declared, the words escaping his lips as he swiftly exited. The door slammed shut with a resounding echo, leaving me in a chilling silence.

As he walked out, smashing the door in his wake, I called out to him in the hospital hallways, desperation in my voice, "Wait, Juan, please wait." He didn't answer; I was too weak to run. I feigned dizziness, groaning in pain. "Juan, please wait," I pleaded in a faint voice, and he halted, turning back to me.

"You know I was right about you, Nia. You're always having them wrapped around your little finger. Just get your filthy hands off me; I guess loyalty is overrated," he spat with bitterness.

"Why are you even overreacting? Nothing happened in there," I questioned, seeking understanding.

"Then why are you acting guilty? Face it, Nia, you're not as perfect as you think," he retorted and walked out of the hospital, leaving me bewildered.

I tried to follow him, but he zoomed off with his men, leaving me alone in the late-night darkness. For the first time in my life, Juan left me all alone, and it stung. I must have truly hurt him, but his overreaction puzzled me. Nothing happened, and he didn't believe me.

Alone, I walked out of the hospital into the dark. In the hallway shadows, I glimpsed Matt trying to find me. All I wanted was to be alone, away from everyone and everything.

That fateful night, I stumbled into the nearest bar, seeking refuge to drown my sorrows.

"An alcohol, please," I muttered to the bartender, my voice weighted with despair. He tossed over a cup of the strong drink, and I found myself downing over three cups, each gulp an attempt to escape reality until I was drunk.

With each unfamiliar drink, I felt a sense of liberation I'd never allowed myself before. For the first time, I tasted a semblance of freedom, though it was a twisted kind of joy.

I continued to drink relentlessly, hoping to bury my troubles in the numbing embrace of alcohol. When the time came to settle the tab, panic set in as I realized my pockets held no money. In my moment of desperation, a familiar figure appeared beside me.

"You forgot your wallet, right?" she remarked, not waiting for my response, as she effortlessly settled my tab with the bartender.

"I didn't ask you to pay for me," I mumbled, a mix of embarrassment and anger coursing through me.

"Nice way of saying thank you," she chuckled.

"So, are you here to kill me or cut off my head,bitch" I spat, my voice still a bit slurred from the alcohol.

"I feel so good watching you suffer. He dumped your ass, right?" She said, casually packing her soft, silky hair into a ponytail. I scoffed, trying to find solace in my misery.

"I always knew Juan was going to dump you. He's only using you, dimwit," she sneered, her words cutting through the air like a knife.

"Fuck, I hate your accent. If you're going to kill me, do it now. I have no use on earth," I declared, a mix of anger and resignation in my tone, prompting her sarcastic laughter.

"As much as I want you dead, I figured you're not as useless as you look," she said, smirking right into my face.

"What do you want from me?" I asked defiantly. "To leave Juan? If that's the case, you can have him now. He's all yours," I declared, attempting to rise from my chair. My unsteady steps and wobbly stance only made Mencia burst into laughter.

"Stop trying to act like we're cool. Excuse me," I added, making it crystal clear that I had no interest in entertaining a conversation with her.

"You know, I could kill you right here, right now, and no one's going to save you. But I'm not here for that. I'm here because I need your help, and you need mine," she declared, a dangerous edge to her tone.

"Soo, why would you think I'll help you? I'd rather cut off my head than need your help," I retorted, attempting to walk away. "Leave me alone," I snapped, walking past her. As I held the restaurant door, about to leave, she dropped a bombshell.

"The journal. I can help you find it and tell you everything you need to know," she whispered, a mysterious allure in her voice.

It caught my attention, and I pointed towards her, my vision blurry. "Oh, so you know about the journal?"

"Yes, dimwit. There's no time. He'll kill you if he finds it before you," she warned urgently.

"Why are you also interested in finding it?" I questioned, suspicion lacing my words.

"Daddy. I told Daddy I'd help him find it," she confessed with a sassy smirk.

"I don't care about any freaking journal, Mencia," I asserted, holding the bar handle door, ready to make my dramatic exit.

"Don't you even care to know about who you are or why many people are after you?" she prodded, her voice a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Or do you think you're so special?" she added, a touch of sarcasm in her tone. I paid little attention, determined to leave.

I gripped the door, ready to pull it open when she threw a curveball. "What about Sofia?" she questioned, baiting my concern for my best friend. "Don't you care about your sweet little Best friend?" she pressed.

Hesitation crawled over me, and I halted, turning to her with a mix of surprise and suspicion. I couldn't fully trust her intentions. "You know where Sofia is?" I questioned.

"No, baby girl, but I can help you find out if you get me the journal," she proposed. Skepticism lingered as I questioned her motives. "And why do you think, when I find the journal, I'll just hand it over to you, knowing how important it is?" I challenged.

"Your freedom, Nia. Finding the journal or finding Sofia—get me the journal, and I get you Sofia. Then you can fly back to wherever you came from, go back to your normal life or start a new one," she tempted, playing on my desires. It was true; freedom was what I craved, a life without constant threat.

"Juan doesn't have to know about it, deal?" she proposed. Reluctantly, I nodded in agreement. "So, it's a truce, right?" she smirked. I dismissed any notion of friendship. "Don't think we can be friends because of this," I warned.

She scoffed, "Friends with you is the last thing I'd ever want. Trust me, baby girl, or what does Juan always call you, mi amorcita?" she mocked. I scoffed back, walking past her towards the exit.

As I reached the bar's door, about to pull it open, suddenly an alarm blared with red lights, and the door jammed shut. "Even though it's a fire alarm, isn't the door supposed to be opened, not jammed?" I yelled in confusion.

Chaos erupted in the bar as dancing ceased, replaced by screams. "Oh shit, we've been sabotaged. They've found out about you," she revealed. The once-friendly barman revealed a sinister side, picking up a gun and aiming it at me."Oh, no, handsome, no one deserves to shoot Nia except me," Mencia declared, pulling out her own gun and shooting him.

"Why do I always have bad luck at the night bar? Is this a curse?" I yelled, frustration and disbelief echoing in my voice.

"We need to leave now, or you'll be dead," Mencia urgently warned, her eyes scanning the room for potential threats. Soon, many men started cracking their knuckles, and she casually removed a pocket knife from her boots, a move so unexpectedly fierce that it took me aback.

"Like, who the hell keeps a knife in their boots?" I exclaimed in disbelief at the oddity.

"Me, baby girl," she smirked, her eyes glinting with a blend of sass and seriousness, and handed it over to me. "Protect yourself, dimwit. You can't die tonight. Juan's going to haunt me."

"I can't stab anyone; violence and killing aren't my thing," I protested, a mix of fear and refusal in my voice.

"Well, it's yours now," she asserted, not taking no for an answer. "Let's dance, dimwit," she declared, her tone surprisingly nonchalant despite the impending danger.