Page 122 of Damián

Every now and then, I glance over at the family. Even though this situation is beyond terrifying, they’re handling it so well, leaning on one another for support. Watching them, I can’t help but wonder if Damián’s family is just like this.

Which, they probably are.

I bet they are loving, funny, and incredibly strong.

I know I’ll never get to meet them. Damián made me promise that no matter what happens, nothing about us or our situation will ever reach his family.

And I get it, I really do.

But some days, especially when I see a family as loving and amazing as this one, I let myself imagine what it would be like.

I imagine they like me… hopefully, since I am crazy about their son and brother.

I imagine we eat on Sundays together, and that I am invited to Christmas or other things families do together. I imagine cuddling with Damián as we watch kids’ shows with Carlitos, and I imagine Fernanda showing me how to play the guitar.

What it would feel like to finally be a part of a real family.

A family I could be proud of.

A family that loved me back.

TING. TING.

The first alarm sounds and I check the clock.

“Almost time…” I tell the husband. “Once we’re outside, you’ll follow me. One of the men will be throwing chum into the ocean to ‘attract’ sharks. Don’t worry, it’s actually rotting dead shark meat, so real sharks will stay far away from you… It will smell like absolute death, though, so I apologize in advance… Any questions?”

“Do we just jump?” he asks.

“No. I’ll line you up, take a picture as proof for my father, and then I’ll push you… Just a heads-up, I’m going to push you hard, so you fall a safe distance from the propeller. It’ll be off when you drop, but once we drive away, it won’t be.”

“Okay…” the wife says, looking nervously at her five-year-old.

“Don’t worry, you can carry the smaller kids in your handcuffed arms…. Oh, and I almost forgot.” I dig out a small menthol stick and hand it to the father. “Before I cuff you, I need you and your wife to rub this under your eyes. It’s going to make you cry like a maniac, so it looks like I’ve been torturing you… which, to be fair, I sort of am… getting that stuff in your eyes is absolute torture.”

“What happens if any of your men decide not to follow the plan? If one just decides to…” The husband lowers his voice so the kids won’t hear. “…shoot us.”

“That won’t happen, because I made sure it wouldn’t,” I say, but they both still look unsure.

And well, I don’t blame them.

“Look, I know I look young and have the worst reputation, but trust me, everything I do is deliberate. Everything has a purpose… For example, did you see the man who walked onto the boat with us? The one with the limp?”

“Yes.”

“I gave him that limp. A year after we started doing this, he thought it was his place to hurt a man. So, I shot him in the knee.”

The parents’ eyes go wide.

“Do you know why I shot him specifically in the knee?”

They both shake their heads.

“So he would limp for the rest of his life. Because with time, people tend to forget the things they once feared. But his limp is a constant reminder, not just to him, but to everyone else, of what happens if they step out of my routine.”

“Holy fuc—”

BEEP! BEEP!