Page 7 of Lourdes & the Mafia
I stand, and despite my protesting body, I make my way to the door…
And I haul ass out of there.
I’m running blindly. I have no idea where the fuck I’m going. I just know I’m getting as far the fuck away from my house as I can.
I have no idea if I killed the bitch, but I know that I’mfucked.
I’m in pain, my vision fading in and out, my eyes burning from the headache that’s splitting through my skull. I’m bleeding. Tired. And I know I have no choice but to find my way towards the Kraken compound.
The shit I am going to get for this…
I don’t slow my stride as I change trajectories.
That’s when another vision hits me.
Coño.
I don’t have time to brace myself as it consumes me in the middle of the street. It’s a flash, but no less agonizing than before.
It tunnels through my sight. A pathway and street signs that I’m familiar with. Of shadowy figures creeping from the darkness to nab me. Of turns and roads and a single sign that reads one word.
The vision fades, and I rasp in a breath.
My vision is leading me somewhere…
No.
I have no fucking idea where that is. Who those figures are.
The safest place for me right now is the Kraken compound.
I take a step and am knocked back on my ass, the vision consuming me once again as it shows me, with much more persistence, where to go instead.
Joder.
Fine!
I run, my magic flashing with a vision as if to ensure I don’t lose my way.
I don’t know how long it takes. I only know once I’m there, staring up at the sign from my vision.
Sinful.
A fucking strip club.
Why would my magic lead mehereof all places? If it’s trying to tell me I need a side gig to make rent and not rely on a stabby desgraciada of a roommate, then I’ll shake my ass all day long if I have to.
I take a tentative step towards the door. It’s obvious the place is closed, but as my hands meet the entrance, it gives to my touch and I step inside.
The door closes behind me and I’m enveloped in something that feels a lot like safety.
Though my gaze scans the place, my brain ignores every single detail until they stop on a lone man behind the bar. He’s staring at me with bored disinterest, his hand twirling ice inside a cup filled with what looks like whiskey.
I stare hard at him, but through my blurring vision, his form distorts and I can’t make out his features clearly. And yet… something about him is familiar.
“We’re closed,” he says with annoyance. He has an accent, though it’s one I can’t quite place. “See yourself out. Now.”
“You look…familiar…”
