Josiah Marquez

**Six years ago...**


The plan wasn’t to deliver the gift like that. I could barely think of anything other than my brother. I didn’t even see the look in those almost golden eyes when I gave the present, nor could I watch her open it as I had imagined.
What a mess!
Nervous shocks coursed through my body as I kicked open the front door. My brother was sitting on the white sofa in the living room, talking with Luana, who was laughing and telling some trivial story.
The bastard didn’t expect to see me; he didn’t even notice when I lunged at him, my fists pounding on his face. All I could hear was the sound of silence, the rage, the hatred that overwhelmed me as my clenched fingers smashed into the face of that son of a bitch, Lucah.
He wasn’t a brother!
I was disgusted by him!
I was even afraid...
He was one of those fucked-up, twisted shadows roaming the world.
The feeling I had for Lucah was like a scream on a mountain in the middle of nowhere. It repeated, fragmented, and echoed, always returning the same thing: the deepest, most primal, most screwed-up hatred.
I got distracted by my thoughts while venting my rage on his face, lost in the moment long enough for my face to feel like it was exploding. The bastard landed a punch on my face; I staggered and finally let go. The world spun around me, my right cheek throbbing.
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted, dazed, spitting out blood.
“Stop this, for God’s sake!” Marta yelled.
All sounds seemed distant. My eyes seemed to cross before the bastard landed another blow to my face, and finally, a blackout dispersed my feelings.



***


The following days flew by in a blur. Not that it made things any better. I was in love, damn it, and all I wanted was to be near Ana. But I couldn’t just show up in front of her looking like a monster with the right side of my face wrecked.
I was temporarily “kicked out” of the house and had to stay at my dad’s place. I couldn’t leave the room. No phone, no internet, no way to contact Bernardo or Ana. I even tried to sneak past the security guard outside the door to find any electronic device that would let me call Ber, but the guy was like a shadow, following me everywhere.
My dad hadn’t returned from his trip; he was at a conference in Argentina. Thank God! I didn’t want to deal with him, and it was even worse to see his wife parading around the house with her entourage of socialite friends.
I hated Barra da Tijuca. I didn’t know anyone there, and it felt like a prison. Staying with my dad was like sleeping and waking up in a military headquarters. It couldn’t be different—my corrupt politician father came from a lineage of military men. He claimed to value order, but was there order in all the corruption he was involved in? Certainly not in leaving his wife for a socialite he had been cheating on her with for ten years, humiliating her publicly with articles mocking Cristian Marquez's mistresses. My mom was the queen of my life, and my dad hurt her deeply, so I couldn’t forgive him either.
One of the things that hurt me the most was that my dad always tried to impose a web of rules and a code of conduct on me, and I had to fight hard to escape it. When my parents divorced, my mom, besides suffering from the end of the marriage, almost died when he wouldn’t let me live with her.
I ran away from Cristian’s house every day.
I ran away so many times that Cristian realized he would never be able to make me live with him.
At least the crook still provided a decent life for my mom, buying her a house where Marta chose, and paying her alimony that allowed her to live well. If he hadn’t done that, I would have no good feelings toward him, though I didn’t have many to begin with.
Another thing that fueled my resentment toward my father was that he never put pressure on Lucah. The bastard immersed himself in social work, avoiding any money from Cristian. He got into a public university, worked in small jobs to support himself, and now worked at a company.
Cristian didn’t force him into anything, so why did he want to force me into everything? To be his miniature? His puppet? If that bastard Lucah could live freely, why did I have to follow in the footsteps of that corrupt man?
Days went by, turning into weeks, and I was so messed up that I spent most of my time just sleeping. Even the TV couldn’t distract me. I thought about Ana, our kiss, her face... I thought about my friend, my true and only brother, his funny jokes, our afternoons playing RPG.
A flash of light made me squint. It had been so many days clinging to the dark. Days and nights blended with the closed curtains and the little excitement of that damned place.
“Get out of bed, Josiah!” my dad shouted, his dress shoes clattering on the floor. The loud noise of the curtains being dragged on the tracks made me nauseous and filled me with rage.
Not satisfied with just turning on the light, the average-sized man also opened the curtains. A blinding light filled the room, making me grunt as I sat up, scratching my head.

"Look at that face, all green and bruised!" he complained, standing in front of the king-size bed.
"It was worse, man!" I retorted. "And you wouldn’t have to look if you hadn’t forced me to come here."
"What did you say?"
I remained silent, grinding my teeth as I stared at the new MontBlanc on his wrist. He wasn’t in a suit, just wearing one of his well-pressed dress shirts, while loosening his tie and wandering around the room. His dark blonde hair was styled into a pompadour, his beard neatly trimmed, and his tanned skin showed he certainly wasn’t in Argentina.
Maria was a fool, just like any woman my father would be with. Probably, the mayor was with a model on some Caribbean beach, sipping champagne while pretending he wasn’t married.
That’s why I hated unfaithful people; I couldn’t stand liars because they reminded me of the man standing right in front of me. The man I loathed.
"I heard you’re now hanging out with a poor orphan who’s also ‘a bit crazy’," he shouted, pointing a finger at me. I wanted to scream and curse, but I controlled myself. I couldn’t let him know how important Ana was to me. My father was a sociopath, emotionless; he couldn’t know that someone was messing up his plans. "You can’t even get yourself a decent girlfriend."
"You didn’t get a decent wife!" I shot back with a smirk. "You got a trophy wife who can barely add without using a calculator."
"It’s because of this lack of respect that you’re going into the army!" he said bitterly, stroking his chin as he pressed his lips together. "There, you’ll learn to be a man!"
"Did you learn?"
"You’d better not be insolent, brat!" he threatened, adjusting the belt around his waist. I wasn’t afraid of that belt anymore, and he should have noticed. "Lucah told me you attacked him, and because of that out-of-control girl from your school, the delinquent you seem to be infatuated with."
"I’m not infatuated with anyone. I just had a girl over for dinner in my room," I lied, feeling immense pain as I spoke about my Docinho that way. "And I messed up your son’s face as a warning, so he stays away from my girls."
"That’s absurd! Why would he be interested in such a young girl? Are you delusional? That damn cigarette must be burning your neurons, kid!"
"Your son loves a little girl; it’s not much different from you, after all," I mocked, expecting him to come at me and give me more bruises.
But my father just gave a bitter smile, staring at me with restrained fury. I hated how his face reminded me of my reflection in the mirror.
"You know, son, you have an insolent nature. I don’t know who you got it from…" he said, thoughtful, pacing around the room. I stared at his silhouette below the window as he looked outside. "You’ll take the exam for the Sergeant School next year."
"I might… I’ll love drawing a dick on the answer sheet." I stretched like a cat, reclining against the black headboard, staring at those eyes similar to mine.
"No, my son, you’re not going to do that. You’ll take the exam and you’ll pass, and do you know why?" he asked. Now his expression was predatory, with promises being conveyed by his venomous gaze. "If you don’t do what I say, I’ll cut off your mother’s alimony, I’ll evict her from the house she loves so much. And that clumsy, chubby girl you’re flirting with? Maybe some careless driver will hit her at a random corner, or some thief will break into her house and, by mistake, unload a clip on her aunt’s head."
"Son of a bitch!" I shouted, lunging at him and slamming him against the door. "Stay away from them, you bastard!"
I growled in his face, saliva escaping my lips as I felt the veins in my face bulging. I was seething with a perverse rage, struggling with an inner beast, trying not to commit the sin of hitting my father.

“You’re going to let me go now, son, because you know you want what’s best for them,” he whispered with a triumphant smile. “Stay with the poor girl. Enjoy the year with little Ana Oliveira; that’s all you’ll have with her!”