Regrets || Xiomara & Donovan
dxnrcycs:
@wvrricreyes
In no way would Donovan call the Castro-Reyes Villa a fortress. There wasn’t a building in Lakewood that could take that title either. However, he did believe that it was nicely guarded from any sort of threat. On a normal day, there were plenty of guards making their rounds around the property, as well as inside of the house. Yet, Don thought it to be a nice idea to only put a few men on watch while the BBQ was going on, to allow everyone their fair share of fun and relaxation. In hind sight, that was probably the worst idea ever. Then again, with everyone present, he would have thought that someone was aware of their surroundings.
After his conversation with Logan, Donovan had returned to his original spot in the Villa, standing between the kitchen and the living room. He was leaning against the wall, watching everyone chat and move through the rooms with plates of food in their hands. Several kids are running around screaming, older cousins talking about sports, the grandparents and great aunts and uncles playing loteria. The associates catching up with one another. It felt real this time, everyone getting along with one another and no one arguing. Donovan truely felt the love.
However, that seemed to dissapate when several people gasped. There were murmurs and pointed fingers. Time seemed to slow down all together as he turned his head to look out the large glass sliding door that faced the pool. There was a man, wearing black and a bulky vest. Where Donovan is standing, there is a pistol that is concealed in a book on the shelf next to him. It’s a quick movement and he immediately draws the pistol and begins to move forward.
And then things went to shit.
He hadn’t seen Xiomara that whole day, he had thought that she had just went out to the carnival instead of being at the BBQ. He hadn’t known that she was home at all. Why the hell would she move in front of him? Why didn’t she just stay back? When the bomb went off, Donovan’s finger was on the trigger, but he had closed his eyes as reflex. Reflex also was to pull the fucking trigger.
The bomb went off. His hearing is muffled and there is a high pitched ringing. Everything is dark and he can’t breath, there is too much dust. His arm and face are numb. What feels like forever is meerly just a few minutes. Don is face down on the ground, the explosion had twisted him away from the glass door and he’s turned towards the living room now. Or what was suppose to be the living room. He doesn’t feel pain, but as he moves, he feels a bit restricted. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he tries to look around. With the dust still up in the air, it’s hard to see anything and he’s too distracted by the fact that he feels wet. Blood. There is blood everywhere, his arm feels cold, his face feels numb. He touches his face and oh,….there’s stone and glass. Looking down at his arm, it’s already red and puffy. Is it broken? Dread begins to set in.
He turns around as much as he can, there is way too much stone and drywall around him. Don sees others begining to shift under the rubble. Someone is crying. That ringing in his ear hasn’t left and everything still sounds muffled. Though, there’s a moment of clarity and his stomach drops to the floor.
Xiomara
—
When waking up this morning Xiomara had a nasty pit in her stomach that something horrible was going to happen and of course being the ignorant woman she can be at times; she ignored it. At the cookout every thing felt almost so normal despite almost everyone in attendance was part of the cartel Xiomara became born into. Until the laughter and the voices of those around her die down and becoming replaced with several gasps. Seeing the masked man and a gun extending his arm it quickly made Xiomara remember that this is the Castro Cartel cookout and those she held conversations with worked for her family.
“Move.” she ordered as the petite Latina began to move through the crowd. Her eyes not leaving the masked figure. Xiomara didn’t know what is causing her to move and wanting to take action, but she knew she couldn’t ignore it. Not when the problem is holding a fucking gun and wearing a bulletproof vest. At first she thought of maybe tackling the figure despite not sporting any weapon of her own. Stupid right? Well Xiomara is known to be impulsive in doing stupid things.
From the corner of her eye is when she watched the President, her brother, move and aim a gun of his own. Glancing over into his direction made Xiomara put an extra pep into her step. She went from walking fast to practically sprinting. The female Reyes came to a stop between the two and whipped around to face the unwelcomed guest. If a Reyes was going to be shot today, she deemed it should be here. Why you ask? Because she isn’t part of the cartel unlike her brothers. One a President and the other a soldier. One a leader and the other a fighter.
“If you want to get to him,” Her voice coming off threatening. “you will ha–”
BOOM!
The sound of what belonged to a bomb reminded Xiomara a split second of the ones she heard on TV. Reality was nothing like what she heard on screen. Everything after that happened so fast before her eyes, but not the the terror nor the pain it came with. When that explosion went off and caused a loud ringing in her ears is when she felt a sharp pain in her collarbone that radiated to her back. Then everything went black.
…“Xiomara you are to not ask about him no more!” her father’s wrath echoed off the halls of their family home. “Put this Donovan shit to rest.” The scared eleven year old Xiomara watched in fear as the President rose from his seat. A calm yet unnerving horrifying look on remained on his face and that made Xiomara become even more frightened. “Do you understand me, little girl?” he questioned. The eleven year old looks down to her feet and kept quiet. What felt like minutes were only a mere seconds. “Answer me!” he slammed his hands down onto his desk thus making Xiomara jump.
As if her father were there and slammed his hands down onto the oak desk made Xiomara jump and brought her back from the darkness. Terror quickly settled back into her as she was brought back to reality and remembered what happened. Xiomara’s eyes looked around her to see rubble all around her and on top of her. She was almost in her own little bubble surrounded by debris. Panic began to rise in her as her claustrophobia began to settle in. Barely any light shone in it, but there was enough to see what she saw next. Tears escaped her dark eyes and began to stream down her face–mixing with dust and blood no her face. When trying to move she instantly regret it as she felt one of her legs trapped and there was no miracle of her moving it out from under herself.
Her clothes (which consisted of white shorts and a white tube tank top) were now covered in dirt, but her clothes were not just dirt nor white anymore–but a crimson color. A color Xiomara knew all too well. Seeing this and becoming more panicked is when she felt the pain before return and this time it was worse as she tried to move. Raising her right hand to her shoulder Xiomara regretted it and screamed out in agony. The realization settled in of her being shot. Her scream became cut off as a harsh cough interrupted it. The taste of iron filled her mouth. “H–..Help!”
Using her right hand Xiomara began to try to move a few pieces of rubble to allow more light in and for someone to find her. She did her best in not moving her left shoulder. Fighting through the pain and the pleas of her body to give in finally Xiomara felt her hand reach outside the little rubble bubble. As she began to bring her arm back so she could keep pressure on her shoulder and not bleed out anymore is when more rubble fell and this time landing on her arm and pinning it there. Another scream bursted through her chest. “Someone help me, please!”
No one answered.
Knowing there was nothing more she can do and her phobia become even worse Xiomara began to feel her chest tightening from the anxiety and the terror coursing through her body. I’m gonna bleed out here and die, she thought. The Latina began to attempt to jerk her arm back and under the rubble and when it budge–it cut her. Tears continued to stream down her face and stain it, making her vision blurry. It wasn’t helping though when she felt the beckoning to just sleep and close her eyes. Her gut telling her if she did just that, she may not wake up.
Suddenly she felt someone grab her trapped hand followed by a voice she recently came to become familiar with. “D-Donovan!” Xiomara gripped his hand tight and could tell as her nails dug into his skin a few were broken off from her literally trying to claw out moments earlier. As she continued to hold his hand, her life line Xiomara felt the pull to just sleep become stronger and her body began to be more weaker. What little adrenaline she had was beginning to wear off and welcome the full blow of the pain from her injuries. “I..” her voice croaky. “I-..I don’t–” Xiomara swallowed back the blood in her mouth to attempt to moist her throat, but it did not good. It felt like sandpaper rubbing against each other everything time she tried to talk. Her grip on his hand slowly beginning to loosen. “I don’t want to die.” As she said those words Xiomara began to sob more.
“Please, hermano,” Xiomara begged him as she called Donovan her brother for the first time. “I don’t wanna die–please! Please don’t let–NO! Don’t let go of my hand!” She began to cough some more and just allowed the blood to leave her mouth. As she kept her eyes on her pinned arm Xiomara’s eyes shifted as she saw a small hole of light enter her little bubble. He had managed to move some rubble to see her. It was small, but small enough to see Donovan’s face.
The fight against the pleas of her body to just sleep weakened to the point of Xiomara finally relaxing against her will. She kept her eyes on his face. “I don’t…” her voice soft. The Latina’s eyes began to close on her though manages to open them back up even if it were a little. “I don’t want to die, hermano.” she called him brother again. “please…please don’t let me die.” Xiomara began to say those words to him, to herself, again. Repeating those words like a mantra.






