The past two days went by like a blur. After screaming the house down, people woke up, and Juana was the first person to see her brother in that shocking, gruesome state.
Juan had taken his Porsche for a spin, with no seatbelt, going over one hundred twenty miles an hour as he weaved through the tricky hills and collided into a tree. His body had been thrown out of the windshield. What boggled everybody was the fact that the impact should have killed him on the spot, yet he miraculously survived the impact and somehow struggled to get back to the villa, dragging his body as he left a trail of blood, dropping crimson all over the staircase and hallways in search of me before collapsing to his death.
The car crash resolved everything, so the authorities didn't need to interrogate me much-the only consolation I had after the unending nightmare Barcelona had brought me.
His family was distraught, most especially Juana. Her horror-stricken face would forever be etched into my mind. I watched it all happen as though it was an out of body experience. I felt nothing. I was a blank canvas. No expression. No emotion. No tears came as they bawled their eyes out, asking God why they took their precious angel in such a cruel manner. His family was out of their minds with grief. But Juana sought me, wondering why her brother was even in my bedroom since his room was across the hallway.
I couldn't for the life of me tarnish the image she had of her brother. Therefore, I had told her that he and I had a row, which escalated rather quickly before he walked out of the room and went for a drive. I sensed she knew I wasn't telling the entire truth since she had found me naked with a sheet barely covering me. But she didn't press further, and I was relieved. My delicate state wouldn't have been able to handle the pressures her questions would have had on me.
Juan's parting words didn't leave me, the impact too great to miss, like a wretched premonition.
If I die today … tomorrow, it's still worth it. Every. Single. Second.
Juan Torres might be dead, but he lived through me, reminding me of the dark gift he had left me.
Juana had texted me earlier about the schedule for his wake and funeral. They were also holding a memorial service so the fans could participate and remember him.
How could I bring myself to go back to Barcelona after all that had happened? What's more, going to his funeral where people remembered him with kind words was something I couldn't swallow. He had been kind, but he had something dark hidden underneath the charming smiles. Juan had robbed me of will, my humanity, and I couldn't go there and sing his praises. I just fucking couldn't.
Even my agent, Addison, had called and asked how dire the situation was, and if she needed to hire a team to spin the news so that I wouldn't look like I had murdered him. I told her to calm down. It hadn't gotten that far. Besides, I didn't think his family would pursue anything. Juan Torres died due to a car crash and not from the argument we had, an argument about him not owning to being a cold-hearted rapist. That last bit I didn't dare divulge to my agent. She would freak, and besides, who would want to air their dirty laundry like that? The last thing I wanted was pity. Besides, I didn't want to be seen as a victim.
Whatever damage Juan had inflicted on me, I would deal with it on my own. But as of right now, all I could fathom was getting through the day.
I was numb, so numb that I couldn't even muster a tear for Juan. He had been a sweet man in the beginning, but my mind wouldn't let me remember him that way.
So, no going to his wake or his funeral. As far as I was concerned, the man was alive, living through me, tormenting my mind and each waking moment.
My phone beeped, breaking me out hate-filled trance. Reaching for my mobile that sat on the side table, I huffed out a sigh.
If this is Addison or Juana again, I'm going to fucking scream.
Phone in hand, I held my breath as I unlocked it. It was a message from Anton, and another from Kyle Matthews, received hours ago while I struggled in nightmare.
I opened Kyle's first.
Hey, I don't know what's going on, but I hope you're okay. Just know you have a shoulder to cry on if you feel the need to vent out, or just want someone there for you. I'm sorry this happened. You can get through this. You've had it worse. You're a strong girl. I'm here. Don't hesitate if you need anything.
Oh, Kyle, if only you knew the truth. My heart cried out at his heartfelt message. Kyle was updated on everything. I could only imagine the horrors the Spanish tabloid gossip sites were concocting.
Tapping on Anton's message, my eyes stared into the screen.