_1968 _

In his reflection was a pair of dark brown eyes, the color of dark, dark chocolate with streaks of yellowish-brown. In his reflection was a stern, furrowed, thick brow. In his expression was curly black-brown hair that fell down in front of his face from days of not cleaning it. In his reflection was a broad, slightly round face. In his reflection was a boy with a broad figure and dark bronze skin. In his reflection was a weary, tired, defeated boy who wanted to make the world a better place. In the reflection was a boy who just wanted to keep his love safe.

In his reflection was all of the pieces of his father that he hated. The broad figure, the tallness, the curly, black-brown hair, the yellow streaks in his irises, and was the stern, solemn look in his brow. All of that was his father. Oh, what he would give to get rid of every single piece of his father and replace it with all of his mother.

Khalil let out a shaky breath, slumping in front of his reflection. But things were different now. He should have known better than to do this. But he had no choice but to shoot her. He had to do it to protect Esther. He had to do it, even though it meant that his father would think that Khalil was completely under his spell. But of course, maybe he was. He just knew the truth.

He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of that. He knew he shouldn’t have done it. But he had no choice.

Right?

In his reflection was a killer. In his reflection was failure. In his reflection was someone who was so driven by his emotions, he had torn his family apart despite every single people he knew begging him not to continue the arguments. But now . . . If he had just listened to his father from the start . . . Aunt Jacinta wouldn’t be dead.

His breathing was growing shallow as he stared at his reflection in the fear, a sick feeling in his stomach. The room was spinning. Everything felt wrong. Wasn’t there supposed to be a right and a wrong? Hadn’t he been fighting for what was right? Hadn’t he been doing his best to drive his family in the right direction? It didn’t make any sense.

Alone in his room with the cold feeling of the gun lingering in his palm, he stared at his reflection. He was a man now, wasn’t he? He was legally an adult. But he felt just as lost as he did when he was a kid. He felt just as confused.

He hated his father. He hated him with every fiber of his being, no matter how much his mother and sister tried to convince him tot cut that monster some slack.

He refused to do that. Monsters didn’t deserve to be forgiven. But he was a monster now . . .

He had become exactly what his father wanted.