A/N: yo…to anyone who may be reading. This is a fantastic movie for reasons I can't fully explain in an author's note. I just saw the movie yesterday and the ending was just too ambiguous to leave alone. It's like the director wanted people to write fan fiction. Anyway, enjoy.
Not All Sharks
The blood was still flowing from my wound; the pain still eating at my nerves, but I held it in. Taking deep and heavy breaths, I shuffled out of the parking lot and into the elevator. Leaning on the wall for support, I bent down and saw the blood stains of the man I'd killed in front of Irene.
In front of Irene.
It was all I could do; he would've killed us both. The look on her face was unbearable. It wasn't in horror and it wasn't in shock—it was like she knew I was capable of bashing someone's head in and was almost relieved that she knew the truth. Or maybe it was confusion, knowing me as gentle, quiet, supportive; knowing how much I loved her just how I'd reacted to her husband coming home.
She's been through so much, I shouldn't have even let her enter the elevator, I should've said we'd talk later. But that look…maybe it was best she did see. Maybe…maybe she'll still love me if I tell her it's over. If I get her and Benicio away from here, maybe it can be over. Maybe I can be that father he's always needed. Maybe I can be the husband she's always wanted. Maybe I can be happy without breaking the law.
My blood dripped onto the floor, overlapping with the already stained rug. I'd have to clean that later if I didn't want anyone to get suspicious. That's what I'd done with the blood. The body was still in my apartment. If I didn't get rid of it soon, the rot would no doubt get people's attention. So many things were swimming through my head as I tried to push all distractions away; I needed to focus on one thing.
Making it ten steps to Irene's door.
My left hand was growing tired as it clung to my wound, my right arm extending to the opposite wall for balance when I practically fall out of the elevator. My eyes felt like they were bulging out of my head I was so dizzy, but I knew when I'd stumbled long enough to make it across the hallway when the wall made a sharp angle. I tried knocking, but ended up pounding the door in uneven hits. I don't know how long I waited, but my legs couldn't hold me up any longer. I sank down to my knees with my fist still pressing into the door, my arm flailing out in front of me and onto the floor after the door was hastily opened. I could hear her gasp of surprise, and then her worried voice as she said my name after kneeling down and seeing the blood.
She took the arm I was balancing on and lifted it over her shoulder. I was surprised at how strong she was as she half dragged me to the couch, not seeming to care whether my blood spilled onto the furniture. At that thought, I looked over to the pool of blood that had accumulated in front of the door, my eyes following the trail from the green door all the way to the couch. Suddenly, a fear boiled up in my stomach as I saw Irene run for the supply closet.
"Is Benicio asleep?" I managed to say, my voice hoarse from breathing so heavily for so long. She rounded the hallway and knelt by my side, answering me with a nod. At first, she didn't know where to start. I sat up in an attempt to peel my jacket off, needing her help to lean me comfortably enough on the pillow behind me. She then helped me with my shirt, the blood having stuck to, pain itching and every tug I made at it. I tried to find Irene's eyes, but she was focused on bandaging my wounds, which I was very much grateful for.
My mind was swimming back and forth, in and out. I fought to remain conscious as to not leave Irene with my dead weight. I closed my eyes as to focus, her voice a far away song. She'd ask me if I could lean or move to accommodate the bandages. She'd ask me if I could feel certain touches to know whether my nerves were heightened or dulled from the damage. She'd ask whether I was awake or not, and for her sake, I'd speak instead of nod in case my voice was just as reassuring to her as hers was to me.
When I finally opened my eyes, feeling somewhat cleaner and without the constant touch of her hands, I saw the result of her hard work. I was somehow laying on a blood stained towel now, no blood visible on my skin with gauze heavily wrapped around my waist. I looked at my hands and realized that she must have scrubbed them clean as well, a sponge and bucket on the coffee table. My eyes wondered to the woman kneeling beside me, splotches of red now clinging to her skin and clothing. She looked tired, her eyes red rimmed as if she had been crying. Maybe she had been. I needed to say something to her, but for what seemed like hours, I was lost in her gaze. She seemed to have to same need I did; confirmation that we were both here, in the same place, alive and wanting the other.
I was the first to speak. "Thank you…and I'm sorry."
She stopped me by shaking her head. "Don't be." She paused, wanting to say more, but not knowing where to begin. "Just…please…I can't take this anymore."
"Neither can I." I said, interrupting out of necessity. "I'm done. I…finally have a reason to be."
With that, a small smile almost played on the corners of her lips. It was enough, for now, we both knew. "You need to go to the hospital. I have no idea how hurt you are."
I stifled a groan, not wanting to seem ungrateful. "Ok." I said. "But what about Benicio?"
"I'll call a friend."
Just then, Benicio walked in, sleepily rubbing at his eyes. "I heard talking." Is all he said. He looked at me and froze a moment, then saw his mother and the first aid kit in her lap. I could feel his concern, although he did a very good job in keeping a straight face. He'd probably had to adapt to things like this. I felt guilty for so many things at that moment. For seeing his father's death and being helpless in doing anything about it, for bringing him into this mess in the first place, for only being a burden. One look at Irene and those thoughts vanished. She was grateful for me, I knew it. I had been there when his father wasn't and I would be there for him, now for as long as I lived.
I motioned for Benicio to come, Irene getting up to make the call. He stood in front of me and I firmly took his shoulder. "Mom and I have to go the hospital, but you have to stay."
"Ok." He said quietly. I knew the questions that were plaguing his little head; I knew what he was going through.
"I promise…that everything will be Ok. I'm not leaving. Not ever again."
"Why?" his voice was stronger now.
The question confused me. "Why?" I repeated almost in a whisper. Because I love you, I want you to be my son, I want you to be happy and have the father you deserve; the life.
"Why are you like my dad? Why are you always in trouble? Why are you always hurt?"
"No, no." I said softly, shaking my head. Reaching up to his face, I wiped away a single tear that left his smoky brown eyes. "Everything's going to be better. This isn't going to happen ever again. I promise."
"You promise?" he repeated, his demeanor becoming stronger as he took my hand and lightly swung it down, holding it in both his small hands.
"Yes." I said, feeling a smile creep up. Then a thought came to me, a memory the two of us shared. "Benicio," I said, bringing his eyes to mine. He looked up, his wide eyed gaze full of trust and satisfaction. "Not all sharks are bad guys."