I’m Not Letting You Go

“I don’t think there is a need for an ambulance."

A rough voice rumbled behind her, and Sophia turned briskly to it.

Her eyes were blurry; she couldn’t make out his face. Only his towering height and his stance. His legs were wide and arms folded across his chest.

She gently dropped her father to the marble tile floor, attempting to stand up. But his hand shot out and caught her.

"Do... do... don't go."

The pungent smell of copper was getting thicker in the air, her father’s face covered with his blood.

He was getting choked on it.

A tear fell down from the tip of her nose to his neck. She wiped her nose, a quiet sniffling escaping her.

She couldn’t let him die.

He was the only thing she had.

She would be an orphan if he died.

“Dad, please, I’m sorry. Please wait; let me get an ambulance. I don’t know why no one is answering."

She wriggled, trying to stand up to call an ambulance; his bloody hands reached out, and he brought her face to his gaze.

His hands were unsteady. She leaned forward into it, closing her eyes.

“I am sor… ry."

His inaudible words jolted her eyes open, and she shook her head. Her chin wobbled.

He couldn’t leave her.

She would be alone.

“Mom left me, Dad."

Sophia hiccuped.

“You can’t do this to me."

Her voice turned hoarse. Her words were incoherent even to her own ears, but she didn’t care.

His lashes fluttered with eyelids drifting shut. Sophia gave his cheek a pat, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“No. Please, Dad. You can do this."

Oh God.

Where was everyone?

His body slackened in her arms and his head lolled to the side. A scream tore through her lips with a voice that didn’t sound like hers.

She stared wide-eyed at his unresponsive body.

“No, no, no, no…” she chanted, clutching him tighter.

He wouldn’t leave her alone and make her an orphan.

Her vision blurred; she pressed her eyes tighter and sobbed into his body. Snot dripping from her nose.

He wouldn’t leave her.

Time passed. Sophia parted her lips to speak, but a weak sound escaped her. Still holding her father to her chest.

Black dots filled her vision, and her throat tightened. The room spun.

She tried fighting it off, clinging strongly to her father’s body as she chanted for him to wake up; the world dissolved around her.

***

Sophia blinked her eyes open. An unfamiliar room came into focus around her. Milk-colored walls and a table by the door. She was lying in a four-poster bed.

A cup of water and a pill were beside the bedside table. She moaned, lifting up from the bed, holding her head.

Where am I?

She mused, trying to remember what happened and how she found herself there, which she did, and tried clambering out of the bed, but a chain rattled, seizing her attention.

“What the fuck?!” She yelled, “Who is there! You can’t keep me in here while my father needs medical attention. I want to see my father."

She pulled her legs, and it rattled more; tears glistened in her eyes. She had cried too much, and she knew that. She sniffed and checked out the room.

Nothing special and empty.

Just the table with a vase and flowers inside that was close to the door. Two doors were on her left side, and another door was by her right.

She didn’t know where she was; the rooms in her home weren't this way.

She shivered with fear at the thought of being in the hands of the enemy; her mind wandered back to her father.

How she found him.

Dying.

She had been in her bubble ball and forgot about the other people in the room and the voice—yes, the voice.

That damn voice.

That couldn’t help her to call an ambulance.

She looked at her body, and her clothes and panties were intact; nothing was out of place. Then what could they want if they didn’t take advantage of her?

Her eyes searched through the walls for a clock, but there wasn't one. She tried not to presume how long she might’ve been locked inside here and out of consciousness.

“Oh God, is someone there?!” She screamed again, yet there was nothing.

She shouted for hours until her voice turned scratchy, nose red, and face stained with tears before sleep overtook her.

**

Sophia’s eyes fluttered open to voices in the room; she moaned, impelling them to stop as she heard footsteps receding before feeling a presence close to her.

“You can open your eyes now. No one is here."

Her eyes opened to a man beside her. His fingers brushed her cheek softly, but she could feel the roughness of his hands.

She instinctively leaned into it, the hunger for care apparent.

“Try not to stress yourself. The doctor said you are drained and need food, which I brought for you."

Hearing his voice brought back many memories to her.

The last voice she heard before she fainted. Sophia’s brain registered what was happening. Where his hand was—on her cheek.

She pulled back, scrambling to lean on the headboard.

“Where is my father? What did you do to him? You killed him, didn’t you?”

She tried not breaking as she asked the series of questions and scoffed. Hands covering her face, she said through her fingers, her voice muffled.

“You're here to kill me too, right? Get on with it because you’ll be dealing with a corpse soon if you don't."

“You need to eat. You are drained, and as per the doctor’s instructions, you need to be hydrated."

He continued like she didn’t just say something, moving to the food tray by the side of the bedpost.

He pushed it closer to her.

“Eat”

Her eyes traveled from his fingers, which he used to grip the side of the food tray, up his arms, which were tattooed with different drawings and writings.

He’d rolled up his shirt at the sleeves, revealing his muscular arms and vein lines.

His tanned body.

A gold necklace dangled out from his open shirt; tattoo drawings emerged from underneath his shirt.

“Are you finished?” He asked, and she raised her brow. “Are you finished staring? If not," he dropped the food tray. "Eat up before it gets cold."

She withdrew back into the headboard, shaking her head.

“I’m not eating that. Never. I. Will. Never. Eat. That. Food"

He tucked his hand into his pocket and exhaled, running the other into his hair in exasperation.

“Ok then. Get ready to die in hunger so we can have two funerals and get everything over with."

She clambered close to him but far away to give a respectable space between them.

“What did you say?”

Hearing the word “funeral” was enough to get her attention.

“Your father’s funeral is on Friday."

He bent and pushed the tray closer to her.

“No matter how heartless I am, I can’t kill Peter's only child. He was a good man and underboss too but had to deviate for whatever reason. Eat up. I don’t wish to bury you with him, only if you want to," he shrugged.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she blinked them back. Bushy brows, a creased forehead, and sharp jaws that were taut.

Sophia peered up at him from the bed. Voice hoarse from shouting.

“Will you let me go after the funeral?”

That was the one thing she needed.

Freedom.

As much as this place was a good place she grew up in, she would have loved to continue living here in this city.

It wasn’t for her. And everything would keep on reminding her of her father and lost family.

Now an orphan.

She knew now the people her father had mingled and had connections and business with weren't the people you could trifle with.

After the funeral, she was going to use the money she had left in her bank account or try to reach out to her father’s lawyer.

She knew him. Take whatever he dropped off for her and leave this city for good.

His jaw ticked, and he licked his lips before shaking his head and giving her his back.

“Your father said I should take care of you before he died."

Sophia shuddered, drawing up her knees to lean her jaw on and wrapping her arms around herself.

This couldn’t be good.

“I was there when he died," her voice low, she said.

His legs moved, indicating he had turned to face her.

“Before you came there… you know… he asked more… like a dying man’s last wish. He begged me to spare your life and take care of you myself."

Sophia rocked herself on the bed, her brown hair covering her face like a curtain, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

She knew this was over for her.

Lifting her head, she pointed her shaky finger at him, lifting up from the bed. The chain rattled.

“No, no, NO, and NO I don’t want to stay here. Close to my father’s murderer?” she snickered.

“Do what while being here? offer my body to you? Marry you? Become your sex toy and wane away? Never. You better let me go unless you want to deal with a corpse, asaid. d. "

He exhaled.

“A corpse can’t attend a funeral. Eat up. Maybe after that we can talk about you turning into a corpse."

He started for the door, and she scrambled to leave the bed, but the chain rattled, signaling her, and she screamed after him, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Let me go, you psycho. You murderer. You killed my father and are now trying to take me too. Let me go."

She thrashed on the bed, the tray clattering to the floor. The sound loud and echoing.