Diego

Enzo was my best friend, but it was clear that he wasn't transparent with me. I had known him since he was five, and he was like a brother to me. I had always treated him as such, but he didn't share his secrets with me. Enzo was allowed to come to my home or visit other friends anytime. However, going to his house required permission from his Papa. Over the years, we had been to his house only three times. When I was little, it was not a big deal for me. But as I grew up, I realized that something seemed off about Enzo and his family. Yet, he was still like a brother to me, even though he didn't share most things with me.

I had never seen Enzo's Papa or anyone else attend parent-teacher meetings. His close connection with his bodyguard puzzled me, and he never talked about his home or family.

During our childhood, there was a period of a few months when Enzo suddenly became mute. Even after he started speaking again, he never shared what had happened during his silent phase. Another odd thing was finding blood on his white school shirt sometimes. When he got blood on his shirt, he always tried to hide it. Today was no exception, and despite obvious signs of pain, he pretended everything was fine. I had already discovered that Enzo was different from any of us. You couldn't just ask him a question and get an answer. If he didn't want to respond, he would never respond. He was stubborn. He could stay silent for days.

"Enzo, why is there blood on your shirt?" I asked, and he looked at his shirt.

"There's a drop on your collar and one here," I pointed to the side of his shirt. He quickly buttoned his black school coat to cover the red stain.

Enzo usually wore his uniform casually. Sometimes, he even removed his coat and shirt and stayed only in his vest inside the school. Teachers couldn't control him because his Papa controlled the school until his son left. On days when I spotted traces of blood on his shirt, he made sure to wear his uniform impeccably, as if trying to conceal something.

"It's not blood. Just some paint," Enzo claimed, his expression unchanged. If I hadn't seen the blood, I might have believed him. He was a perfect liar.

"What about the other days?" I asked, and it was clear he didn't like this conversation at all.

"What other days?" he asked, avoiding my eyes.

"This is not the first time I've seen blood on your shirt," I said, and his look shifted. He seemed angry about getting caught.

"No, man. It's not," Enzo insisted firmly.

"Okay, keep your secret with you then," I hissed, looking away.

"Hey, I just fell," he said, looking at me anxiously.

"Is it that hard to tell?" I asked angrily.

"Okay, I'm sorry I didn't say it at first," he apologized, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. He looked guilty now and worried or sad. I wasn't sure with that look.

"This is crazy, Enzo. We've been best friends since we were 5, and I still don't know you," I said, and he looked at me with pain but said nothing to defend himself. And it was painful for me, too, because my best friend was hiding so many things from me. He looked like he was suffering alone. I didn't want to feel distant from him.

"Hey, bros," Elijah and Noah approached us.

"Who's upset?" Elijah asked, examining our faces.

"No one," I said, just staring nowhere.

"Okay then, let's take a group photo," Elijah suggested.

"Brothers forever...," Noah yelled, and Elijah took another group photo of us, something he'd done countless times throughout the year.

Enzo

Diego asked why there was blood on my shirt as if I could readily answer his question. I wasn't sure how to respond. Questions about my family or home always left me feeling uneasy and unsettled. It often left me speechless, and I didn't like it because it gave me a headache.

No one knew how messed up my head was. They couldn't understand how many times I had flashbacks of everything I went through, even while I was talking or spending time with them. The images of the dead men I saw during my abduction still haunted my memory, and every night, I woke up sweating from terrifying dreams. During those moments, if Papa stayed in my room, I'd hear his whispers, "Don't be scared, baby, Papa is here," which reassured me that it was only a dream.

The doctor recommended sleeping tablets, but I often forgot to take them. Papa made sure not to leave more than one tablet in my room, fearing I might accidentally take more than one. There was one time when I took a bunch of tablets, and they had to rush me to the hospital to pump them out.

When Papa was away on leave, I had no one to help me. Even the tablets only worked for a few hours. When Papa was at home, he knew the time I usually had nightmares, so he would come to my room just to comfort me and help me fall asleep again before leaving the room.

I didn't know what it felt like to experience a restful slumber. Papa said I screamed while I was sleeping and woke up in the middle of the night. Papa was the only one who could understand me even when I didn't say a word. Diego never understood me, yet he remained concerned about my well-being.

"Enzo, you seem lost in thought," Elijah remarked, showing me the photo he had taken.

"Let's snap another one then," Noah suggested, giving me a playful tap on the back. It hurt because of the wounds on my back. I clenched my fist tightly to suppress the pain, still forcing my face not to show any discomfort, and I noticed Diego observing me intently. I pretended not to notice. Diego gently removed Noah's hand from my back and smoothly placed his arm around my shoulder.

"Alright, let's get another shot," Diego suggested calmly.

"Why did you move my hand?" Noah asked, sounding annoyed.

"Don't be childish, Noah. Let's just take the photo," Elijah intervened, eager to capture the moment.

Elijah took another photo, and everyone gathered around to check it.

"Ah, it looks perfect. Your poker face is spot on as always, Enzo," Noah remarked.

"I know," I replied simply.

"Did you guys take photos without me?" Pam asked, approaching us. Pam was the only girl in our group, and she had started spending less time with us after making some new girlfriends.

"You were with your stupid friends," Noah retorted.

"Enzo, why don't you answer my calls or reply to my messages?" Pam questioned, ignoring Noah's comment.

"Because you're annoying," I replied bluntly, her face contorted with anger.

Pam had been acting strangely lately. She'd become jealous whenever I kissed other girls. Pam kept sending me messages and calling me, hinting that Pam liked me without saying it directly. Some of the messages were flirty, and even the way she talked in her voice messages was different. I couldn't understand what was wrong with her, so I ignored her consistently and didn't tell our friends about her behavior.

"You're calling Enzo? I thought you hated him?" Elijah said because Pam and I used to fight a lot when we were kids.

"I'm not," Pam replied defensively.

"Yes, you are. You two have been fighting every day since we were in kindergarten, and we're the ones who always had to stop you guys. And now you're calling him?" Noah chimed in, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. "If he doesn't answer your calls, you can call me," he added, winking at her.

"Oh, what's going on?" Diego asked, observing Pam and me with a smile.

"Nothing," I replied dismissively, and from my tone, everyone could tell that there was indeed nothing. Pam was visibly upset by my words. But I didn't care much. I was losing interest in her, even as a friend. She was trying to control me, telling me who I should kiss or should not. Pam stormed off angrily to join her girlfriends.

"That's rude," Noah remarked, shooting me a disapproving look. Among our group, Noah was the most annoying and talkative, constantly meddling in everyone's business. And he was the shortest one among us.

"Like he's always been nice," Diego murmured. Of course, I know I'm a nice person.

As we were walking to class, an idiot bumped into me, and the pain from my scars shot through me. I turned to see who it was, and it turned out to be a younger boy who seemed oblivious to what he had done. The look on his face when he realized it was me was priceless, eliciting a little sense of satisfaction within me. Before he could say anything, I punched him in the face, and he fell to the ground, his nose starting to bleed. Everyone around us turned to look.

"Watch where you're going, you little shit," I muttered, kicking some dust towards his stupid face as we walked away. Annoyingly, Noah put his hand on my back, laughing and causing me more pain. I felt the urge to punch him, too. Once again, Diego removed Noah's hand from my back, leaving Noah confused. As we headed to class, Diego and Noah argued behind us about Diego's repeated removal of Noah's hand from my back. Elijah showed me photos of his family vacation from his phone. We heard the background noise of Diego and Noah arguing. Even Noah's voice was incredibly annoying.