CHAPTER 115

14 days but it felt like a hundred. That's how Marcos was feeling as he woke up for the 15th day, back in his home country, but feeling the furthest distance possible from home. Because for some reason, Rio just didn't feel like home to him anymore. At least, the wooden slab and the blanket he was sleeping on at the group home certainly wasn't home. He missed the Valley so much, it was a pain that wracked his entire body. He missed Sarah, he missed Kreese, he missed Karate. Marcos hadn't even thrown a punch since arriving back in Brazil. It was like he had lost everything that made him who he was.

For the first few days, everything had happened in such a blur that it didn't feel at all real. Marcos was certain that this was just a dream, one that he'd soon wake up from and find himself in his bed in L.A. With every passing day, Marcos was beginning to lose hope that that was the case, and was starting to accept the fact that this was his reality now. He was trapped in Brazil, granted accommodation at the group home until his 18th birthday but after that point, he'd be dumped out on the street.

The worst was February 14th. Valentine's Day. A day he was meant to be spending with Sarah, back home, in the Valley. Instead, he'd be spending it all alone. That morning, when he woke up, he simply felt empty inside. He didn't feel angry. Didn't feel sadness. It was like he had lost everything that made him who he was, everything that made him human. He felt like he was trapped on a raft in the middle of the ocean, with no sight of land anywhere around him.

To try and take his mind off everything, Marcos decided to go for a long walk. It's what he did almost every day anyways. Apart from sleeping, he had no interest in spending any more time than that in the group home. He walked up and down the streets of Rio, not the crowded beachside paths, but instead deeper into the city. As he aimlessly strolled for hours, Marcos found himself heading in the direction of the slum where he used to live. It wasn't more than a half hour walk away, so Marcos decided that for the first time in over half a year, he'd go and visit the neighborhood where he used to live.

Arriving there, everything immediately felt different. Even though everything was the same - the same shops, the same houses, the same people - there was something that made it feel different. The place that used to feel like home had now been marred by the fact that this was where his abusive father had raised him. This was where his mother had committed suicide.

Marcos made it to his old house a few moments later, stopping before the front door and staring in wonderment at the place where he'd grown up. It had been the backdrop for so many memories, almost his entire lifetime's worth. He wanted to go inside, see the place where he used to live, so he knocked on the door. No answer.

Marcos sighed. Maybe whoever was living there now just wasn't home. He tried knocking again, but the same result occurred. However, just as he was starting to lose hope and was about to turn around and walk away, the door suddenly swung open and Marcos found himself face to face with a young Brazilian woman.

"Can I help you?" She asked in Portuguese, before suddenly, realization dawned on her. "Oh… you used to live here, didn't you?"

Marcos raised an eyebrow in shock.

"How'd you know?" He asked.

"There were a lot of pictures left behind when you left. You were in most of them." The lady explained. Marcos nodded.

"Yeah, that's me." He replied.

"I heard from someone in the neighborhood that you managed to make it to the U.S. How come you're back then?" She questioned. Marcos sighed.

"Yeah, uh… things just didn't work out over there, I guess." He responded. "Look, I'm really sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if I'd be able to walk around the house for a few minutes."

And that's exactly what Marcos did. He explored his childhood home for the first time in over half a year. He went through every room, every room except his mother's old bedroom, the room that he had found her lying in all those years ago. Although it had undoubtedly been cleaned several times over since, Marcos knew that if he went in there, it would be like the day she died. He would see her lying there, motionless on the floor, drowning in a pool of crimson blood, her hand curled around the family gun.

After he was done walking around, Marcos walked back towards the door, where the current inhabitant of the house was waiting for him. In their hands was a box, which they promptly gave to Marcos.

"Here. It's all of the old stuff I found when I moved in. I figure you might want some of it." She said. Marcos took the box and nodded.

"Thank you."

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Marcos left the house a few moments later, heading to a nearby restaurant in his neighborhood to sit down and open the box. He was curious to see what was inside, what remnants of his past life he would be facing.

As he opened the box, he couldn't help but smile. His mom's old makeup. His mom's old soap. His mom's old perfume. Things that his father hadn't bothered packing when they moved to L.A. As Marcos opened the perfume bottle and the delicate scent wafted up his nostrils, it was like she was sitting right there beside him.

There were a couple more things. Some old picture frames of their family. Some old workbooks that his mom had used as a teacher. But it was what was at the very bottom of the box that caught his eye. It was a plain black book, an unmarked notebook that Marcos had never seen before. Everything else in the box, Marcos had come across at some point during his childhood but this was completely foreign to him.

He pulled it out and opened it. Immediately, he gasped as he recognized the familiar neat scroll of his late mother. As he read the first two words of the first page, he realized exactly what it was: it was a diary! A first-person account of what his mother had been going through in the months or years before her death. His hands trembling, Marcos opened it on the first page and began to read.

January 14th

Dear Diary,

Today was the worst day. We came back from the doctor and he diagnosed my beloved Felipe with something called intermittent explosive disorder. It developed in his brain after his most recent head injury and from what I've read, it's not good at all. Apparently, there are going to be episodes where he feels intense anger, and during these moments he will be a threat of physical and verbal violence. But it's okay. We can get through this.

The very first letter and a massive bombshell had been dropped on Marcos. His father? Intermittent Explosive Disorder? It explained so much. That month of hell in the Valley… his father was sick. His mom had known about it clearly, but she hadn't told him. Nobody had shared this fact with him, and this made Marcos curious as to what else they'd been hiding from him. He continued reading the next page…

February 1st

Dear Diary,

Felipe doesn't like the way he feels under the medication. He says it makes him feel drowsy and unable to work, so he is now refusing to take it anymore. He hasn't had an episode yet, but I'm terrified that without the medication, he'll have one soon. I can't let Marcos be there for it when it happens. I can't let him see his daddy like this. The father who loves him so much. If something happens, I hope it's just me there for it. Maybe I can try and talk him out of it.

Even more information dumped on Marcos, an entire dark side to his family that had been kept hidden away from him for his entire childhood. He was starting to understand why that was the case. His mom had been keeping such a massive secret from him to protect him, and from what it looked like, there came a point where she couldn't stand it any longer. He was hooked now, unable to stop reading, diving deeper into his past.

March 2nd

Dear Diary,

It happened. The first episode. Thank God Marcos wasn't home. I was terrified enough; I can't imagine how a 13 year old would have reacted. It was like he was possessed by the Devil himself. This was not my husband. The Felipe I know would never have laid a hand on me. The Felipe I know would have never smashed a chair to pieces. I managed to clean up all the pieces right before Marcos got home thankfully. I know now, more than ever, that I must hide all of this from Marcos. I cannot afford to let him see any of this. It would scar him for life. Let whatever happens happen to me, and let God spare him for any of it.

Marcos' hands trembled as he continued to read. Pangs of guilt stabbed through him as he thought about how much his mom had to go through, while he had had no idea. The fact that there was an entire notebook's worth of diary entries just showed how much trauma his father had put his mother through, with Marcos blissfully unaware. He decided to flip through towards the end of the book and read some of the last few statements.

September 22nd

Dear Diary,

It's getting worse. It's so, so hard. He's getting really violent. It's like when he goes into these episodes, he forgets the fact that I'm his wife. I'm nothing but a lump of meat for him to hit. I can't take much more of this. The only reason I'm still surviving up until now is Marcos. He is the joy of my life. The one thing I've done right in my entire life. I love him so much. He wants to become a fighter and I'm so proud of him for how determined he is to chase his dream. I want to be there with him when he succeeds. That's the only thing keeping me alive right now.

A tear trickled down Marcos' cheeks as he read one of the last entries in his mother's diary. Within 2 months, she had passed away. It was seeing the amount of faith his mother had had in him that truly shook Marcos the most. It was faith that as of recently, even he didn't have in himself.

Marcos was reborn. He was reminded of his aspirations for the future; he was refilled with the unrelenting drive and determination he used to have; he remembered exactly what he was fighting for. He was going to make her proud. Now more than ever, she deserved to have a son that she could proudly call her own as she looked down upon him.

It was an emotional moment for him. He felt reintegrated to his roots. He decided that no matter what, he was going to find a way back to the Valley in time for the Taikai. He didn't have any money - with about 5 dollars to his name, he didn't nearly have enough for a flight. That was his priority now. He needed to get money and use that to get back to L.A, no matter what…