Surrounded by people, but I’ve never felt so alone.
I wish Mom was here with me. She would hug me, tell me it will be okay. But she hasn’t been feeling good the last year.
Doctors say she’s in the beginning stages of multiple sclerosis, which means Dad had to come with me.
The doors slide open with a loud whoosh. Huffing the bangs out of my eyes, I look up and my heart stills.
In fact, everything seems to freeze. It’s a strange sensation; sounds grow dim and the world recedes to a pinprick of light, a halo that surrounds him. I have no idea who he is, a perfect stranger in a room full of them, but something about him stands out and makes me notice.
He has dark wavy hair and intense blue eyes. He stands squinting in the doorway and it’s obvious why he’s here. The entire left side of his face is a swollen mass of discolored skin. He grabs the corner of his jaw and I notice his knuckles are also split open. Hard eyes scan the waiting room, and for a second, I glimpse in his face the same emotion I’m feeling right now.
Anywhere but here…
Then our eyes meet. He’s older than me, I can tell. There are whiskers on his cheeks, and he doesn’t look like a boy.
Especially not like the boy who did this to me.
The look lasts only a second but feels more like an eternity—a stolen moment in time that exists outside of where we are right now. But like so much in my life, it’s fleeting.
He sits far in the back of the room.
I want to turn and look. To see if I’d been right and he’d understood—if somehow a stranger understood exactly what I was going through.
But I can’t, because then a nurse comes out and calls my name.
“Liliana Delgado?” Her voice is calm, cool, and it sends chills straight through me. Wrapping the ends of my thick sleeves around my closed fists, I sit like a deer in the headlights, spooked out of my mind with a mouth tasting like cotton.
“Get up,” my father growls low, for my ears only.
Coming here, it’s just a formality. We all know, but it’s one of those things that you can ignore until you no longer can.
Swallowing hard, I look back at the guy one last time.
He has his face turned and is staring at the wall. No one is going to save me from this.
Grabbing my stomach, I force my feet to move. The nurse’s smile is small but reassuring. My father’s look is full of hate.
An hour later he won’t even look at me.
The test is positive.
At fourteen, my life is over.
***
Ryan
Fuck! This is just what I need.
The bastard cracked my jaw in two places; granted, they’re hairlines, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t throb like a son of a bitch.
It was worth it, though.
I smirk, even though doing so makes the pain feel like someone’s shoved a hot poker through my face. I don’t care. It’s done. Over. Never again.
The doctors gave me pills, sent me home.
Home.
I don’t have one of those anymore.
But I don’t care. I’m more free now than I’ve ever been. My parents, they’ve never believed in me. Just think I’m a big fucking screw-up. I barely graduated high school. There goes Ryan, such a disgrace to his parents. Such good, God-fearing people, what a shame to be saddled with a kid like that.
I’ve heard it all before.
It stopped bothering me a long time ago.
But today I had to do it—had to confront my uncle—because I’m eighteen and I’m a man and I had to show him that.
Never again. Not to anybody else. I pounded that truth into his fat face with my bloody fists.
Flexing my fingers, I stare at the swollen and distorted mass of tissue. The sun is beating down on my head. All I have left in this world are the clothes on my back. I’m not going back home, couldn’t even if I wanted to.
My dad kicked me out after the fight, says he can’t handle me anymore. Honestly, I think he would have found a reason anyway, but this fight was the perfect excuse—a way for him to maintain his spotless reputation within the community.
All I ever wanted is for him to fucking believe in me. But his chance is over. I’m done and no matter what anybody else says, I’m not stupid, but with my grades there won’t be any college in my future.
Glancing down the busy street, it takes me all of two seconds to decide where I’m going.
Away.
Far, far away from Austin, Texas. In fact, I want out of the country.
I can’t breathe here anymore.
I’m joining the Marines and I’m going to war.
Chapter Two
Seven Years Later
Liliana
February
He’s screaming again.
Groaning, I open my eyes, stare at my ceiling, and wonder what will happen if I just ignore him.
But I can’t, he’s my baby.
The clock reads 2:32. Thirty minutes longer tonight.
The screaming—it’s new. Something he’d started ten weeks ago. But it’s always something with Javier. He’s my special boy.
Getting out of bed, I wrap the green terry-cloth robe around me and walk to his room. “Mama,” I call; her bedroom is across from mine.
“Mija? What’s wrong with Javi?”
She can’t walk anymore. Mom’s completely wheelchair bound, which is why when Javi screams, it makes her antsy. She is Grandma and feels the need to comfort, but can barely manage to even lift her arms.
“It’s okay, Mama, it’s the dreams. Go back to sleep.”
“You sure?” Her voice is reed thin through the door.
I nod, but remember she can’t see me, so I say, “Sí.”
Saying a quick prayer for strength, I open the door.
Javi’s lying in the middle of his bed with his sheets kicked off, his Transformers pajama pants are scrunched up around his knees. A loud, keening wail rings so loud through the room it makes my ears buzz. I jog to him and gently pick him up, bringing him to my lap.
It’s the only time he ever lets me hold him.
When he’s sleepy.
I cherish each moment, since they’re so precious and few.
“Javi, mijo.” I rub his forehead, twisting his dark curls gently around my fingers. He stills instantly. “Papi, what’s wrong?”
He doesn’t talk. Just grunts. Mumbles and moans mostly.
“Ssshh, Mommy’s here. I’m right here.”
It’s impossible to describe the feeling of holding him. Of both the elation and terrible pain I feel each time I do.
Javier was diagnosed as high-functioning autistic four years ago.
Hard enough having a baby at fourteen, but that hadn’t been the worst. The worst was falling so in love with him only to discover he’ll never feel the same for me in return. Well, that’s not really true. More like that’s what it feels like. I know he loves me, or at least I hope he does, problem is the way I view love and he does seems so completely opposite. I want hugs, kisses, to hear three simple words. Javi’s never shown me any of that. Yet. His doctor says there’s nothing wrong with him. That the fact that he doesn’t talk doesn’t mean he eventually won’t. That all he needs is time and a reason to come out of his shell. But I won’t lie and say that after so many years, I’m beginning to wonder if they diagnosed my son wrong. It’s so hard when I see other autistic children, some of them are already talking, and some even hug their parents back.
I’ve hung every ounce of hope on his doctor’s words, believing someday he will do all those things with me. That soon he’ll be like any other seven-year-old.
But the hope is slowly turning into a cancer as the weeks, months, and then years roll by.
Eventually his trembling ceases and his breathing returns to a smooth, even rhythm.
Kissing his warm brow, I ease his head back onto the pillows and run my finger along his cheek. “Goodnight, baby.”
W
hen I get back to the hall, my mother stops me. “Come here, Lili.”
Sighing heavily, feet feeling heavy as steel, I open her door. “Sí?”
Bathed in shadow, Mom’s face turns toward mine. A tiny woman engulfed by pillows, blankets, and a giant mattress.
Dad left us four years ago.
It’s just me, Mom, Javi, and Mom’s nurse, Adelida.
“Come here, sit beside me a second.”
Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, I swallow my initial desire to decline. It’s well past three now. I have a math exam first thing in the morning, but I owe my mom a lot and know in the end I’ll do whatever she asks.
So I sit, but I can’t hide the loud yawn that overtakes me, though I try as best I can to hide it behind the back of my hand.
Her smile is sad. “You’re working too hard, mija.”
I shrug. “Don’t have a choice, Mama. Someone has got to pay the bills.”
She looks up at the ceiling. I know what she’s thinking. The same thing she always thinks but never speaks about. How much Dad sucks. How much she still loves him, needs him, wants him back, even while cursing the day she ever met him. Because I feel the exact same way.
The night he left us, it was the first and last time we talked about it. Crying and hugging. My world literally shattered. Papa bailed and I couldn’t.
Selfish thought, yes. And I regretted it the moment I’d thought it. Of course I never told her that, too ashamed to admit that for a moment I wanted to leave with him. Beg him to take me far away from all of it. From Mama, Javi, my life…
But I know the truth, the real reason he left—he did it because of me. Because of what I’d done, how I’d screwed up his plans for my life. He’d always said I’d make something of myself, bring pride and honor to the Delgado clan, until the day the doctor said Javi was coming. Then Dad stopped saying those things to me.
“You do have a choice. Lili, you’re gorgeous, and you’re only twenty-one. My God.” She brushes her cold fingers over my hand. “Life is more than school, work, and—”
“Mama, we’ve been over this.” I straighten my spine. “I’m a mom. I no longer have the luxury of pretending I’m not.”
Her face falls. “And I’m his nana. I can take care of him.”
I shake my head. “I would never, in your condition… I…”
No clue how to continue, I clamp my lips shut. There’s honesty and then there’s cruelty for cruelty’s sake. Mom knows she can’t watch him, can never be the type of grandma she’s always dreamed of one day becoming.
But instead of crying as I’d half expected, she smiles brightly. “I’ve asked Ade if she wants more hours and she’s agreed.”
“Mama, we can’t pay for that. I barely bring in enough to pay our bills each month.” Tears clog my throat.
Yes, it’s pitiful and wimpy of me, but I’m feeling pitiful and wimpy right now. I feel like a candle burning at both ends—too much more and I’m going to melt.
“I applied to my insurance, and it’s been approved. I need more help than eighteen hours a week. I need a live-in. We have three rooms; Ade agreed she’d be willing to share my room.”
“When does she move in?”
Smile curving wider, my mother says, “Tomorrow.”
“Already?”
“Are you not happy? I thought you’d be happy.”
“Mama.” I shake my head. “You were never a burden for me.”
“Enough.” She puts on a determined face, the one she gave me growing up, the one that says “Back down now or face the consequence of my wrath.” So I shut up. “I’ll not have my daughter become a martyr in my own home. Your life has barely begun, Lili. My mind is made up. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day—you go out.”
There are a million reasons why this is such a bad idea, not the least of which is Javi.
“But, Mom—”
Lifting her brows, she says, “Liliana, you’re my daughter. You think I don’t know how your mind works? You’re going to tell me that Javi can’t handle it. That’s not true. Javi knows Ade very well. He doesn’t scream or rage when she comes around, which means he likes her. You need breaks every once in a while. You don’t work tomorrow, so what’s your next excuse?”
“Homework? Reading?”
“It’s Friday.” She huffs. “I can come back with an answer every time. You’re going out, but whether you have fun or not, that’s entirely up to you.”
***
Ryan
Rolling over, I stare at the woman with her arms draped over my chest. I don’t know her. I never do anymore. And I like it like that—it’s so much easier to kick them out in the morning.
I can’t sleep.
Why the hell did I come back to Austin?
Moving her arm away, I sit up. The silver dog tags around my neck wink from the sliver of moonlight spilling through my window. It’s too early. Running fingers through my hair, I push aside the curtain and stare up at the sky.
It’s bursting with stars.
When I’d flown back to the States I knew I couldn’t live anywhere near my folks. In the four years I’ve been away, they’ve never tried to contact me once. So when I returned, I didn’t feel the need to tell them about it. Far as they know, their wayward child is still a Marine and still fighting in Afghanistan.
Texas is quiet tonight—only the low rumble of thunder in the distance and a gentle hum of cicadas out my window disturb the peaceful night.
She snores and I glower.
I can’t think in here.
The room is hot and stifling; the AC froze up last night.
Walking toward the kitchen, I grab my skull and rub. She has to leave, first second she wakes up. I can’t stand her in my house anymore, filling the rooms with her awful stench of smoke and sweat and beer.
Grabbing a mug out of the cabinet, I put some water on to boil and then look for the tea bags. A bedroom door opens. It’s my cousin, Alex.
We look nothing alike. I’m dark, he’s blond. Got it from his mom. Slimmer than me, but still athletic, he’s also taller by a good six inches, and the only member of my family I can still stand. He’s also my roommate.
Which, so far, no one knows about. Small miracle, that.
Because, though I’d been so sure I wouldn’t live anywhere near my parents, somehow I wound up only thirty minutes away from the home I’d grown up in. Thank God Austin’s so huge.
“Dude.” He rubs his eyes. “It’s four fucking thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off.
When his eyes adjust, he blinks and then grimaces. “Clothes, Ryan. Damn. First you wake me up, then you walk around buck-assed naked in my house. Gives a man nightmares.”
Snorting, I walk to the dryer in the laundry room and pull out a pair of track pants I’d washed but hadn’t yet folded. Putting them on, I hold my arms out. “Better?”
“Not really.” Walking up to the stove, he glances at the kettle. “Making your wussy tea again?”
I don’t bother answering. Yeah, it’s not the most manly thing, but I like chamomile. It calms me, and right now I feel anything but. There’s a raging fire burning in my gut, beating in my skull. Tomorrow’s the day.
I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.
The kettle whistles and my hands tremble as I pour the water into my mug.
I feel his eyes on me.
He sees too much, knows almost everything.
Sometimes I think I am stupid to keep him around. But no matter how much I try to shake him, Alex never leaves.
I swear he planted a beacon in my ass right before I left to the Marines, because fourteen hours after landing back in Texas, he found me. Told me I was stuck with him, and we never talk about the rest.
Mostly.
Though sometimes he likes to push things a little too far.
“So tomorrow,” he says slowly.
Jaw clenching, I pretend not to hear him and drop the tea bag into my mug.
“Are we doing it again?”
“What the hell, dude?” I growl, shoving past him as I walk to the kitchen table. “Can’t a man just drink his tea in peace?”
“We have to talk about this.”
“No, the hell we do.” I take a sip even though I know the tea’s not ready.
The water’s so hot it burns my tongue immediately, but it barely fazes me. The throbbing helps me to stay centered and focused on the now. Not the past that haunts my every waking moment like some damn specter in a horror movie.
I turn to him the second he sits. His hair is poking up everywhere, his eyes still semi-swollen from sleep and glinting with worry.
“Man, how long we gonna keep pretending this never happened?”
Every muscle in my arm tenses. I want to hit him. To smash my fist through his nose, break it in half, crack his jaw the way his dad had done mine. I’d learned things in the Marines. How to fight, how to kill.
I’m not the same kid who’d left, the one who’d screamed and cried like a little bitch because he had an owie.
“I’m not talking about this. We still on or what?”
Alex sighs. A heavy sound that speaks volumes—that says he’s tired, but he still holds out hope that someday he’ll reach me.
I want to laugh. There’s no more hope. This is who I am now.
Nothing.
“Yeah.” Alex finally nods, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, we’re still on. But I get to pick the place this time.” He narrows his eyes. “And the second I say you’re done, you’re done. You got it?” His voice shivers with the faint stirrings of a snarl.
“It’s cute the way you think you can intimidate me.” I snort. “You don’t have to come with me, but I’m going either way.”
I drink my tea, staring at him hard over the edge of my mug.
“I said I was going. Don’t be such an ass, Ryan. I just care, man. Okay, that’s it.” He shoves away from the table, disgust written all over his face.
The door slams down the hall.
I could have told him to save his care for someone who matters. That I’m not worth caring about. That there’s nothing left in me anymore. I’m a used-up, hollowed-out shell of a man.
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