by Amber Hart
Today, we both regret the end result of his decision.
“So, it’s like a gang?” Faith asks.
“Only worse,” I answer. “It’s on a bigger level. El Cartel Habana deals in massive amounts. They ship drugs all over the world. The transactions have to be flawless. People will double-cross them as fast as you can blink. That’s where I came in.”
“That’s why you’re always fighting,” Faith says. “The scars came from the cartel.”
I nod.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
I look at her then. Even after hearing about my demons, she hasn’t left.
I have to tell her.
“ ’Cause,” I answer. “In the end, the cartel double-crossed me.”
Faith says nothing. I close my eyes, remembering the worst night of my life.
“Four months ago the cartel told me they wanted me to move up in ranking. I was already in it for life. I didn’t see why it mattered. But when they said they wanted me dealin’ big transactions, I refused. That was always my condition. No drugs. I would do most things, but not that. It sounds odd since I was in a drug cartel, but it had been done before. Fighting was my skill, not drug slingin’.”
Though the desk hurts my spine, I press further into it. I welcome any other pain but this memory.
“Apparently, I got too good with my hands. They wanted me on the forefront. When I said no, they told me I’d regret it. I figured I could talk to the boss the next day when everythin’ cooled off. Maybe strike a deal. To be safe, I moved mi familia to another location that night.”
I take a deep breath. This is the part that hurts the most. I feel tense. So tense. A billion invisible hands pull at my skin, stretching it tight, squeezing the air out of my lungs, strangling my heart till it hurts too bad to move another inch.
I haven’t discussed that night with anyone. Not mi padre. Not Javier. No one.
“They found us, anyway. Five of them. Assassins. They stabbed mi padre first. He hit the floor. Dead, we thought. They tied me to the leg of the bed and made me watch—” I pause. Swallow. Try to hold it together. “I watched as they killed mi madre.”
Faith comes to me then, dropping to my side.
“They slit my throat. That’s what the scar is from. It was meant to be my death.”
Faith reaches for my neck; I jerk on instinct. Her hand falls away.
“They left us there, good as dead. With what I thought was my dyin’ breath, I called a friend who owed me a favor. His father was a doctor. The next thing I remember was wakin’ up a month later in someone’s house hooked up to a machine. Mi padre told me everythin’. How the doctor kept us at his home so no one would know we survived. The doctor closed my father’s wound, but mine took a lot of work. It was too late for mi madre. The doctor could only do so much outside a hospital. He drugged me for weeks so I wouldn’t feel pain. We hid there, recuperating before coming to the States.”
The memory is caustic. I am swallowing acid. I want to vomit.
“I’m sorry, Diego. I’m so sorry,” Faith says.
It feels good to get it off my chest. But it hurts, too.”
“My mom is gone,” Faith suddenly says. “Not dead, but she might as well be.”
I reach for Faith’s hand. It’s warm. Her fingers curl around mine and squeeze.
“She left when I was eight. For drugs.”
Faith glances at me, unbearable pain in her eyes. No wonder she looked at me the way she did when I mentioned the cartel. Drugs were probably the last thing she wanted to hear about.
“She couldn’t handle it. You know, life, the pressures of life. Everything was too much for her. Having a child young. The church’s standards. Marriage. She never came back. Never called. Nothing. She abandoned us because drugs were everything to her.”
I pull Faith close. Wrap an arm around her shoulders. She rests her head on my chest.
Maybe if we lean on one another hard enough, we can support each other.
“That’s why I have to be this”—Faith motions to herself—“fake. It’s the only option. Mom almost ruined Dad once. I can’t do that to him, too.”
“You won’t,” I say.
Faith looks defeated. “Yes, I will. If I slip up, I will. It’s happened before, Diego.”
She stands. I push myself up and go to her. She presses a hand to my chest.
“Don’t,” she says. “You have no idea. I’m sure you’ve heard wonderful stories about me going abroad last year, studying all over the world.”
I have. What does that have to do with anything?
“I didn’t go abroad. I went to rehab.” Her eyes are like nails, sharp and piercing. “I needed to know what was so great about drugs, why my mom traded us for them. Before I knew it, I was in too deep. The numbness . . . I’m over it now, but I still have to be careful. That’s why this thing with you will never work. You could hurt me like she did. I might slip up and want the numbness again. That would destroy my dad. And what would people think of you and me together? It’s too much, Diego. That’s why I can’t kiss you. Not because I do or don’t like you, but because I can’t take the chance.”
I don’t judge her for the mistakes she made. Everyone has scars. If anything, I like her more because she’s being real.
I push her hand away and draw her to me. Her only protest is a whimper.
“Trust me,” I whisper, and lower my lips to hers.
33
faith
Diego’s lips are better than a drug, subduing my pain, blurring the edges of my world. The kiss breaks me.
It’s different from our first. Softer. Gentler. His hands wind through my hair. Mine explore his stomach. His muscles are rock-hard beneath the thin fabric. His kiss deepens. My blood thrums faster.
His tongue eases out, tempting mine to do the same. When his hands move to my hips, touching the exposed skin, I shudder. Diego lowers me to the floor so that I lie flat with him poised over me. My hair falls to the ground, fanning around me. I feel oddly exposed.
“Diego,” I say.
“Mami,” he groans. “Please don’t tell me you can’t kiss me.”
His mouth presses harder. His fingers lightly trace the spaghetti straps of my tank top, a pleasurable tickle. His lips find my neck. I arch my head back.
“Diego,” I repeat.
He looks at me, his eyes heavy with pleasure.
“Wait,” I say. I reach under my back, pull out markers. I laugh. He smiles. “Sorry,” I say. “That was uncomfortable.”
He kisses me again. “It’s okay. Thought you were goin’ to tell me to stop for good.”
His lips are red against his dark skin.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I admit. “You’re right. I do feel something. I have since the first day I saw you sitting in the office.”
Diego grins. “Yo sé.”
“Confident much?”
Diego plays with my hair. Pieces fall through his fingers like thread.
“Maybe a little,” he says.
I sigh. “I still can’t be with you.”
“Publicly,” he says. “But no one has to know. You said so yourself, you feel something. So do I. I can’t ignore it. Will you be mine, mami? I won’t tell anyone. You can keep face. Not worry about your dad. I swear I won’t hurt you. I only want to make you happy. And I’ll keep fightin’ for you until you say yes, so you might as well—”
I cut him off with a kiss. I lose myself in him, in the moment. I kiss his bottom lip, and then his top. When I part my mouth, he takes the invitation.
Diego’s kisses are replaced with panting as he asks, “Is that a yes?”
I laugh. “Yes.”
I can’t deny him any longer.
“Finally,” he says, smiling.
Diego is rightness and passion and pleasure. He is sharp edges that give way to softness.
“Kiss me again,” I order.
He lowers his lips to mine, but right before we touch, he backs
away. “Faith, I need to know that you’ll never tell anyone about the cartel. No one. They don’t know that I’m still alive. If they found out they’d—”
“I promise,” I interrupt. I can’t stand to hear him say the words.
Diego caresses my cheeks. I refuse to push him away any longer.
“How is this going to work?” I ask.
Diego’s eyes are hungry. He doesn’t push past kisses. “However you want it to,” he replies.
I trail a finger over his lips. His breath is warm to the touch. “We can see each other in private?” I ask.
“As much as you want.”
“What about school?”
Diego’s hand moves from my hair to my hips, resting there.
“Your call.”
“I can’t see you at school. I’m not sure if that will work for you. And I understand if it doesn’t. I’m sorry to ask you to do this,” I say. “I’m not ashamed of you. Please don’t ever think that. You’re, well, you’re amazing.”
He smiles.
“You understand why I can’t face that yet, right?” I ask.
“Sí, mami.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Nope.”
I sigh. “Maybe when I go off to college, I’ll be free. I don’t know where I’ll go. I haven’t started looking or applying but I definitely plan to go far away where no one can judge me.”
Diego lies on his side next to me. I melt into him.
“People will always judge.” He says it with such finality, with such certainty, that I know it to be true.
People will always judge.
I can’t change them.
So maybe they shouldn’t be allowed to change me.
“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” I ask again. “Jason wants me back. Everyone expects us to get back together. You’ll hear a lot of gossip.”
“I can handle it,” Diego says. “As long as you don’t want him, I don’t care what they say.”
I look into his eyes. Confess the truth. “All I want is you.”
His mouth curves up.
“Good,” he says. “ ’Cause now that you’re mine, I don’t plan on letting you go.”
34
diego
Not an hour ago, my lips were on Faith. I replay her kisses, soft, rough, perfect.
Steaming water pounds into my back like a massage. I wash my hair, then my body. I stay in the shower until the water changes from hot to cool. A towel awaits me, crumpled on the counter. I fit it around my waist on the way to the kitchen.
I open the fridge to find apples, oranges, and two-day old pizza. Sometimes mi padre works on yards where people let him pick fruit from their trees. Free food is something he never passes up. I grab an apple and a slice of pizza.
Streetlights glare against the kitchen window like a flashlight in my eyes. I approach the window, taking a closer look at the nightlife below. One glance, and I jump out of view.
I run to my room and reach under my bed, pulling out the 9mm. Mi padre gave it back to me when I promised not to carry it around. I check the ammunition. Extra bullets. Just in case. I peek out of my bedroom blinds to get a better view. On the sidewalk stands Wink, like a curse dropped from the sky. At first I’m nervous that maybe the MS-13s have found me, but I quickly realize they are only passing by. I haven’t seen them since our street fight. And if I had it my way, I would never see them again.
I go back to my bed and sit. Put my gun down. Normally I wouldn’t care, but these guys are different. They want to recruit me. I want nothing to do with them. I have Faith. I’ll do anything to make it work with her.
I can’t deny anymore that Faith drives me crazy in the best way. And she finally agreed to go out with me. I manage a shaky laugh.
Since when did I have to make girls agree to go out with me?
That’s always been an easy point for me. Or many points, if you’re keeping score.
Tonight, kissing Faith made me understand what it is to truly want. More, I kept thinking. I’ve never held back, but she’s worth it. I don’t want to rush her. I’ve heard rumors about how she wouldn’t give it up to Jason, about how Faith has never given it up to anyone.
I glance at the clock. Tick, tick, tick. I dress quickly. Javier should be here any minute. Sure enough, he arrives like planned. He’s got a smartphone, which works to my advantage since we can’t afford Internet at home, and I need to research stuff for several classes. It’s not easy to do on such a small screen but I manage, knowing that it’s more than I could have hoped for in Cuba.
A tiny screen that connects you to endless information in seconds? A thing of dreams for most.
A way to educate yourself and rise above violence and poverty? Never an option before.
When I finish, we work on our psychology papers, which are due tomorrow. I procrastinated, spent time at the beach and at Melissa’s instead of studying, and will most likely get my first C, but I don’t care. Knowing Faith is officially mine is absolutely worth it.
My heart stutters in my chest when I spot Faith at school the next day. She sees me. Her cheeks are roses, blooming, bursting with color.
But she’s surrounded by the Fakes. I’m close enough to hear their conversation, something about a dance routine. I’m also close enough to hear them mention me as I pass by. I open my locker and listen.
“Why do you think he left Cuba?” one of the Fakes asks.
“I don’t know. The thug thing is kinda hot, though,” another says.
A couple of girls shriek as though she’s said something scandalous.
“Oh my God, no, come on. I’d never go for a guy like that,” the girl amends. “He’s not relationship material. Might be good for some fun, though.”
“You did not just say that,” a Fake says. “He’s probably been with a million girls. You couldn’t pay me to touch him.”
Faith giggles. Playing the part. Though I know she won’t, though I know we talked about this, I want her to say something in my defense.
Instead, it’s Melissa who silences them.
“He couldn’t have been with any more people than you, Zara.”
The girls are shocked. The one Melissa called Zara storms off while the others mumble their good-byes and leave for class.
I lock eyes with Faith. She knows I heard.
We don’t talk to each other. Not then. Not at lunch. Not in psychology. But in the library, Faith waits for me, a big smile on her face.
“Hey,” she says.
I brush off my annoyance at today’s incident. She did warn me that something like that might happen.
“Hola,” I reply.
She pulls the tie out of her hair and I am hit by the smell of strawberry shampoo. Hair falls down her shoulders, cascading.
Preciosa.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come now that your detention is over.”
“Of course I came,” I reply. I wouldn’t miss time with her.
Melissa and Lori are late. I take the opportunity to pull Faith behind a bookshelf.
“Mi cielo, you look hermosa.”
She smiles, too much brightness in that one motion.
“What are you doing tonight?”
I wish I didn’t have to work because I think maybe she’s going to ask me to chill with her. “Working,” I answer.
She bites her lower lip. Looks at the floor shyly. It takes all I have not to kiss her.
“I was thinking maybe I could pick you up from work,” she whispers.
The air is electrified. Sparks ignite and pop along the invisible live wire that connects our bodies. I want to touch it, no matter the pain, just to feel her.
“Of course,” I answer.
“What time?” Her lashes flutter.
“Ten.”
“Okay,” she says.
I stuff my hands in my pockets so that I don’t grab her.
“No one will see you around back of the restaurant,” I say. It’s a given that Faith won’t wa
lk through the front door to pick me up. “There’s a spot by the fence. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay,” she says again.
Faith looks around quickly like a crow about to steal an egg, and then walks back to our regular spot by the books. I wait a second before joining her. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else. Pride is a serious thing. I have to bite mine back.
I want the world to know that she belongs to me.
Melissa and Lori eventually show up, and by the end of the day, we’re ready for the fair. I kind of wish we weren’t because I won’t see Faith in the library after school anymore. Maybe she’ll make picking me up from work a regular thing.
I feel like at any minute, it could all disappear. I want to do something special for Faith. On the way home, I detour through the school parking lot. Faith has dance practice, which means her car will be there. I pick wildflowers and make sure no one’s looking as I slip the bouquet under her windshield wiper.
I only wish I could see her expression when she finds them.
35
faith
I pull up to Applebee’s, my stomach churning like I’ve swallowed snakes. I’m nervous. And excited. I try not to look at the back entrance a hundred times.
I reach for the door handle, and spot Diego. He can’t see me in the dark, but I smile in his direction anyway.
Diego is beautiful under the light that shines on the back door. He pauses. Pulls out a cigarette. Lights it. I try not to cringe. I know he smokes. I’ve smelled it on him. I’ve seen him light up before. It bothers me, but I’ll never ask him to stop. It’s not my place.
I fidget with my skirt. In my hair is one of the wildflowers he left on my car. My sandals, the straps winding up my lower legs like vines, match my top. The skirt cuts off above the knee. The tank top is a V-neck, but not too low. Definitely not what I would normally be seen wearing but I want to be the real me with Diego.