I’ve never questioned my sexuality, not once. It’s always been Leia and the dream life I’ve created. She and I will be together. It’s fate. It has to be.
When Brady’s hands wander down to my dick, I shiver. The reaction making me uneasy. My dick comes to life, and that’s when I have to back up. I’m not into guys.
I’m not.
I don’t like dick.
I’m into Leia.
I love Leia.
My best friend.
He drops his hands but doesn’t stop his dancing. After the next song ends, I’m in my head too much, and no matter how good it felt, it still isn’t what I’m expecting. Brady pulls back and makes a gesture for getting a drink. We weave through the dancers. I still don’t see Leia but head to the drink station anyway.
The music isn’t as loud out here. It’s nice not having the speakers blasting around.
“I-I’m sorry about…” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head. “About getting carried away. I really like you, Brax.”
I’m stunned. He’s so open and honest. There’s fear in his eyes and posture, but mostly, he seems to actually be into me. How nice is it for him to be secure in his feelings and desires, while I hide in the shadows like a fucking coward.
“Brady…” I pause, not wanting to sound like a total dick.
His face falls a bit, but then he’s staring at me with this naked kind of desperation. He takes my hand, leading me to the stairwell nearest the elevator and then backing me up against the wall.
“Don’t, not yet, Brax. There’s not many guys in Cape Hill that are out like us.”
I’m not out. I just never said anything else.
“And I really fucking like you. You’re one of a kind, and as gay as it sounds, I want to be with you,” he confesses, his gaze not flickering one bit.
“I-I…” I stutter, unsure of how to say I’m not into dudes without being a dick.
“Just… give me this moment,” he says, his voice softer, almost pleading.
I nod, there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong. Right?
He closes in, his face a little too close. It sets off warning bells in my head, and before I can react, his lips are on me. They’re so perfect in this imperfect male-on-male way I didn’t realize could feel so amazing. I don’t stop him. He explores my mouth, his tongue soft and unsure, brushing against mine like hey, I’m Brady. I hold in the chuckle at that and stroke his tongue with mine.
I’ve never felt more alive. It’s like a battery electrocuted my entire system with each swipe of Brady’s tongue. I groan, and he reciprocates. His hand snakes down my waist, cupping me, and that’s when I pull away.
It’s the booze.
I’m drunk.
I have to be.
I’m not into guys, but for a moment there, I believe I can be into Brady.
We fucked up.
We got caught.
Danté’s going to the big house this time. He’s eighteen now. He’s the oldest, and he’s the one who got arrested.
Xo’s going to flip the fuck out.
She’s pregnant, and she’ll probably going into early labor with this news.
I made him a promise that I’ll protect her. I’ll be what she needs. I’m not going anywhere.
My feet connect with the hot black pavement. My old, barely hanging on shoes don’t soften the impact of my frantic feet as I run from the cops. Thump. Thump. Thump. I’m unsure if it’s my footsteps echoing in my ears or my heart, but both possibilities are frightening. I may not get away. This might be it. I was never meant to survive these streets. You come in screaming, and in this life, you’ll leave the same way.
Sirens blare around me, but there are no lights. The streets are empty. People know better than to lurk the grounds when la guardia roam for us. Los Desolados is known for our crimes, for our brutality, for the la guardia targets on our backs. They wouldn’t want to be involved. Fear runs deep in these streets, and we’ve been trying to take back the power for ages.
The ringing gets louder. Panic settles in my bones, and I’m sweating like un cerdo. The humidity isn’t any help. I’m suffocating. I’m not going to make it out safe this time. Whether it’s from getting caught or taking the blame, I’m fucked.
My mind travels to the exact moment I knew we weren’t going to get away scot free.
My palms close over the duffel bag, the coarse straps burning my already raw fingers. With how tight I’m gripping the handles, I’m lucky my skin hasn’t ripped open. When I’m not selling drugs on the street for Danté, I’m digging holes, construction, working endlessly at the sites they need me. One way or another, I’m making money to support my sisters.
I slowly unzip the top while Mando holds his gun at this Blanquito. Sweat lines my brow. I can feel it waiting to drip, and it has nothing to do with the summer heat. Making sure all the money is there, I move them around. I see the bundles, but there’s no time to verify entirely. There are already sirens in the distance. They’re onto us fast this time. The blaring of the cop cars ricocheting off the dilapidated houses causes us all to pause. D waits in the back, blocked by all of us, guarded like the rey he is, but something doesn’t feel right. We’ve never dealt with Los Perturbados. They stay on their side of the tracks, and we stay on ours. This time is different. We needed to stop the drug problem in Esperanza. It’s our duty to keep our streets clean of this shit.
They wanted a deal. We wanted them gone, and no one wanted a turf war, so here we are, in a shady alleyway waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to betray the agreement we’ve brokered.
“La Guardia!” Iago yells, rushing from the street he was watching. His face is ashen. Fear licks every feature of his face. “They’re close!”
“Cállate la boca!” D silences him. Shut your mouth!
D stares at me, waiting for my signal that it’s all there. I rub my nose, our sign for I can’t verify. He nods, scratching his chin, the sign for get the fuck out of here.
I turn to leave but only make it a step before there’s a tug on the bag and a gun to the back of my skull. Number one rule—never turn your back on a Caco.
Fuck.
The sirens get louder. They’re getting closer to us. We won’t make it in time if we don’t get away now. They must’ve planned this ahead of time. What better way to clear out an entire crew than with a snitch?
“Did you set me up, cabron?” Danté roars, spit leaving his mouth as he sidesteps the guys, coming directly toward the Caco with a gun to my head.
“N-No,” the guy stutters, the gun jiggling, making me more anxious.
This fucker probably hasn’t shot anyone before. With my luck, his bitch ass little finger is on the trigger, and I’m one slight squeeze away from death.
“I-I’d n-never snitch. I’m not a little b-bitch,” he whimpers, therefore proving my bitch assumption.
Danté prowls toward him, his huge two-hundred-pound frame towering over the coward. The Blanquito’s hand wiggles, and my stomach drops. Don’t fucking do it. God dammit. Stop moving.
He shakes behind me, and Danté doesn’t falter. He raises his own gun to my head. This is his game. With one to my front and the other to my back, I know only one could actually shoot if necessary, and it’s not the shaky little pussy behind me.
“Do you honestly think I need him?” Danté chuckles.
The glare and determination in his eyes tells me he’d kill me if it were the only option. This city needs him. Xo needs him. Their baby that’s on the way needs him.
“I’ll shoot him right now. He’s disposable.”
Danté’s not lying. Everyone is expendable in his eyes. Everyone but his girl and their child.
It doesn’t sting, I know what I signed up for, what I’m here for.
My brotherhood is my legacy, my blood is oath, my loyalty is law, and my life is sacrificial for the cause. We know this. We bleed for this. We will die if we have to.
Closing my eyes, I nod, but I hear
a clatter behind me.
Looking at my feet, I see the gun that the Caco held is there.
Danté lowers his gun and smirks like the motherfucker he is.
“Policia! Alto ahí!” one officer shouts, pointing his gun at us. Police! Stop right there! “Manos arriba!” Hands up!
Danté leans in close whispering, “Take the bag. Meet me at our spot, and don’t you fucking tell Xiomara.” When I meet his eyes, he gives me the largest commanding gesture I’ve ever seen. “If anything happens to me, take care of her. I don’t care what she needs, you give her the fucking world. Got it?”
I nod quickly.
He rushes the cops as they’re stalking the guys behind us. There’s screaming, shots fired, and a demand I know all too well.
“Fuga!” Escape!
And then we run. We all fucking run.
Before turning out of the alleyway, I see Danté in cuffs, Mando running away, and then I’m gone, too, out of sight.
I have no clue where Silva and Iago went. My soul almost feels like it’s not in my body. Nothing feels right, and I’m terrified of who got shot, if it was one of us or them.
I’m barely making it to our spot when my phone is ringing.
“Xo, is everything okay?” I pant.
“Sy, Danté isn’t answering my calls.”
“Are you okay?” I ask again, trying to sound less breathless. I’m not going to tell her what happened. I promised.
“Yeah, just really bad contractions. This baby is going to come any day now.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear from him, angelita.”
“Thank you, Sy. Let him know I’m looking for him, and Zaely, she’s looking for Silv.”
At that, my stomach knots more, twisting and turning, and I’m nearly bending over to retch.
“Sy? You okay?”
“Yes, just bad lunch. Gotta go.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
I hang up, barely holding in my vomit. Silv. My Silv. Dropping to my knees, I let out a groan. Inside my shirt, my rosary hangs above my heart. I’m not a truly faithful person. I only call to my God when I need him, and right now, I’ll pray. Please let Silv be okay.
I’m sorry I let you both down.
By the time I finally wake up, the sky has already set. Going back to sleep would be nice, avoiding the world would be even better, and taking back last night would make my life.
I stagger my way to the window in the guest bedroom. The sun is showing it’s later in the day. Apparently, someone brought me to bed and tucked me in. Hours must’ve passed, and no one disturbed me. Wish I kept my ass passed out because now, the awareness and pain are graspable, and I’ve got to face my parents.
Hearing loud muffled voices, I sneak out the door. I’m walking down the stairs as quietly as I can when I hear them.
“She slept with him!” Dad yells, his voice full of hatred and disgust. I can practically visualize the vein in his forehead trying to burst free and the tick in his jaw he only gets when he’s furious. For once, I’m the one who made him that mad, not Mamá.
“You don’t know that!” Mamá screams back at him, and I want to see who else is here. If they’ve come to the conclusion about me and Sy, he’s screwed.
“He took advantage of her. Don’t you see, mía?” He’s always called her “mine.” I’ve never heard dad so heartbroken and angry at once. “He used you to get to her!”
I trail down the steps more, to see but not to be heard.
“She wouldn’t do that. They have a connection, siempre.”
Weird. Mamá just called Dad always. What does that mean, and how does she know about my connection to Sy? Does she hate him, too? Is he going to get in trouble?
“El está mal de la cabeza!” He’s sick in the head!
I round the wall when I see Dad holding Mamá’s throat like Sy does to me time and time again. I’d interrupt, but I know it’s not to hurt her but to gain dominance, and I’m sort of trying to eavesdrop still.
“Primero tú, mía. Ahora mi hija?” Dad accuses. First you. Now my daughter? He switches to Spanish when he’s angry without realizing it. He also uses it when he doesn’t want me to understand, too. Which right now, I’m at a loss at what they’re saying.
When I go to college, I’m taking Spanish until I’m fluent. No more of this avoiding the hard-to-talk-about-subjects bullshit my parents have going on.
After I finally make myself noticeable, Dad releases Mamá and faces me with sadness. His face is stony, his lips pinched at the corners, and his eyes are hollow. He’s good at keeping his anger hidden from me but not his dejection. He thinks I’m sensitive, so he tries and protects me, but he’s wrong. I’m a strong, young woman, and I’ll prove it. Or I’ll fail trying.
“Stop talking about me. If you have questions, ask me directly,” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.
Then, it hits me. He wants to know if I slept with Sy. Shit.
His eyes widen a fraction. Now, he’s challenging me with a smirk. “Okay, niñita,” he articulates, stepping closer to me. “Is there something going on between you and Silas?”
“No,” I say too quickly. Shit. “No, Papá, of course not,” I correct, trying to sound more confident than terrified. Sy could go to prison for what we did.
“See, niñita, I don’t believe you.”
Fuck.
Dad steps even closer to me, gripping my shoulders gently but firmly. “I swear to fucking God, if he touched—”
“He didn’t, Papá,” I plead, trying for sweet daughter rather than tough young woman. He seems to soften at the nickname every time I use it. I don’t know what it is about dads loving when their daughters are in need of protection, but he eats it up.
“Well, I’d like to ask him myself. Have you seen him?” he grumbles under his breath, cracking his neck, shifting it left and right. He’s choosing to not push his frustration onto me.
“N-No,” I stutter a bit before catching myself. “Haven’t seen him since last night at the shindig.”
“Shindig?”
“You know, the dance and whatever.”
“No te creo,” he enunciates slowly. I don’t believe you. “I’ll check the Esparza barrio in Cadina.”
“I-I need to find Brax,” I whisper, nausea rises when I say his name. I’ve been such a shitty friend, lover, or whatever we are.
Mamá rubs her palm up and down my arm in a weird, comforting gesture she doesn’t generally offer me.
“He’s gone, baby,” she explains somberly, her face scrunched and full of sympathy.
“What do you mean? I thought he’d be back after he finished cooling off?” I question.
But I know better than that. He’s not one to just cool off. Brax will need space, and what better way than to be three thousand miles away from me?
“He caught a flight about an hour ago. He’s gone. You can see him in a few days when you fly back to Cape Hill.”
“In a few days?” I ponder, not happy with the conclusion that she wants me to stay.
“Yes, he needs time.”
I nod, my mind and body numbing to the sadness. With every ounce of strength I don’t really possess, I use it to hold back tears. He left, and I deserve every moment of silence he offers. He doesn’t deserve a fucked-up relationship with a girl who loves a man she shouldn’t.
He deserves happiness with a woman—or man—who knows what they want, and that want is him.
I don’t want him to find someone else.
He can’t.
I won’t survive it.
I turn around, heading back to my temporary room. They don’t attempt to stop me, they just continue arguing in Spanish.
Pulling out my cell, I notice that it’s dead. I plug it in, waiting for the little light to show it’s at one percent. When it does, I turn it on.
A million messages and voicemails come through from Brax.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
I’m gett
ing worried, Lele. Text me. No, call me.
I’m calling the cops. No one has heard from you.
Fuck, Leia! Just answer your goddamn phone!
Then, I read the ones from Sy this morning.
The voicemails are worse. Brax was frantic, and Sy seemed nonchalant, like he got what he wanted and is now satisfied. Or he’s hiding his feelings like usual. Without seeing him, I won’t know if what we did last night meant anything to him.
It meant everything to me.
As I lay my head back, my social media messenger beeps. Opening the little chat head, I see a message from an anonymous account.
I saw what you did with your stepdad last night. You’re disgusting, and so is he. Be careful. Attached is a picture of Sy carrying me into his home. You can clearly tell it’s me and Silas. There’s no doubt about it. Our faces are locked on one another with an unexplainable urgency.
Oh, no, no, no, no. My pulse races. My face is flaming, and adrenaline surges through my system, making me nauseous all over again. The picture reaffirms all the fears I’ve felt. It shows me what both Silas and I could lose by lusting after one another.
I read the message again several times, holding back the next-to-nothing contents in my stomach.
We’re so fucked.
My immediate gut reaction is to run to Sy and tell him what just happened, but in doing so, aren’t I putting him in more danger? He could go to prison, especially now that there’s proof. Who's to say the freak isn’t watching me now? Did he or she watch us have sex? No, way. That’s too creepy, right?
Panic seizes a hold of me, making me hostage to my own mind. To avoid a full-blown attack, I stuff my head between my thighs. In, out. In, out. Breathe.
In my head, the mantra Brax taught me plays on repeat. “Baby, you can’t change the result, but you can control how you react to it,” Brax recites over and over again, cradling me in his strong arms once again.
For several minutes, that saying runs through my mind, reminding me that I can’t change what has already happened, but I can choose how to face it.
After my breathing once again evens, I’m already on my feet and heading to the bathroom. Showering gives me clarity but doesn’t save me from my mistakes. There’s sweat from my panic attack, blood, and dry semen on my skin from last night.
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