Lasts

by C. L. Matthews

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Leia.”

  He never says my name, never. The tick in his jaw has me hunching my shoulders, preparing for whatever backlash he has planned.

  “Papá,” I plead, my voice tiny and mousy, sounding as fragile as I feel. I shrink into myself when he steps closer and grips my shoulders.

  His eyes well with emotion, his temple ticks and does his jaw. The barely abated anger has me seizing up with fear. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he enunciates every word slowly with more demand after each one.

  I can’t cave. I can’t.

  “W-Why are you here?” I avoid his question with another question.

  “Belén,” he says simply, like that explains everything.

  I’ve seldom heard my aunt’s name in the last ten years after Mama’s and her last fight. Hearing it now feels odd, like there’s something there that I’m not seeing.

  “I was just leaving.” I shake off his hold then twist my finger so he’ll turn around and give me some privacy. I slip on my dress and attempt to walk past him.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he orders, halting my step.

  Behind me, I hear shuffling, but I’m too scared to move.

  When my dad’s eyes widen with unease rather than fury, I turn. Behind me is Sy’s sister.

  “D, haven’t seen you in what, three years?” she announces.

  She pulls my dad into a hug. He lifts her and twirls her. A gnawing jealousy hits me. I hate that he’s seen her more than me, that he’s lifting her up in a loving embrace but can’t give me a day of his life in years. He’s soft with her in a way that’s too awkward for us now. It’s unfair.

  I roll my eyes and maneuver my way around them. Dad’s too engrossed in his conversation with her to even notice me practically running.

  I don’t want to see the aftermath of him seeing Sy, and I definitely don’t want to be grilled. I find my shoes nearby, slip them on, and start weaving through the streets. I shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t be so childish and skittish, but my father scares me. He’s a terrifying man, one you don’t cross even if you’re blood. I’ve heard things about him and Los Desolados. No one wants to be on his bad side.

  I’m only about twenty feet away when I hear yelling from behind me. People are cursing and murmuring around me. For a moment, I stop. I hear words in Spanish I don’t understand, but the ones I do understand have me chilled to the bone.

  Whore.

  Bitch.

  Homewrecker.

  Do they know? Are they whispering about me fucking my step-dad? They must be. Their eyes scrutinize, giving me hateful glares, disgusted sneers, and judgy eyes. How would anyone know? Did that image I receive on Facebook get leaked?

  No, they wouldn’t.

  Don’t be so goddamn naive.

  I’m not brave enough to confront this. Instead, I run. My feet hit the pavement, slapping the roads like they’ve offended me in some way. I’m not sure where I’m going or where these roads lead. All I know is that I need to get away, need their eyes to stop watching me, and for me not to face plant.

  I’m panicking, my heart pounding in my ears, my breathing echoing like waves of the ocean. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the strangling in my throat, the tears in my eyes, and the way my chest heaves higher with each block I pass. I’m not sure how much time passes, but I only stop because a person on a bike pulls in front of me, making me careen and crash into the ground.

  “Fuck!” I screech, the burning in my knees making my eyes water. Jesus fucking Christ. Who just goes out in front of someone running like that?

  My palms ache. When I check them for damage, I can’t see past the blood caked with gravel. I nearly roll from the nausea. Turning around, I vomit. The sight of blood makes me dizzy and uneasy.

  “Estás bien?” the young guy asks of me.

  I can’t stop retching, my throat raw. My body shakes vehemently. A panic attack, I must’ve had one while running. Why else would I feel so completely depleted?

  “You… are… okay?” he asks slowly, like English is almost completely foreign to him.

  “Yes,” I slur, unsure why my answer seems as fuzzy as my mind. Before I know it, I’m slipping into a darkness I welcome freely.

  I didn’t stick around for the screaming match that was bound to happen or for his and my sister’s reunion. This isn’t a town Leia should be alone in, and she’s too naive to think she’s safe on the streets. After nodding an acknowledgement to him, I chase after her. This is a dangerous area, one where shootings are often and sex trafficking even more so.

  Even eighteen years later, we’re still in a turf war, and we’re losing. Not that I can claim that part of me. I was in violation of our code by sleeping with the twins and was booted out but not before they beat me nearly to death. That was only the first time. After I took care of Xo, D trusted me again. He even brought me back in on the condition that I’d stop seeing the twins.

  I kept my word except for that one night four years ago.

  We broke all the rules.

  And we lost everything for it.

  He had me by his side again. Until he kidnapped the Viper King, that is. The Cape Hill king, the guy I’d unknowingly sent Xo to fourteen years prior. He was risking her safe place for fucking money and power once again.

  When the Vipers flew down here, D contacted his inside Luchador. They gave us the where and when, and we took action, or at least, they did. But I wasn’t okay with it. We were trying to expand on their land, we were invading their home. The night after they captured them, one of our crew found me, Silv, and Zaely in bed together. I had to run before I got killed for what I did. D let me leave, and then Xo called about Absinthe knowing about her and Leia. She needed me, and though Helen needed me too, she had D. He’d protect her, what I didn’t know, he was the one she need protection from.

  Even when I barely walked away from this life, Danté still kept the peace, he kept my family safe, and he protected our small town.

  Blood isn’t family, our brotherhood is.

  And he protected the twins, even if he took them away too.

  People line the streets, their whispers prickle my senses. Their whispers about the child fucker, about me. God dammit.

  Up the narrowing road, I see her, but she’s too far for me to capture her.

  “Leia!” I holler, hoping it reaches her panicked mind. If she even understood a lick of what they’re accusing, she’d be having a panic attack. I know my girl, and I know she’s easily scared. And right now, she’s probably feeling like she’s lost it all.

  She’s spiraling, freaking out, and it’s all my fault.

  “Come back!” I yell louder.

  She turns, but it’s like she doesn’t see me. She peers around her, but it’s like a foggy glass where nothing makes quite enough sense. When she changes direction and heads in a very bad area, I know nothing good can come of it.

  She’s clearly having an attack, and I chase her. I run until I can’t. I follow until I lose my breath.

  I stop momentarily to catch my breath, placing my hands on my knees, sucking air through my nose.

  When I start up again, I don’t see her. Something’s wrong. She wouldn’t just disappear.

  I meander through the streets, searching for her, praying a Blanquito didn’t take her. Praying Los Perturbados didn’t get their hands on her. If so, she’ll be shipped in pieces.

  Fuck.

  After ten minutes of spinning and twirling around, I know something happened. She wouldn’t hide. She’s more of a runner, someone to keep going. Unless…

  Unless someone got her.

  I come to and see unfamiliar faces. They’re surrounding me while I’m laying on the floor of a building I don’t recognize. The older woman has a rag to my face, and the others watch silently as I try not to panic.

  “What happened?” I croak, my throat dry.

  They all look at me like they’ve never heard a lick of English before.
r />   A little boy, about eleven or so, comes toward me.

  “You fell, and they thought you had the heat sickness,” he says, his English better than most.

  A small smile escapes me, and I give him what I hope is an appreciative look.

  “Gracias,” I offer the group of people. This is the first time I’ve ever collapsed from a panic attack.

  Sy, my dad, the townspeople’s whispers. That’s why I had an attack.

  I try sitting up, but my body shakes.

  “No, no, no,” the older woman repeats until I stop trying to get up.

  “S-Sick,” one sounds out. He places his hand on my chest, forcing me to rest some more.

  I can’t believe these nice strangers are helping me, some random girl they don’t even know.

  The little boy towers over me. “Stay. Feel better.”

  I nod, resting my head back. I pat my body for my phone and remember I slipped it in the chest part of my dress. After I’ve located and pulled it free, I check for messages.

  Please, mi corazoncito, tell me you’re okay. I’m freaking out. Sy’s text is the first I see.

  Leia, where are you? Mamá texts.

  Baby girl, are you okay? My dad’s message reads. You disappeared, and Silas lost sight of you. I’m sorry I freaked out.

  I send a group text. Had a panic attack and collapsed. Some friendly people are nursing me back to good health.

  Immediately they all respond asking for my location.

  “Donde?” I ask, not knowing if that’s right or not.

  “Como se dice…” the older woman begins asking. How do you say? She nudges the little boy, smiling at her lack of English.

  He peers at me, his expression one of boyish delight. “A restaurant, Catarina’s,” he declares proudly.

  Catarina’s. I’m at this little cantina, Catarina’s.

  I’ll be there in ten, Mamá responds.

  Just as promised, she pulls up about ten minutes later. Her face is ashen. There’s blotchiness and fear etched there, too.

  “I’m so sorry, Mamá.” The tears come soon after, making my already hot face molten.

  “Oh, mi niña,” she coos, her tears freeing.

  She holds me while talking to them in Spanish. They all smile at her, and she shakes their hands. The older woman leaves a kiss on my forehead.

  The little boy hugs me. “Feel better,” he says before walking away.

  “What were you thinking, running in this heat?” she chastises, but I can tell her fear is more prominent than her anger.

  “Dad came to Sy’s, and I was scared he was going to hurt me. I’ve never seen him so mad, Mamá. He scared me.”

  That has her scowling, her brow furrowing.

  “Did he hurt you?” she asks, her voice hard and furious.

  “No, just held my shoulders a little too tight,” I answer, my lip wobbling.

  “Why were you with Sy?”

  “I-I …” I sob, not knowing how to cover up this fuck-up.

  Does she know? Does she see that I’m in love with her husband, that I’ve fucked him several times, all while they are married?

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she gently reassures me.

  She doesn’t push for more, and for that, I’m grateful.

  By the time we’re back to Azalea’s, I’m dead set on putting PR behind and heading home to Brax. I have to beg for his forgiveness and love. I was stupid to ever think this wouldn’t blow up in my face.

  “Can you drive me to the airport?” I ask Mamá later that night, after I’ve packed up everything and tow it down the stairs.

  “Absolutely not. You came here to get away from stress, not to go home and have more of it. Brax isn’t going anywhere, Leia. He needs time, and you need to figure out what you want in life.”

  “But, Mamá—” I start.

  “Don’t argue with me. I know what’s best, and he definitely needs space right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I’m making Silas stay with you. I can’t have you fainting and having panic attacks. I’ll make sure your father stays in his lane. I really had hoped to not see him—you included—but life has its way of throwing you a curveball.”

  I chuckle at her mention of a baseball term. It’s so unlike her, she hates sports.

  “I’m serious. Sy’ll stay here and keep you safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

  That’s exactly what I’m scared of. I’ve got no boundaries when he’s involved.

  “Okay, Mamá.”

  “Now go shower up and relax. We’ll chat before my flight.”

  I nod at her and head back upstairs to shower.

  Three days.

  Mamá is forcing me to stay for the remaining days to give Brax his space. She said it’s the only way to know if he truly loves me and I him. She has to go back to Dallas, and Sy is staying. This won’t be good.

  He told me he wants to show me around. Wants me to experience his home. I’m scared, terrified really, that if I let him get close to me, I’m done for. I’ll fall back into his trap. I’ll be back to the girl who is in love with a man who doesn’t share the same sentiment.

  He wants to get close, to spend time with me.

  He’s going to ruin me.

  I’m going to give him three days, even if she meant Brax. I’ll give Sy three days to be mine. Then maybe he’ll pick me, love me, or let me go, though I’m not ready for that alternative.

  If I do this… it won’t be enough.

  Unless he lets me go.

  He won’t, my heart hopes.

  He will, and he’ll ruin you, my mind doubts.

  For the past two years, I’ve lived my life on what ifs. For once, they won’t cut it anymore. What ifs will only hold me back, and I can’t keep running in circles for him. This short-extended period alone with him will have to be enough. It’ll have to be enough to prove that it’s real or not, if it’s stupid and ridiculous for me to love a man twice my age.

  I’ll have to live off the memories of him after if he doesn’t choose me.

  Because you can’t love a ghost, and that’s what Silas Esparza is.

  He’s a ghost, a distant memory, a well wish that I’ll never have. We’re not set in stone, and we never will be, but for the life of me, I’m willing to pretend for three days.

  Since three days is all I’m given, I’ll take it. If it goes the way my mind tells me it will, I’ll head back home and pick Brax, and we’ll make amends. It’ll be easy to ask for his forgiveness. It’s better to wait until after I’m done screwing up anyway. When my mind and heart aren’t at a crossroads without a map, then that outcome will be best. By then, it’ll be back to school and finals before graduation.

  Two months before I’m gone and then I can make roots here. I might as well make the time I have left count. I’ll have to make a trip back to the University and see if it’s realistic to envision myself there. I’ve been accepted into several Universities other than PR, but Puerto Rico is where I've always dreamed myself attending.

  I only applied to one Ivy and only did it to prove I could be accepted, and I was. Dartmouth has one of the best Psychology programs. That’s another reason I applied. It’s in New Hampshire. I’ve always wanted to be far from Cape Hill, but I’m not sure if it’s far enough.

  The entire ride driving her to the airport is silent. Whether it’s to do with the lack of sleep, or the fact that once again, Mamá will be travelling and will probably miss my graduation is uncertain. Either way, it’s awkward. At least I have Sy.

  “We’re not staying there,” Sy claims as soon as we drop her off at the gate.

  “And why not?” I ask, waving goodbye to her.

  I love Azalea, but Silva is always rude to me. He avoids the house most days, and I’m sure it has everything to do with his distaste of me, but why would Sy want to avoid staying there?

  “I need to have you alone,” he responds tersely.

  He doesn’t elaborate, but I don’t push it further
. When we get to Azalea’s, Sy leaves the car.

  “Stay,” he demands.

  I roll my eyes at him and allow him to boss me around. He rushes inside and is back out within ten minutes, my bags in tote.

  “Let’s go have fun, hmm?” he muses, his mood different.

  I laugh. Whenever he asks a rhetorical question, his eyes light up with this secret mischief I swear he saves just for me.

  He speeds off, and I turn on the reggaetón station and start singing. It’s like old times, back before we messed around, before there were true awkward barriers. Right now, it’s me and Sy, the old Sy, the one who took me on road trips and fútbol games. I’ve missed this side, the one I can honestly say is his best side. When I thought we were close, best friends even.

  “I miss this,” I muse when a commercial comes on.

  “Viagra commercials?” he deadpans without a trace of humor. If you know him like I do, that’s when you know he’s joking. He has horrible jokes.

  We both laugh when I can’t find a good rebuttal.

  “No. Us. I miss,” I gesture between us, “this.”

  “Me, too.”

  It’s two simple words, but my heart doesn’t get the memo. Instead, it races at the thought that he cares about me.

  For a few moments it stays silent, that is until another song picks back up. When I start singing again, and my heart feels a little lighter getting that off my chest, he reaches for my hand. He grabs it, lacing his fingers with mine. Then, so unlike him, he brings my knuckles to his lips, placing a kiss to the tender flesh. His lips are soft. The zing melts my walls, imprinting his compassion on my heart like a brand. I shiver, my entire body feeling the emotion conveyed in that little kiss. Sy doesn’t do romance, but right now, he could’ve fooled me.

  We arrive at this huge resort not too long after we leave Azalea’s. It’s not one I’ve ever seen before. There’s a lot I haven’t explored in P.R.. It’s not like I grew up here or have stayed long while visiting.

  He stops at the valet, coming to my side to open my door. I smile like a lovestruck teen, taking his welcoming hand.

  He gives the valet the spare key and a tip, and then, we’re heading inside. The receptionist watches us come in, but her gaze is perusing Sy, and it has jealousy itching, making me want to claw at her.