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⊰ 35 ⊱ Torn Between Worlds: Part 1
My body shivers beneath my soft pink sweater and blue jeans as I cross my arms just beneath my breasts. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the familiar black SUV pull up beside the one Marcel, Frank, Rick, and I have just emerged from. Just before Guillermo and his men step out of it, another one, identical, parks beside us, and this time, I can’t help but turn to look, watching Levi and Santiago step out of them wearing an unreadable look on their faces.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of Levi, uneasy and bitter that this is where we stand now. All this time, everything we’ve done, and somehow, here we are, standing beside the men who discarded our parents and tore us apart.
I suppose it was inevitable. It was either this or death.
I just want to get the hell out of here.
I hug myself tighter as the cold winter air flicks my loose hair to the side, feeling my skin breakout in goosebumps. My eyes gloss over the target
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The ringing in my ears gradually subsides as I blink away the haze, the world around me slowly coming back into focus. The feeling of Marcel’s hand on my shoulder is a distraction, and after a moment, I find it in me to look up at him, seeing him standing beside me, a glint of concern in his eyes despite the stoic mask he attempts to wear. It’s only then that I register the wet tears on my cheeks, growing colder as the cold wind blows. Embarrassed, I quickly bring my hand up to my face, concealed by the sleeve of my sweater. I wipe my face, ducking my head in a futile attempt to hide the evidence of my regret. I can’t let anyone else see me this way—vulnerable, weak. Especially Guillermo. It’s as though he was waiting for the perfect cue, hearing the sound of slow, deliberate clapping from behind Marcel. My heart sinks as I shift my gaze to see Guillermo emerging, walking towards us, a sinister smile playing on his lips. “Well done,” he says, his voice tinged with a cold satisfacti
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I stand before the mirror in my bedroom, staring at my reflection as my mind wanders elsewhere. The car ride backhomewas silent, the weight of everything that had happened looming in the air like an airborne sickness. The light humming of the air brushing against the SUV as Rick drove us down the empty country road offered a semblance of relief, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, the worst had been left at that hilltop where we parted ways with Guillermo, his men, Levi, and Santiago. Unfortunately, whoever’s writing my story has a pretty fucking sick sense of humor, always finding a way to pull the rug out from under me just when I think I’ve found my footing. As the adrenaline began to fade, the reality of my situation came crashing down on me. Nausea hit me like a tidal wave, a sickening twist in my stomach that I couldn’t ignore. My voice was low and strained as I said, “Stop the car.” Marcel looked over at me, concern e
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I throw my head back, laughing as I remind Levi of the time he tried to make me breakfast in bed for my 15th birthday and nearly burned down the kitchen. “Remember how the smoke alarm went off and you were running around like a headless chicken, trying to air out the house before I woke up?” I tease him, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. He shakes his head, chuckling as he takes a sip of his Coke. “Yeah, well, I never said I was a fucking chef,” he retorts, a grin playing on his lips. On a picnic table, we sit side by side, in the parking lot of a food truck lot. The remnants of our taco feast lay scattered on the white paper plates before us, the scent of cilantro and lime lingering in the air. It’s all too familiar, a reminiscence of the countless nights we spent together, just me and him, trying to figure out how to live a world without our parents. And that’s why I did all the cooking. “You know,” he says, his voice tinge
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