His jaw dropped, and he shook his head slowly. The shoulder-length, glossy hair that I’d loved so much swayed around his square jaw. His hands raised in an almost placating gesture, and he backed away. As soon as he reached the broken front door, he turned on his heel and sprinted off down the street, disappearing from the nightmare I was trapped in.
A low groan dragged my attention back inside the house. My father lay on the bright, patterned rug where I played with Mario every morning. His arm stuck out at an odd angle. It’d knocked down the colorful block tower I’d built with my baby brother only a few hours ago.
Blood trailed down his cheek in crimson rivulets, pouring from a gash that bisected his forehead. His mouth opened wide, and his hand extended toward my mother. The howl of a wounded animal reverberated through our house. It crushed in on my chest, shoving the air from my lungs.
“Mamá!” Gabriela’s wail shredded my insides, and my eyes moved to her as though drawn to a car crash; unable to avoid watching a horrific event unfold.
Her small hands clutched my mother’s shoulders, frail fingers digging into her dress as she shook her unresponsive body.
A colorful stain had blossomed on my mother’s yellow dress; deepest crimson at the center of her chest, blooming to bright red as its petals unfurled.
Our small, joyful house was flooded with a grating scream; the sound of our home shattering beyond repair.
Strong hands closed around my shoulders, dragging me away from my family.
“No!” I wailed.
I twisted against the man’s iron grip, but he only pulled me closer.
“Marisol.” He shook me gently. “Marisol, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”
A rich, earthy scent suffused the air around me, and I gasped in a desperate breath. As it filtered into my lungs, my body absorbed it like a drug.
“Raúl.” His name hitched on a sob, and I buried my face in his hard chest, greedily drawing in more of his unique, calming scent.
His brawny arms enfolded me, one hand bracing between my shoulder blades and the other cradling the back of my head, urging me closer. “It’s all right, corderita.” He brushed his thick fingers through my hair in a soothing rhythm. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He continued to pet me until I eventually settled back into my current reality with him. Exhaustion settled in my bones, weighing me down. I couldn’t have moved away from Raúl’s reassuring heat even if I’d wanted to, and I stayed snuggled as close to him as possible. There was nowhere else I’d rather be.
In his strong arms, I was safe. Gehovany couldn’t get to me. He couldn’t hurt the people I loved.
Reading the renewed tension in my body, Raúl finally spoke. “Tell me what happened.”
I hesitated, holding my breath to lock my confession in my chest. I didn’t want to speak my sin aloud. The memories alone were sharp enough to stab deep into my soul.
His hand slid from my hair to firmly grip my nape. “Tell me.”
Compelled by his deep command and domineering, primal hold, words spilled from my lips. “I killed my mother.”
The bloody flower blooming on her yellow dress filled my mind, and a shudder wracked my body.
“How?” His low, even tone betrayed no condemnation or revulsion. He simply prompted me to continue.
“I…” My throat constricted, but he remained silent, waiting. “There was a man. Gehovany.” His name coated my tongue in acid. “We…we were together. I lived with him.” Shame burned my insides. “We weren’t married, but I moved in with him. My parents warned me. They said it wasn’t right. They said a good man wouldn’t ask me to do such a thing.”
Bitterness twisted my lips. “But I didn’t listen. I thought I was bravely independent, choosing to live my life however I wanted. At the time, their expectations for my behavior felt like a cage. And I thought Gehovany was freedom. I felt wild when I was with him, caught up in the whirlwind of romance.”
When I paused for too long, Raúl gave my neck a gentle squeeze. Despite my vulnerable position, calm emanated from his firm hold in a warm pulse. He willed me to continue, giving me no choice but to confess everything.
His control was oddly comforting. I didn’t have to bear the burden of my crushing guilt alone anymore, because he simply wouldn’t let me. I’d thought speaking my sins aloud would hurt worse than holding them inside, but sharing them with Raúl seemed to be lifting a bit of the weight with each word I spoke.
“Gehovany changed once I moved in with him.” I shook my head. That wasn’t right. “He started to show me who he really was, and he stopped showering me with the affection that’d made me fall for him, hard and fast.”
I closed my eyes against a hot wave of shame. It burned behind my eyelids, and tears slipped through my lashes.
“I couldn’t tell my parents the truth,” I whispered. “They’d given me every chance to stay at home—they’d demanded that I stay. But I’d thrown their loving concern in their faces. I told them they didn’t know what love is, and if they did, they would understand how I felt about Gehovany.
“How could I go back to them for help when I’d been so cruel?” That thought had haunted me every time Gehovany had beaten me. I’d wanted so desperately to leave, but I was too ashamed to go home.
“But then, one day…” I shuddered at the memory of that awful day, when he’d come home with blood on his hands. Blood that wasn’t mine.
That’d been when I’d learned of his involvement with the gang. The dangerous vibe about him that I’d found so thrilling was an evil deep in his soul. I’d relished his darkness during our wild, rough sex, especially in the early days of our relationship.
Something about seeing the blood on his hands had jolted me out of my acceptance of my life with him. When the pain had solely been inflicted on me, I’d endured it silently. I’d known that I’d brought it upon myself, so I didn’t deserve to escape back to the safety of my parent’s house.
But knowing that Gehovany hurt other people, too…
It wasn’t for my own sake that I’d found the strength to leave. It was because I knew people in our community would find out about his involvement with the gang. I knew there would be rumors and condemning whispers. My parents would become a target for derision; their wayward daughter had chosen to love a criminal.
“One day, I realized I had to leave.” I didn’t tell Raúl about Gehovany’s gang involvement. That edged too close to my confused feelings about Raúl’s criminal lifestyle. Sharing the crushing load of this burden with him was the most merciful relief, and I didn’t want to spoil our intimacy.
“My parents welcomed me home with open arms.” Wet heat spilled down my cheeks at the memory of my father’s perfunctory rebuke before he’d pulled me in for a fierce hug. “But Gehovany wouldn’t let me go. He came for me. My parents tried to protect me, but…” I swallowed down the lump in my throat, forcing out the last of my confession. “He shot my mother when she stood in his way. She shielded me—and my little sister and baby brother—with her body. She died because of me.” I admitted on a pained whisper.