It was late in the night as Amos sat upright on his childhood bed, turning the pages of Carmela's journal. His stomach was in knots reading her words. She needed to leave with Ben and never look back at Rodrigo, just like he did with Lorena. In the weeks since their breakup, she called several times, wanting to meet, and work out their differences, but he had no desire to.

Maybe one day, when the sting of her betrayal didn't make him so angry, he would tolerate seeing her again, but for the time being, he was keeping his distance.

A yawn escaped Amos's mouth, contorting his face as he stretched and flattened himself on the bed. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, it was past midnight, and despite being tired, he needed to know if Carmela would go through with leaving Rodrigo for Ben. So he continued reading.

Dear Diary,

Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things to do. There are certain times in my life where I've felt every ounce of my heart torn apart by emotional claws, digging and raking it to shreds. Whether it's an indefinite goodbye, walking away from someone you love, or them walking away from you-the pain lingers, like a stain of red wine, marking you forever. Saying goodbye to my family that fateful day was a pain I'll never forget.

However, the departure that still causes a deep pang in my heart is when Ben said goodbye to me.

It was a month after the tour ended and -

Amos turned the page, his eyes scanning for more, his heart pounding, but found the other side blank. He returned to the previous page and reread the words as if it would make more appear, but when he turned the page again, the other side remained blank.

"No... No, no, no." He fanned through the journal but found blank page after blank page. "No!"

The journal crumpled in his fist as he glared at it. Where was the rest? Offended by the incomplete entry, he chucked the entire thing across the room, and it landed with a thunk next to a box of vinyl records. His heart sank into his stomach, leaving his hands vacant and frigid. Why did Ben say goodbye to Carmela? What happened to them being together!?

The bedroom door creaked open, and Amos glanced up to find Carlos sticking his face through the crack.

"Dude, what the hell?" his brother asked.

"Ah, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing in here?" Carlos stepped inside. "Jerking off?"

"What? No!"

"Hey, man, it's ok if you are. Just keep it down. Mom is right next door."

"Carlos, I wasn't jerking off."

"Hey, that's your business, not mine. Maybe yank a little quieter."

"Carlos!"

"But remember, too much masturbation leads to blindness," he grinned but dodged when Amos chucked a pillow at him. "Easy, easy. You might need that to muffle the sounds."

"Get out." He threw another pillow.

"No need for violence."

"Out!"

"Sure, sure, I'll let you get back to blowing your load but use a little lotion or something. It makes the glide smoother."

"Carlos, I swear to God."

"God wouldn't step foot in this room of filth and sin."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Fine, fine, I'm out." The door clicked closed behind him, but seconds later, it squeaked back open. "For real, man, are you alright?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it."

"Ok, but you know I'm across the hall if you need to talk."

"I know."

"Good. But if you seek me out, try not to get too mushy. You know I hate getting in my feels. It's bad for my reputation."

"Your poor, poor girlfriend. She has no idea what she's getting into with you."

"That's ok. What I lack in maturity I make up for in my pants." Carlos winked with a slight hip thrust.

Amos facepalmed himself. "Out, Carlos. Out."

"Night, bro."

This time when Carlos closed the door, he didn't come back, and the room was steeped in silence again. Amos glanced at the journal and felt his stomach twist at the incomplete entry taunting him from across the hardwood floor. However, staring at it wouldn't make the pages fill with words, so he dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes.

Now he would never know what became of Carmela, and a piece of him felt torn apart with a dull, jagged blade as he held his stomach and curled his knees up to his chest.

It took a while, but eventually, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

In the days that followed, Amos continued thinking about the incomplete journal. It didn't matter if he was giving a guitar lesson, substituting for a class, or washing dishes. His mind would always drift to Carmela's words. Then, late at night, he would reread some of the entries, searching for clues, but mostly to hold onto her hopeful nature. She was so much like him-wanting to see the best in people and giving her entire heart, even if they offered little of themselves in return.

It was mid-week as he sat at the kitchen table with Carlos, pushing around eggs and chorizo with a warm tortilla, his mind on Carmela again.

"What's with you, man?"

"Hm, what?" Amos looked up.

"I swear, all week, you've been moping about looking miserable. Please don't tell me this is because of Lorena."

"Ay, por Dios, no," their mother said over her shoulder, pouring some coffee. "You are so much better without her."

"It's not about Lorena, I promise."

"Then what is it?" Carlos leaned forward, his mouth full of eggs. "Did your dick fall off?"

"Carlos!" Their mother smacked his head.

"What?" He shrugged. "I'd be depressed if my dick fell off."

"Mijo..." She narrowed her eyes. "You're pushing it with the bad language at my table. Do you talk this way in front of Cassandra?"

"Are you kidding?" Amos chuckled. "He's worse!"

"Carlos, is this true?" Her eyes widened as she reached over and smacked his arm.

"Oh, he's filthy," Amos added.

"Dios, por que?" She stared at the ceiling. "Por qué me diste un hijo tan irrespetuoso?"

"Mom, don't be so dramatic. I'm very respectful. In fact, I'm a damn gentleman." Carlos popped a piece of tortilla into his mouth.

"Gentleman, right..." Amos sipped his coffee.

"Listen, let's not get away from the real focus here," Carlos said. "Something is up with you."

"It's nothing."

"No, mijo, your brother is right. You seem sad." Their mother frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sad. I'm... I don't know. I finished reading that journal, but the last entry is incomplete. So I have no idea what happens to Carmela."

"Oh boy." Carlos rolled his eyes. "I'd feel bad, except Cass offered to help you find her, and you said no."

"Find who? Who is Carmela?"

"Someone Amos fell in love with."

"Que?" Their mother's eyes widened with a grin.

"I did not fall in love with her. We don't even know if she's real."

"What do you mean, not real?" Their mother crinkled her brows. "I'm lost."

"It's nothing, mom. Just a silly journal I found about a woman named Carmela."

"Silly journal?" Carlos chuckled and glanced at their mom. "Oh, please, he was obsessed and fell in love."

"I did not!"

"Listen, bro, you're a romantic, and you wear your heart on your sleeve. It's not a bad thing."

"I didn't fall in love with her. I just," Amos sighed. "Related to her, I guess."

"So, you don't want Cass to help you find her?" Carlos narrowed his gaze.

Amos scooted the eggs around, his senses ticking as the tortilla left behind swirls of orange grease from the chorizo. He could deny it all day, but deep down, he would always want to know what became of Carmela. But what if he found her and was disappointed in the outcome? What if it was better to keep her as a fantasy? Yet, the truth throbbed at his temples because Amos knew that not knowing would indefinitely haunt him. So the only fix was to find her.

Without looking up at his brother, he answered. "Fine. Let's find her."

∆∆∆

A few weeks went by, and every time his phone chimed, Amos fumbled for it, eager for an update from Cassandra. However, each time he checked, it was either his brother, a guitar student or a message to substitute a class. So, as he stood in another pawn shop on a Sunday morning, browsing the guitars hanging on the wall, he didn't bother answering his phone.

Instead, he plucked a glossy, sunburst-orange, hollow body Gretsch guitar from the wall and took a seat on an amp. He already owned a Gretsch guitar, but the vibrant color was begging to become part of his collection and would fit perfectly next to the ocean turquoise one he had. As he stroked the strings, he drifted into his happy place, where only music lived. Then, after a while, he made up his mind and decided to buy it.

When he exited the pawnshop and stepped onto the busy sidewalk, he inhaled the afternoon sunshine in a deep breath. Anytime he held a new treasure, it was as if all the negativity in his life wilted away, renewing him. But this time, as he stood there, he didn't experience the same euphoria, and his shoulders drooped.

Then those plaguing thoughts crept into his mind. What became of Carmela? Why did Ben say goodbye?"

And that's when he remembered he missed a call. Checking his phone, he saw a text.

Cassandra: FOUND HER. We have an address! Call me ASAP.