❝How lucky I am to have known somebody and something that saying goodbye to is so damned awful.❞

-The Other Side of the Mountain by Evans G. Valens

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"Lila Aleja Cabrera Diaz. What in God's name is in your nose?"

This is the dialogue of a mother enraged.

Avoiding exactly this, I've been hiding my nose ring from her, but by the following Friday, Mama finally notices. You know how I've mentioned many times that even the smallest thing out of place could cause my mom to have an aneurysm or conniption fit or some combination thereof? Well, here's the prime example. She's been more irritable since the news about Abuela, and I think this is the last straw.

Mama's voice is as cool as ice, which is arguably worse than yelling. She's staring me down from across the kitchen island; I glance to my sister, who is juggling a soccer ball nearby, for help, but she just gives me a look that says, Well, you're screwed.

Outside, rain is beating down violently, its clouds swathing the kitchen in shadows. It seems like Ashdown weather almost always matches my mood.

"It's a nose ring," I say calmly, hoping I can get this over with quickly. I'm walking on a knife edge here, but after all I've been through, a little anger and a week or two of being grounded doesn't mean a thing anymore.

"And where did you get it?" Mama's eyes narrow as an edge creeps in to her frown. "I heard that a bunch of dropouts were giving permanent tattoos out behind the Cumbies - were they giving piercings too?"

That sounds like something Kat would say. I don't know where my family members keep getting their information about illegal activity behind the gas station - considering I've never heard of anything happening back there - but it's starting to become irrational. I swear, gossip will be the death of me. Metaphorically, of course.

"What? No!" Incredulous, I search my aching mind for a explanation, but then realize I have none. How am I supposed to tell Mama I got the piercing as part of a quest to satisfy my soul before I die? How can I say that the man - or being - responsible was a grim reaper?

Mama presses her lips together. For a moment, I expect her tan skin to explode into furious color, for her voice to heighten wildly like the flames of a fire. Instead, all she does is take a deep breath through her nose and shake her head. "Mija, I understand you're probably still reeling from the news about Abuela. And after Will, I know it's especially hard for you. But you don't have to-" she waves her hand at my face - "Do that. You look like a lopsided bull."

She's not angry - just exasperated. The pity she obviously has for me must've sucked out all the wrath. Somehow, this is even worse than before. I'd rather have her yell at me for a minute before sending me to my room than have a full-on grief counseling session.

"I didn't do this because of Abuela," I insist, frowning. "I've always wanted a nose ring."

I can tell she doesn't believe me, based on her sigh and how she replies, "Lila, you know I get what you're going through. I may not have the nightmares, or the flashbacks, or the instability, but... I know what it's like to grieve."

My skin goes cold, and behind me, I hear Kat cough and quickly exit the room. Now it's just my mother and I, and the former is looking at me like I'm a beloved cat who just threw up on the carpet. An animal who is frustrating, but too damn helpless to stay truly mad at.

It's almost unbearable.

She may be right about the grieving part, but I've realized that the mentality this whole situation has given me is much worse and much stronger than just grief. Besides, even though she acts like she wants me to open up to her, I don't think she really wants to hear some of the things I've done. Dancing with death, traveling in time, leaving the country on multiple occasions? No amount of pity would be able to save me from those reactions.

Some little spark of anger lights in my heart. Just because Papa's gone doesn't mean she always knows what I'm thinking, no matter the circumstance.

Stubborn, I swear, "Mama, I'm fine. I just... wanted a nose ring. It looks cool."

My mother's dark frown melts to become even more condoling.  Unaware of how cliche she sounds, she responds, "You don't need to come up with excuses. Despite what you might think, I'm not mad, just disappointed. If you wanted a nose ring, you should've talked to me. But I don't think that's all there is to it."

Outside the window, the cold, unfeeling rain has started to dissipate into a drizzle, but my mood has only gotten stormier. As the house groans with the weight of the remaining wind, I scowl and cross my arms. "That is all there is to it. I'm not lashing out. I've... made my peace with the situation."

That's a bad way to put it. The only reason I'm not sulking around, wallowing in grief about Abuela is because I know I'll see her again soon. But I can't explain that to Mama.

I could never explain my PTSD to her, either. My nightmares were always so much more than just bad dreams, and my flashbacks were always so much more than just dark memories. With all the mornings I've woken up afraid, drenched in sweat and doused in imaginary blood, it feels like I've had to relive that crash a million times.

Mama may know what it's like to lose your soulmate, but she doesn't know what it's like to watch him die all over again every time you close your eyes.

I know she's probably just trying to help me, but there's just something grating in her voice... an unbreakable sense of confidence, like she knows every complex layer of my heart. She just keeps staring at me, scanning my face for any sign that what she believes is true.

As my heart starts to beat faster, I clench my jaw. "Seriously, I'm fine. Stop pretending to know me so well."

"Lila," my mother asserts, "I do know you. And I know you're probably feeling hopeless, and scared, and-"

"You don't know me!" I exclaim suddenly, cutting her off. "You're at work like 90% of the time, and whenever you come home, you act more like our older sister visiting from college than our mom! You know less about Kat than even I do, you do nothing for me but give endless, empty pity, and you don't get to tell me what I'm feeling!"

Appalled, my mother looks like I've just slapped her. On an emotional level, I pretty much have.

I don't know where that came from. I've never resented Mama for her dedication to work before, but perhaps it's always been in the back of my mind, festering until the day I'd let it out. Either way, I instantly feel guilty, which makes me even madder.

The truth is cool and harsh. I had to accept it a long time ago. Mama will have to accept it now.

My mother presses her lips together like she's trying her hardest to not start yelling at me in Spanish. Nostrils flaring slightly, she tilts her head up and says, "You're grounded."

Oh thank god, I think to myself. This is what I originally saw coming, and it only shows how disjointed she truly is from my life. She thinks grounding me is an effective punishment for talking back? I already do nothing but sit inside and listen to musical theater soundtracks and dream about the past.

My heart is beating much too fast, like it always is, but I nod curtly, turn on my heel, and leave the room without looking back. I've been waiting for her to hand down the consequences; I never wanted a lesson on my own emotions. Yet, as I climb quickly back up to my room, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath me, I remember what exactly got us into this fight in the first place - the nose ring, which I got after I found out about Abuela's death.

Was it cruel of me to suddenly snap at Mama this soon? Was she right in some way, and this is just me lashing out? By the time I reach my bedroom door, my conscious is telling me to turn back around and go apologize, but then my entire body gets a soul-racking chill.

Taking a sharp breath, I spin on my heel, only to see that it's just Mor. Leaning against the door to the bathroom, right down the hall, he's looking at me expectantly and tossing his scythe between his hands like it's a baseball.

"Lila, dearest," he drawls, "If it's any consolation, I don't think you look like a lopsided bull. Although that's mostly because I have no idea what she means by that."

I give him the evil eye. "Wow, thanks."

He bares his fanged grin in reply, showing that his normal swagger is back. In the dark corners of my mind, the question of what made him leave so abruptly last time is begging to be answered. Part of me wants to inquire into his secrets, but the other part knows he'll shut down if I so much as ask where he went. Before I can decide whether his mysteries are more important than his companionship, he says, "Are you planning on staying in your room all day, moping around?"

"Only if you don't have something else for me to do."

Mor pushes himself away from the door and drifts a step towards me, his black cashmere cloak brushing against the floor. As he nears, I notice his face has become even more malnourished than before, with dark spots circling his lower eyelids and... a bruise, right at the corner of his mouth, faded with time but still slightly discolored.

What happened to him?  I wonder to myself. Did he get punched in a fight or something?  He doesn't seem like the type to take his aggression out like that, but then I remember the myriad of things he's hiding from me.

If the reaper notices my curiosity, he doesn't say anything; all he does is hold out his hand. "You said last time we talked that you want to go somewhere. It wasn't the right time then, but I believe it is now."

I momentarily push my questions aside and pause to make sure Mama isn't anywhere near the stairs. I can hear her shoes clicking as she walks, but they're going in the opposite direction of the stairwell, towards the front entrance, where the noise of the front door opening and closing confirms she's just left. To where, who knows. 

Still feeling slightly guilty and yet bitter about our little fight, I'm reluctant to take Mor's hand. But I suppose if she's leaving, I might as well too. Perhaps after we both cool down, we can work this out normally. Maybe she'll come to her senses and realize how strange my situation is... or maybe I'll come to my senses and accept her pity for once.

"Where are you going to take me?"

"You have a good memory, it seems," Mor gives as an answer. "So, try to remember where you may have wanted to go throughout your youth."

Cuba, again? Broadway? Those are perhaps the only specific locations I can think of. Everything else - the South, California, Texas - were only in my dreams because I'd always planned on going there with Will. Any other place that could've been on my bucket list already was.

An anxious, excited knot forms in my stomach as I say, "I have no idea. Where? Some place good, some place bad?"

If Mor's eyes were normal, I'm sure he would've just rolled them back so far all you'd see is white. Without stopping to make a comment about how inane I am, he just grabs my hand and groans, "You'll see."

Within that moment, the farm house fades away around me, and immediately I feel the difference. Thick humidity and the perfume of waffle cones and pumpkin fill the air, along with the sounds of Halloween music and people laughing.

My eyes fly open to see a long street ahead of me, filled with people and lined with turn-of-the-century buildings. Each storefront and curbside is decorated with artificial jack-o-lanterns and string lights, casting an orange glow over everything, from the tourists taking pictures to the employees selling balloons and plastic swords. My eyes flicker to the horizon, and I see, not so far in the distance, a castle with white turrets and sapphire spires, like something out of a fairy tale painted against the tangerine sunset sky.

Just like Paris, my heart leaps as my location dawns on me. Of course, I think to myself. Of course. Why didn't I think of it before?

Long before My Chemical Romance and In The Heights, my idols were Gabriella Montez and Ariel and Belle, and the songs they sung will always be some of my favorite melodies. This goal on my bucket list is a rehashing of an elementary school dream, one that I don't think has ever truly faded away. The heat and the magic and the smiles on people's faces are enough to tell me that I was right all along for wanting to see this place at least once. The time has finally come, not for something life-changing, but for something made of pure nostalgia... Walt Disney World.

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A/N: I'm so sorry this is late again! I'm a mess, but I promise, I try my best!! Please vote and comment (:

Anyway... Eeek I can't wait to write the next chapter, because I adore Disney!

Positive vibes, everyone! Stay awesome (:

xoxo, Athena

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