𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙖𝙘𝙩, 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚.
SECTION THREE: CYCLES—0001.

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CHRISTENED BY HER MOTHER WITH THE MIDDLE NAME DULCE, A WORD LADEN WITH SWEETNESS IN SPANISH, WILMARIE WAS MEANT TO EMBODY AN INNATELY DELIGHTFUL AND CHARMING PERSONALITY, AMENABLE LIKE A DELICATE FLOWER UNFURLING IN A LUSH GARDEN OF BLOSSOMING ORCHIDS AND ROSES FREE OF THORNS. Yulissa chose it because she envisioned her youngest daughter as a wellspring of warmth in the isolated, all-American culture that had left her jaded; she is supposed to be soft-hearted and gentle, like the sweetest confectionery treat. The way Yulissa was meant to be if she had stayed in the Dominican Republic—docile yet indelible, softly spoken but with a captivating presence. Lovely, like the lingering taste of honey on the tongue. Unforgettable like the last treat of a diabetic before the sugar rush killed them.

She is her mother's last daughter: All of Yulissa's fantasies and dreams were born again in her, the final opportunity to see her hopes and aspirations come to fruition in a world that denied her a taste of the sweetness she craved.

Wilmarie is Yulissa's youngest daughter.
She is also her greatest disappointment.

It isn't that she didn't try, because Wilmarie did. She made a sincere effort, pouring out all the honesty from her heart into her mother's expectations. She was born with a beaming smile and a dimple on her cheek to please her mother, small-framed and fragile, bursting with a compassion that shattered her permanently, twirling in dresses and straightening her hair each week like a good girl no matter the pain, always happy, forever jovial—but if Yulissa had hoped to nurture an evening primrose, she instead found herself tending to a vindictive belladonna.

She didn't want to be the way she is, but there was a certain satisfaction in each argument with Yulissa—provoking a reaction from her mother, be it a slap that left bruised cheeks for days, or bleeding scratches down her arms. It was exhilarating causing her proud mother to abandon her self-proclaimed sainthood and utter unholy words. It felt gratifying when church friends scrutinized Wilmarie for wearing a shirt too tight or a skirt too short. The knowledge of failing Yulissa by kissing too many girls or hooking up with far too many guys brought a certain pleasure—it felt good. It felt nice.

Truthfully, Wilmarie couldn't explain why she carried such intense hatred for her mother now. The precise moment when love metamorphosed into resentment was lost to her, but it simmered relentlessly beneath her teeth and tongue, corroding away the dulcet disposition her mother had cursed her with.

She isn't like... him, who regarded his mother as if Sally had plucked every star from the sky and aligned them to create a celestial path of adoration, illuminating his every step. No, Wilmarie's feelings were far more unreasonable—moronic, illogical and meaningless, unimportant, tangled in a web of unspoken disappointments and unfulfilled expectations, and the failure Wilmarie grew up to be.

It had been satisfying. Ruining all of her mother's dreams had brought a sense of fulfillment; Wilmarie never wanted to carry any of them. However, even she had to acknowledge that she might have taken it a bit too far now.

The damned positive test result sprawled across the cold bathroom floor seemed to mock her further, taunting and ridiculing her.

At the very least, her mother couldn't beat her for teen pregnancy. Yulissa knows hypocrisy is still considered a sin.

As if they were thinking the same thing, Thiago and Ilaria exchanged a knowing glance; her brother looked vaguely amused, somewhere deep beneath the disapproval that clouded his expression, while her oldest sister cackled like a demented witch, finding amusement in Wilmarie's misfortune.

"It was going to be me or you," Ilaria laughed, sitting inside the bathtub; Leaning on the toilet—she had truly reached rock bottom like that—Wilmarie sniffled miserably, the skin of her cheeks rubbed dry from the constant flow of tears. Thiago, who hadn't let go of her hand even when she had puked up all over him earlier, squeezed it gently, offering silent support.

"How would it be you?" Thiago scolded Ilaria. "You smoke so many roaches that you can barely function. No fuckin' way anyone would want you as their bum-ass baby mama."

The girl raised her hands in surrender. "I'm just saying!" Ilaria rolled her eyes. "Wils is fine. Mama Abuela had Mom at, like, thirteen, and Mami had Alvie at fourteen. Sixteen is ancient in comparison."

A whimper escaped her lips; Wilmarie gasped breathlessly, struggling to find the right words. It took Thiago's hand touching the back of her neck soothingly to bring her back to the present moment. "Do I look like I'm fine?" She shouted at her sister, clawing at the floor blindly until she grabbed the damned pregnancy test and chucked at her.

Ilaria shrieked with disgust.

"Coño!" Ilaria recoiled in horror as the pregnancy test flew towards her, narrowly missing her face. "What the fuck, Wilmarie?!" she yelled.

Thiago quickly grabbed Wilmarie's shoulders before she could jump up and lunge at Ilaria. "Cálmate, cálmate!" He said it hurriedly, wide-eyed with concern. "Chill before—"

Outside of the bathroom, someone knocked.

The three siblings froze as Alvie's voice called out, "Is everything okay in there?"

Wilmarie covered her mouth with her hands again before she ended up throwing up all over her brother again. Thiago exchanged distraught looks with Ilaria. "Who was the last person to say they were going to the bathroom?" Thiago demanded in a strained hush, panic creeping into his voice. The three siblings jumped when another knock resounded on the bathroom door.

"I'm—I'm on my period! Go away!" Ilaria screamed desperately. "It fuckin' stinks, and it hurts!"

A moment of nothingness followed, the silence thick with tension. The siblings held their breath, waiting for a response or any sign of movement outside the door. Just when Wilmarie began to think they were safe, the doorknob turned slowly. It was still locked, but it wouldn't be the first time Alvie had managed to pick a lock.

"Really?" The oldest sibling asked snidely from the other side, his voice dripping with skepticism as he rattled the locked door. "Because I remember seeing Gogo enter the bathroom a while ago, sayin' he had to shit, and an hour before that, Wils told me she was going to take a shower. She never came out. Her chanclas are still here by the door."

"We're saving water by using the bathroom together," Thiago pleaded. "We're just trying to be more environmentally conscious! Lowering the bills and all that shit!"

Tears swelled up again in Wilmarie's eyes as she realized their excuse was not going to convince Alvie. The sound of the doorknob turning grew louder, and panic gripped her. It built up in her throat, slimily rising up, making it difficult to breathe. She turned to Thiago, searching for reassurance, but his expression mirrored her own fear.

As the door swung open, Wilmarie's heart sank.

She frantically clamped her hands over her mouth, but it was useless. 

The door opened, and a torrent of vomit erupted from her, splattering all over her eldest brother before he could react.

Alvie stood frozen in shock, unable to process the chaotic scene unfolding before him. 

The putrid smell filled the air. Wilmarie's body trembled with embarrassment; the room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of her heavy breathing. In the bathtub, Ilaria retched drily, her body convulsing with each heave as she desperately tried to hold back the overwhelming nausea.

Ilaria threw up, groaning as the acidic bile burned her throat.

Thiago cursed, covering his face. "It was occupied," he complained, his voice muffled by his hands.

Wimarie burst into tears.

Alvie's tongue pressed against his cheek with a palpable sense of annoyance. His brow furrowed intensely, resembling a storm brewing on his face, with anger glaring in his eyes like lightning flashes. His tousled black curls clung to his forehead, still damp from the shower he had taken in their mother's personal bathroom, while the three siblings cleaned up the mess they had made in their shared one.

Water trickled without rhythm down the contours of his face—a drop down the bridge of his nose, another down his left cheek—but Alvie didn't seem to be bothered by it. He continued to pace back and forth across the living room in a defeating silence. His clenched fists trembled as he structured his thoughts, knuckles turning white; he would bite his bottom lip until it matched in shade, then he would breathe out slowly through his nose. Her oldest brother is gentle like that; he did not raise his voice or lift a hand in anger, refusing to succumb to the outbursts of rage inherited from their father.

It was the most terrifying thing in the universe. Her brother's silence captured all of his disappointment without uttering a single word, a chasm that seemed impossible to bridge.

"How far along are you?" Alvie questioned; she could feel his eyes desperately searching for answers in her own. Wilmarie averted her gaze. Instead, she fixated on the effortless descent of the droplets down his jaw, down his jaw, deliberately bypassing the distress knifed into his face. She searched for a semblance of normality in the simplicity of the water's path.

"Two months." She whispered, her voice barely audible.

Roughly cradling his jaw, her brother continued nodding, as though it could remedy everything. "Two months," Alvie echoed. "You have options still. There are injections—pills, if you're scared. It won't hurt. We don't have to tell Mami. She can't force you to keep it. I can take you to a clinic without her finding out. I can sign all the paperwork, Wils. You just have to agree."

And it was that—the pleading in his voice. A desperation that she had never heard before. It was a gnashing contrast to his usual hard-ass demeanor. It hurt, because here's the thing—Wilmarie discovered fulfillment in disappointing Yulissa because it felt like a form of payback for all the times she had let them down. From marrying an abusive man and fostering their love for him despite his mistreatment to neglecting their needs and prioritizing her own desires. Wilmarie harbored a gnawing resentment toward Yulissa for failing to protect them. But Alvie is the eldest child, her oldest brother. He had to parent them and Yulissa. He was the one who stayed up late at night to help with homework and soothe nightmares when Yulissa was too busy drinking her sorrows away. From the time he was born, he had always been the responsible one, the pillar holding everything together. But now, she could see the weight of the situation bearing down on him; it was as unmistakable as the fear and uncertainty in his hazel eyes. The strain of their family's struggles forced Alvie to grow up faster than any child deserved, taking on responsibilities far beyond his years. It was never a role he wanted to play, but circumstances had forced him into it. Alvie had dreams and aspirations of his own, but they always took a backseat to the needs of his siblings and mother.

Having a child now would shatter any semblance of stability he had managed to establish. Wilmarie was well aware of this; she knew the extent of Alvie's sacrifices for his family to protect and provide for them. She couldn't possibly make things worse for him.

She had never, ever wanted to fail her brother.

Wilmarie loved him more than anything in the whole universe, except for...

Well, he knew.

Alvie stared at the ceiling, unable to bear the sight of her. "But you won't," her brother acknowledged, admitting it with a sense of defeat, closing his eyes. "Because the dad is Percy Jackson."

She doesn't understand why she still clings to hope. She recognizes that she's merely awaiting something that won't come to pass. She is sixteen years old, barely any better than the mother she pretends she hates, and she got pregnant by a boy who doesn't care about her—a boy who disappeared from her life for the second time after claiming that he loved her for ever and ever.

Without her, Percy had grown up to be a beautiful liar.

And without him, Wilmarie spent all of her time becoming nothing at all.

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𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

Thank you for reading!