❝dig your anchors in my bones,
keep your breathing soft and slow.❞

❘❘

I CRASH ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR, fría y sola.

When I stumbled into Julian's apartment, hands shaking and head throbbing, there was no one. Still choking on an endless sob, still clawing out of my skin, still somehow fighting at the edge of a comedown, I scrubbed myself raw in somebody else's shower. No era mía.

Nada era realmente mío.

And when things started to blur and blacken, and when things started to bend and break, and when things started to burn, I went down with it. My knees buckled as I left the shower, colliding with the cold, cold, cold tiles, bones and teeth rattling with the impact of a million storms.

Like snowflakes... fluttering in my lashes... like ice... swimming in my veins...

ICE

It flashes by me violently—a drifting, distant promise, a warning, wild and destructive, lacing around my heart with the underlying truth of a twisting, tumultuous threat.

Lost somewhere between those big, white letters, in the spaces between, in the darkness, the shadow looms para siempre, reminding us in a perfectly constructed deception that we're simply casualties of war.

Guerras fronterizas.

Another silent sob shakes my shoulders, tearing me from the blinding white moments and the dark dreams of desperation. My heart wrenches into my throat.

Everything around me shakes, tumbling and crumbling and— and I'm falling, and I'm trembling— and I'm gasping for air— and there are so many emotions ripping through my chest, like fragile fucking fabrications of a future.

Everything hurts.

There is some tangible line between tender palms and the taste of gravel, a conscious level of the current catastrophe sinking into my skin. The drunken dizziness doesn't anchor me; it only bleeds into a delirious daze of memories, intertwining and splitting... ripping at seams that have been stitched together for years...

ICE

... a shadow through tinted windows, gritando y llorando, white vans stealing soft whispers and smiles...

ICE

... a muffled sob, a desperate plea, like hot gravel, scraped knees, dedos y uñas...

ICE

... a distant phone call, a crashing weight, crashing, crashing, crashing...

...a half-hearted hope for it to stop hurting.

When I stand, the world tilts, and when I move, the world reels around me. I blink, bones aching and vision dimming, I blink, and I'm staggering, swaying, swimming through wooden floors and cracked doorways. I'm sniffing.

There are shards of the night that don't exist, drowned out by hazy darkness and cut, cut, cut into a soft, sensual snowstorm.

It's uncut, unfiltered, unbelievable pain.

Somehow, I end up in my car, crouched in the driver's seat, shaking and sweating and just sobbing. With raw needs and an empty stomach that just won't stop rolling, I sink and sink and sink. Space seems to twist around me, spiraling with every shadow that passes the car through the night, through hours or minutes or seconds.

My heart is still beating.

I close my eyes, sniff, sink.

My heart is still burning.

Nada está funcionando. Nada.

I sniff.

The pattern is mind numbing. It's a soft delusion, a fluttering cocktail of vengeance—gravel and ice.

The tiny vial shakes down into my lap, and as my head starts to spin around and around and around, something heavy tugs at my heart. It isn't gentle; it's a vicious yank, eliciting a shiver and a sob, freezing the silent assault of snowfall.

Why can't I stop feeling like this? Where is the trace of exhilaration—the breathless, beautifully broken ascent into numb euphoria?

I can't hit it. I just can't.

A knot unravels in the pit of my stomach, ripples of pain blotting my vision of a city that holds eight million people, and yet, somehow keeps leaving me alone.

No puedo estar sola.

Unfurling my fingers, I reach for my phone. The numbers sprint by me in a motionless blur. 3:37 AM. It blinks and blinks and blinks, or I blink and blink and blink. As soon as I swipe my thumb across the screen, a warning pops up: 10% batería.

Desperation claws at my heart, squeezing it until I can barely breath.

Four rings. It takes four rings.

"Neva?"

Sleepy and soft, her voice helps soothe my erratic heartbeat. I sniff. "¿Puedo ir a verte?"

"¿Estás bien?" Más despierta, más alerta. Her breathing hitches. "Neva. ¿Qué pasa?"

Something inside of me fucking breaks. "I can't be alone. Emmy, I just can't."

"Neva, ¿qué pasando?"

A sob strangles me. "No— no sé... I don't even— I don't know, Emmy." I barely know what happened; I barely know what I'm doing. "I can't do this. I just— I- I- I—"

"¿Dónde est—"

"It was a raid, and I was— I was there," I admit breathlessly, the words like a rush of cold air from my lungs. "I was there, and I—"

"Neva."

I still and breathe, listening to the lull of her sleepy voice as it flutters to my heart—like little butterflies with icy wings, like frigid promises, like chilling love.

Algo. Está diciendo algo, but I can't string together a single slur of her Spanish. I can't fucking think.

I'm shivering in silence. Silencio.

My head reels. "What?"

"Are you safe?"

"I just want to see you," I say, still unsure of what she's asking me. "I'm alone in my car, and it... chingados, the coke doesn't work, and I'm cold, Emmy. I'm so cold."

Another moment of frozen silence. Cold.

"Fuck, Neva, are you high?"

"Por favor, Emmy, I'm—" I'm falling apart. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Emmy waits until I trail off into a weak whisper before she finally sighs. "Are you parked by your apartment?"

I don't think I drove anywhere, but there are so many missing moments that scare me. I shrink into my seat; blink at my foggy window. "I don't know."

"I'm coming now. Don't move."

When she hangs up, the absence of sound brings a surreal loneliness. In the silence, crisp air embraces me, stifling and suffocating in a way that rivals all the nightmares of hot, midnight gravel.

ICE

It casts away the concept of time, leaving me to count the shivers and the sobs, the hiccups, the delayed heartbeats.

"Neva!"

I jump at the knock on the window, swerving over the console with a cry.

"Neva, you're fucking scaring me," she says, her voice muffled by a thin sheet of glass that separates us. As I fumble to unlock the doors, Emmy cups her hand over the window. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

I'm not hurt, but fuck, I don't know if I'm okay.

Emmy yanks at the door and nearly falls into the seat. As she gathers me onto her lap, in her arms, against her chest, I collapse and cling to her in desolation, void of anything but a raw relief. Her fingers weave through my hair gently. "Neva, Neva, Neva, hey, it's okay."

It isn't. Nothing is okay, but maybe, just maybe, if I stay with her forever, right here, it will be.

"Here." A hand sneaks around my waist to the console, and then I'm being guided to the side, shifted and settled into the passenger seat. Emmy gives me a patient smile. "I'll drive us to my place, okay? Is that okay?"

I think I nod, but everything is still moving. When the car starts, the gentle hum of the engine soothes us into a sleepy silence. There are only weak sniffles and barely coherent murmurs, so slurred and soft that I can't make sense of the words I'm saying.

I spend an eternity staring at her profile, watching the buildings and cars and lights blur by her, casting faded flickers of light and darkness across her face. It isn't real; it can't be real.

Because we just don't exist.

Yet, when the car comes to a slow stop, the stillness sends me jolting into another dizzy spell. If we didn't exist, this wouldn't hurt so much.

Emmy pulls the keys from the ignition quietly, opens her door, and closes it. For a second, I'm alone, and I'm scared. I whimper, but then she's there on my side, tugging the door open and gently helping me out of the car.

My teeth chatter.

"Cold?"

I nod numbly. "I think so."

"Yeah, let's go sleep it off, mami." A sweet smile graces her lips. "We can just go sleep. Okay?"

As she hooks an arm around my waist, I sink into the warmth. "Can I kiss you?"

"Did you kiss anyone else tonight?"

"Maybe."

"Not tonight, babe," Emmy says quietly.

Despite the subtle sting of rejection, there's a faint promise in her words that takes my breath away. "What would I do without you?"

"I don't know." As we step into her dark hallway, steering to the first door on the right, she hesitates. "I guess your boy toy wasn't around to help you out, huh?"

I didn't know, and truthfully, I didn't care. "I wanted to see you," I say, the lie tumbling free without hesitation. I just didn't want to be alone. "Only you."

"Glad to know that you only call me when you're high," Emmy snickers with an edge of something bittersweet.

Guilt gnaws at me. Where have I been? When was the last time I saw Emmy? I miss her. "I'm sorry I haven't... been around."

"It's okay." Lost in the darkness of her doorway and blurring in my wobbling vision, her forced smile breaks my heart. "I know school has been busy, and I know... I know how rough that dissertation topic is for you."

All those empty excuses.

As we stagger into her apartment, another wave of guilt clogs my throat. "Yeah. School has been... crazy."

Emmy takes that gracefully—without question, without judgment, without a trace of disbelief. Emmy trusts me.

Our fingers lace together, and as she leads us through the dark apartment and to her bedroom, tears sting my eyes again. With those gentle, lulling movements, Emmy helps me tangle into the sheets, and then tugs a blanket up over my body.

"I love you."

It comes out rough and raspy, but strong. I know I love her; I just don't know why I can't show her that I do.

"Oh, Neva," Emmy whispers, crawling into bed beside me so fucking slowly that my heart skips. As she nuzzles into the blanket with me, her fingers comb through my hair. "Just get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"No, I— I love you. I need to tell you because I— I—" I choke on a sob. "I remember it like it was yesterday, Emmy."

A warm breath caresses my lips. "What?"

"I didn't get to say goodbye," I whimper. "I didn't get to tell him I loved him one last time. I didn't—"

Emmy presses a kiss to my forehead. "I know. I know."

"Fuck, I remember seeing him in the back of that van, and I was crying, and they took him away. They took him away from me. I remember thinking I'd never see him again."

I crumble in her arms, my entire body shaking.

"That could have been me... tonight..." My fingers dig into her back to pull her closer. "I need you to know that I love you because what if I— what if I you never knew? What if I—"

"Neva," Emmy soothes. "He knew. Your father knew that you loved him, and I know that you love me. Okay?"

"But I— but I... I wanted to..."

"It's okay, Neva. It's okay. I love you too."

"I love you," I repeat, clinging to her like a fucking lifeline. "I love you so much."

And as I unravel into a mess of cries and regret, I try to find a heartbeat. I listen for hers, I listen for mine. We drift and coast and sink in sheets beneath blankets, riding out an infinite night of destruction.

Nada es para siempre.

Everything ends, and when darkness claims me, I don't fight it.

❘❘

Hazy light flutters between my lashes, billowing through light curtains and spilling out over empty bedsheets. I blink groggily as a wave of nausea paralyzes me. ¿Dónde estoy?

Warily, my gaze skates around the room, taking in the clothing and the posters and the books, all distantly dulled by a crystalline veil of tears. Tears. They sting, dry and hot across my cheeks, cracking with the mere motion of my lips. "I... I'm..."

"Neva," she singsongs, "are you awake?"

At the sound of her voice, my heart boomerangs. Scrambling out of bed and stumbling to the doorway, I blink past the dull ache in my skull. "Emmy?"

"The one and only, mami."

In a dark tank top and dark denim, loose strands of pastel hair framing her face, there really has never been anything like her. Standing in the kitchen in another hazy sheet of light like a deathly shadow of the morning, Emmy is so fucking beautiful.

"¿Cómo te sientes?" she asks sweetly, but I can only stare, surprise stalling anything that resembles a sentence. "Better?"

My throat runs dry. I still can't say anything.

"I saw some shit about it online." It's a soft confession, so fucking soft that I strain to hear her past the pounding in my head. "It was a raid."

All the jagged moments come rushing back—someone lunging for Javier, someone grabbing Mickey, someone shoving Dana.

ICE

I wince, but Emmy picks up her phone casually and flicks her thumb across the screen. "Twelve arrests," she hums, taking a step towards me. "Fucking crazy."

And as she twists her wrist to show me an article on her Facebook feed, the headline reads bold:

TWELVE ARRESTED IN NYC NIGHTCLUB RAID

I blink and blink and blink, but with every second of silence, the nightmare feels more and more real.

When I don't answer, she pulls back to continue swiping. "You know you have rights in that situation, Neva."

"Not really," I finally say, but it comes out quiet. We don't have any rights because we're not citizens. "Not when you're undocumented."

"Yes, you do." Without glancing away from her phone, Emmy gestures to the counter. "It's almost six. I plugged your phone in last night, but it's been blowing up all day."

Fuck. ¿Por qué eso me asusta?

"It wasn't Enzo."

My chest deflates. "Who was it?"

Those dark eyes drift up to meet mine, glinting with jealousy. "Julian."

My head hurts too much to even think about him. Feigning disinterest, I swipe my phone from where it lies on the counter. "Oh. Yeah."

Emmy shrugs, but her gaze falls to her phone again. "You should come with me to the bar tonight."

"¿Trabajas esta noche?"

"Yeah, in a little bit."

"I don't really... work there anymore."

"I know," she sighs, "but you should come talk to Anto. I hate when you guys fight."

My lips press together. Why can't I remember what that fight was even about? "It wasn't my fault."

"Still." Emmy grimaces. "You haven't even made an effort to talk to him. We're your friends, Neva, but lately, you only have time to call when you're so high you don't even know where you are."

I nearly flinch. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, wait, isn't this..." Emmy suddenly stiffens, squinting at her phone in confusion. "Isn't this that girl?"

"What?"

When she pushes off the counter to meet me, the movement jolts me. I sway, but Emmy hooks an arm around my waist to steady me—to shove her phone in my face. "Marina Forero. Isn't this that girl?"

Marina Forero.

As I look down, panic paralyzes me. With long hair framing her face, complimenting dark skin and a bright smile, the fuzzy photo of the girl on the poster sits below 7 big, red letters.

MISSING

I fumble back a step. No. "What... what are you talking about?"

"Look, Neva, it says..." She points to the small Spanish print below her photo. "It says she's been missing since September."

My heart hiccups. When did Julian and I...

"This is... that girl..." Emmy trails off into a whisper, those wide eyes flitting to mine hesitantly. "This is the girl in that ID you had."

From raiding that apartment, from stealing that coke, from... from that dealer. Javier. Half.

"Guess he doesn't trust his girls."

"Bitch was stealing from him anyway."

Did he kill her? Did he...

"Oh, mamacita, pretty girls like you get killed with that kind of attitude."

"No," I mumble half-heartedly, swatting her phone away. "No, that can't be..."

No, he didn't fucking kill her. No, he didn't... he wouldn't... for something we did... for stealing...

"Yes, it is!" Emmy gasps. "Neva, that is her!"

Denial ropes around me like a chokehold. As I squirm out of her grasp and stagger against the wall, I shake my head. "There's no way it—"

"Yes, I'll show you."

A ringing in my ears, a sheen of sweat, a constant reel of slow-motion, a streak of black, rocketing past me so quickly that my stomach lurches.

"I— Emmy, what are you..."

Emmy doesn't stop. As she kneels in front of the apartment door, my gaze follows her fiddling fingers to that black purse.

"Where did that come from?"

"You brought it in last night. Is her ID still in here?"

I fumble forward. "Emmy, do—"

"Neva."

Swiveling out of my reach, Emmy draws a sharp breath. When she twists and stands, holding the purse open, her expression is unreadable.

"Emmy, I—"

"Neva, what the fuck?" she asks breathlessly, blinking. "What are you..."

It's something blinding, whipping through me at the speed of light and seizing every nerve in my body—an irrational frustration. My teeth ground together. "Emmy, don't."

"You're carrying this around with you?" She flicks the purse to face me, opening it wider to reveal the twisted bags of coke. "This much?"

My throat tightens. Did I take it last night? "I..."

"Neva, if you get caught with this, I mean, with this much, they'll charge you with intent to sell."

No, they wouldn't. Emmy and I both knew what would really happen to me if I was caught.

"Are you selling it?"

"No, it's... it's mine," I mumble, my skin crawling with something like shame. "It's mine."

"Jesus, Neva."

Pity flickers through her eyes, and suddenly, I'm burning, burning with... with aggravation or desperation or... rage.

"It's none of your business." I snatch the bag from her hands. As I slip my phone into it and zip it back up, a hand wraps around my forearm.

I jerk away.

"Neva, I'm worried about you," she starts in a softer voice, cautious and careful. Like I'm an animal. "I love you, and I'm so worried about you. Last night, you were..."

I swallow hard, but the frustration bubbling in my chest explodes. "I had a rough night, Emmy. It's no big deal."

"But you were out of it, babe. You were... I mean, how much blow a—"

"Emmy, stop!"

Everything in the kitchen freezes, an icy silence seizing us both for half a heartbeat.

Her eyes flash coldly. "I think you have a problem, Neva."

"I'm fine." I clip her shoulder as I storm past her, slipping my shoes on and wrenching the door open. "Stop fucking worrying about me."

❘❘

**Neva loves Emmy. She's important to her in ways that no one else is, so this is... it's difficult. 💔💔

I have a few chapters written to finish Part III but I'm a little nervous to post them. Hopefully, I can edit them and get them up soon. I love you guys! 💕