❝pushin' me away so i give her space,
dealin' with a heart that i didn't break.
i'll be there for you, i will care for you.❞

❘❘

LOS SUEÑOS CAN'T COMPARE TO IT. Lost somewhere in a hot, hazy shadow of sleepwalking, fleeting consciousness and barely breathless secrets tangle la madrugada into una fantasía. Through a blurry lens, fogged by the fluttering morning film, ink and skin cut through the smoky room, and beneath that assault of a soft, simmering glow, there's never been anything más hermoso.

Every trace of light strokes his skin, caressing, kissing the tattoos along his throat and and his chest and his knuckles.

Those knuckles. I can still feel them on my lips, a featherlight beso to seal all the icy apologies.

An anchor ripples through the sheet, grounding me, tying me to him, capsizing any fragmented thought of leaving or... doing anything. Skin and smoke sift away from me, reaching for clothes and cigarettes and my keys.

I stay silent and still, riding out some sensual temptation to be the muse in his bed—the lazy lover left behind when the sun rises.

Though as I blink sleepily, savoring the sight of his bare skin, my heart stirs.

Rays of light fall through the glass in a veil—a misleading reverie of romanticized beauty. It shrouds us into a silent symphony of suffocation, but fuck, it barely hits me. I can't fucking care.

Because Julian Rivera looks divine—drowning in an intangible halo, singed in fearless fringes of fire, stripped down by a sultry sunrise, just... bathing in the morning light.

Almost fucking holy.

My breath hitches.

Maybe we can both be reborn; maybe we can both find a new beginning, if only for a moment, in the fierce, fleeting sensation of a new day. Maybe we can both be kind and pure and virtuous and beautiful and loving.

Maybe we really can be innocent, if only for a moment, in the trace of a half-hearted promise, in the hazy break of dawn.

After a night of endless sin, binding rapture and ruin into a shattering, self-destructive montage of cocaine kisses and things that feel right, but wrong, so fucking wrong that I know they're right.

As my thoughts spiral, I find myself breathing soft, my fingers sprawling to the edge of the bed, my lips parting for him.

"Are you..." My heart comes up my throat en un susurro. "Are you leaving me?"

Julian spins, blinking in surprise. As his gaze settles on me, no me muevo; I just wait and wish, watching his lips lilt into this dizzy smile, intoxicated, mesmerized, almost adoring.

"Sí, mami," he says quietly, as if he's afraid I might wake up from this fucked up fantasy and leave him. "Will you be okay here?"

Everything feels raw. My heart sinks, but I nod silently. It's dangerous and desperate, but still desirable—fucked up company is still company.

If Julian Rivera is what keeps me from breathing alone, I'll brace the summer storms and the raging tides and the harsh winters. I want him para siempre.

With that sleepy smile, he dips to the bed. As his lips brush my forehead, my eyes flutter closed. I sigh, swimming in the faint sensation, lulling and soothing, ghosting across my cheeks and my jaw until Julian captures my lips in a soft kiss.

I taste it before he even says it.

"I love you."

A slight waver, a bittersweet edge, a timid plea. It echoes inside of me violently, leaving me breathless and broken.

When I don't respond, Julian pulls away with a sheepish look. Those dark eyes find mine. "Um... Rio won't do anything, or... or say anything. I heard you guys had a..."

"I hit him," I admit. "But Rio didn't hit me back."

Julian winces.

There's no impact quite like it—a quiet, biting reminder that I can hurt him. It will never be as dangerous as how he can hurt me, but maybe, if I'm lucky, it will leave just as much permanent damage.

Some sick part of me loves it.

"I said I was sorry, Neva," he sighs, shaking his head. "You need to let it go."

Anger flares in my chest, but it dies so fucking quickly that I can barely feel it. A ferocious flame rages, and then vanishes, replaced by this draining exhaustion.

No quiero pelear con Julian; no quiero hacer nada.

"Fine."

"Why did you hit him?" Julian stands and shrugs on a jacket. "Did he say something?"

"It was about money."

As he cocks his head to the side, a hesitant curiosity glints in his eyes. "Money? What about money?"

Dangerous fucking territory. My heart stutters, but I can't seem to care about the threat he'd held over my head just a few nights ago. "I wanted my cut that he's been collecting from Jesse."

"Oh, mami." His brows furrow. "Why do you need money?"

I stare at him blankly.

"¿Qué necesitas?" There's an edge en su voz, suddenly alert and attentive, a flicker of worry in his eyes as he kneels to the bed to caress my bare knee. "I can get you whatever you need, Neva."

"Do yourself a favor, bitch. Get my money from him. Soon."

Anxiety explodes in my chest.

"While you're at it, you can tell Rivera that I'll come for him. I know he stole my shit, but I didn't know he let his bitch make off with his stash too."

It flutters wildly, paralyzing me in a blind panic, stealing my breath, striking me cold.

"Mmm. I bet if I cut up his bitch a bit, he'd get me my money."

All the memories come with the bruising sensations, a sting in my lip, a burn in my cheek, a yank at my hair. Amenazas imprinted on my skin.

My pulse spikes. "I... Julian, the guys from Jersey found me. They found my car. My plates."

Julian stiffens, but I'm already shaking my head, clutching at his shoulders, a frenzy of dread stampeding my words into senseless mumbles. "Wait, what?"

"I wanted to leave," I admit, my breath escaping in these short, little pants of nervousness and... and... "They want their money from you. From us. They want their money, Jules, and I... I— I..."

"Hey, it's okay, it's okay," Julian shushes me with a gentle squeeze, and as he strokes my hair patiently, a wave of comfort soothes me into silence. "I'll take care of it, Neva. I will."

"I—"

"No one is going to hurt you."

When he pulls away, it takes every fiber of my being not to lunge for him, or cry, or beg for him to stay and hold me, or ask him to please, please, please let me leave. That unbearable flutter of anxiety swells in my chest, sweeping through my limbs, tracing to my fingertips.

I'm shaking again—asustada y pequeña, curled up in a blanket on someone else's bed.

Things start to blur. Another slew of soft words, heavy promises, sweet nothings, and then Julian is leaving, leaving me solá... and cold and quivering, and it's... it's...

It's like learning how to breathe again. I find my lungs first, my heart, my lips, and then my fingertips, but my mind is still numb, somewhere else, weighed down by a headache. Every motion is detached; every ragged inhale feels slow.

That familiar feeling of drowning... inside of myself.

Because something within me is thrashing. A person, or a... an entire army, predators, mercenaries, killers—flailing in that hollow space, wielding weapons too sharp and nails too dirty and teeth too jagged.

An aggressive violation, gnashing, grating, grinding, just eating at me until things start to scrape together with this gritty taste of pain that I... can't escape.

I sob into the sheets. Durante horas.

My heart won't stop burning, wild palpitations wracking through my entire body; a pounding sensation pulses and throbs, echoes and ripples of weight anchoring me into the sheets until my teeth are chattering and my bones are aching. That gnawing feeling creeps up like the chill of fall, digging into my muscles to leave me with nothing but fucking defeat.

I'm just so tired. I never want to get up or go out or do anything again.

So I sink into the ebb and flow of an uncomfortable slumber, dozing off, jolting awake in a sheen of sweat, wishing I was dead, and then drifting back into a desperate unconsciousness over and over and over again... to just... pass the time.

Forever.

When I wake up crying, no sé por qué. My eyes sting; my lip wobbles. Another uncontrollable sob shakes free, and I curl into myself to ride out the wave of misery, nausea churning in every part of my body. Why, why, why?

I can't feel like this forever. I'll die.

It's almost like waiting for that promesa de muerte—believing, just praying, that the pits of hell can't feel like this. Anything but this. Like every nerve in my body is screaming, like each individual atom is splitting at the core, like every inch of my being is lined with fire.

A saturated sunset spills into the room, heavy and hot, a masterpiece of burning light and this... leftover glow. A tragically pathetic attempt at a new day. By the time I'm sheathed in darkness, there's nothing stopping me.

I stumble up from the bed clumsily, surrendering to that muddled manipulation eating at me, a mass of pleas and groans and need.

Maybe it's the real reason I keep spinning out of control and somehow, always ending up with Julian.

The floor of his closet is bare.

No duffel bag. No stash of snow.

My teeth grind together. Julian knew I was stealing it. "Fuck."

I must have something still.

I spin on my heels to snatch the purse up from the foot of the bed. My stomach lurches, but I steady, blinking back the dizzy spell with a wince. I just need something. Anything.

A little bit now, and then... and then—

My nails scrape that smooth, thin surface, and suddenly, I'm spiraling into another ocean of dread, choking on something incoherent, squinting and staring.

That same picture stares back at me—a completely innocent stranger. Marina Forero.

As I thumb her ID anxiously, my heart plummets. Sé que está muerta. Somewhere deep down, I just know. Tears spring forward, blurring the lines and the words and the signature and the... the address.

Bile crawls up my throat. No, no, no.

It's one of those impulses, a drastic dive for clothing and shoes, flinging the door open and skidding across wooden floors and down a staircase and—

A gust of cold air slams into me.

Chingados. Is it already noviembre?

I shiver. Chills sweep down my spine, pushing me forward on the dark sidewalk to the safety of the station, but the entire train ride is cold. Ice crackles through my veins, biting at my heart with a vengeance, and when I stagger off the train and down Gates, the neighborhood around me starts to swirl into a wintry breeze.

El mundo is always, always, always whirling, but when I come to a halt in front of the address, I feel like I'm on fire.

One hand moves up, almost robotically, and the knock rings in my ears, the wind whistles between my fingers, a fist unfurling and—

And then the door swing open.

I stand completely fucking numb.

A tall man shifts on the threshold, tattoos swirling from beneath his sleeves to his wrists... to a baby girl clinging to his hip.

"¿Qué paso?"

My throat runs dry. With big, brown eyes and flushed cheeks, dressed up into a pink dress with this little pink fucking bow in her hair, the little girl babbles something.

Grumbling softly, he shushes her. "¿Puedo ayudarte con algo?"

"Perdón," I breathe, my gaze flitting between the two of them nervously. Another bubble of anxiety builds in my chest, kickstarting my system into an erratic panic. What the fuck am I doing here? "I... I'm sorry. I..."

When I try to step back, two tiny hands extend childishly. Those brown eyes meet mine, glassy and shimmering with something young and vulnerable.

As the man hitches her up and folds her hands away from me, a lump gathers in my throat. "Sorry... I... uh, Marina, ¿vive aquí?"

Instantly, he stiffens. A sliver of hostility flashes in his eyes. "¿Marina? ¿La encontraste?"

"I don't know her."

I could be her.

Tonight, tomorrow, next week, next month.

His brows raise. "Oh?"

I swallow a cry, mustering up a weak smile. "I saw the missing posters. Lo siento."

Cautiously, he nods. "How did you get her address?"

My cheeks warm. It is her address. Fuck. "I found her purse," I fumble quietly. "Tengo su ID."

A shadow of suspicion crosses his expression. "Her ID? Her purse? Where did you find it?"

"On the train," I lie. "And then I saw the posters and... and I..."

And what? Why am I here right now?

Shaking his head, he suddenly scoffs. "Yeah, the bitch probably bailed. I would fucking believe it."

The gravel tilts beneath my feat with the whiplash, disbelief twisting the guilty knot in my stomach. "What?"

"Marina is fucked up in some deep shit," he rasps, quick and quiet. "Cocaine."

"Bitch was stealing from him anyway."

My heart skips. Marina was stealing Half's stash before Julian and I... "Oh."

A dry laugh falls from his lips. As he rocks the little girl on his hips, his gaze locks with mine, shards of icy anger lost in the shadows of his doorway. "A fucking junkie."

My lips part, but I can't say anything.

"Marina is fucking with the wrong people." The little girl swats at his chest with a giggle, but he doesn't even spare her a glance. "I warned her that this needed to stop. I told her she needed to get clean with this baby coming, but I—"

"Baby?"

His eyes narrow. "Marina is pregnant."

And suddenly, I can't fucking breathe.

"Here." I shove the purse at him haphazardly, fumbling away with a breathless curse. "Take it. Just take it."

"What the fuck?"

It's distant and distorted, a watery question that barely makes it to my ears in the haste to get away, get away, get away. Because everything is spinning again, everything is just always spinning, and when I spin, it always ends in this violently vivid descent, a collision... a crash.

I fall.

Acid trickles up my throat in a slow-burning stream, and as my knees hit the sidewalk, it comes boiling over, spewing onto the curb and into the drain.

Marina is pregnant... Marina... was pregnant.

❘❘

**That come down is hard. That anxiety and depression and just overall exhaustion. Its different for everyone. I have friends that can function fine, get up for work, and continue their lives after a gram, but it's not always like that.

It can feel like HELL. Like you're weak as fuck and you're nauseous and you're so fucking TIRED. You never want to get out of bed or talk to anyone or do anything. You just want to sleep or cry or just fucking die.

Especially for someone like Neva, who is doing it regularly, and at this point, probably experiencing those withdrawal symptoms too.

LOVE AND BESOS 😘😘