❝i can tell that you've been cryin' all night, drinkin' all summer. prayin' for your happiness. hope that you recover.❞

❘❘

AN ENTIRE DECADE of repressed memories hit me, a violent assault of a million moments and mistakes, all strung together with that warm smile. It's fierce and ferocious, shards of sunlight blinding me, sensations of grime and dirt and sand stinging my eyes, a sheen of sweat coating my skin.

Frantically, I blink back that fucking memory, but he's still there—standing in front of me with dark hair and dark eyes, as if the miles and the years that tore us apart never existed.

My first instinct is to run to him, fling myself into his arms, cling to mi hermano with an apology. For ignoring him, for hanging up on him, for never visiting, for hating him, for creating this immeasurable distance between us, for this fucking separation.

"Neva."

Que se vaya a la mierda.

Because as soon as he says my name, I can almost fucking taste it—that breathlessly empty apology unraveling between us. Even if he says it, nothing will change. It will never change; it will never matter.

I want to hit him.

"Mano."

A sheepish grin tugs at his lips, and in that half a heartbeat, as I stare him down, surrendering to a wave of rage, I don't want to hit him.

Quiero matarlo.

It's another one of those feelings, impulsive and irrational, a red-hot streak of something caustic... a murderous thought plaguing me into paralyzing silence. I think I could do it.

Aquí y ahora. Podría matar a mi hermano.

My heart hiccups as I stumble back in fear. I can't even... I... I don't want to feel like this.

"Hermana, te he extrañado."

The words seem to drift between us innocently, melting into the low thrum of the bass, but I blink and blink and blink, desperate to dismiss them. Because maybe, just maybe, they don't exist.

Maybe this doesn't exist; maybe we don't exist.

Maybe I'll wake up beside Julian in a cold sweat, digging my nails into inked skin, riding out another crash, praying for a painless death.

I can handle that.

Not this. Something inside of me fluttering, cracking, burning. A hurricane of emotions thrashing in my chest, teetering on the edge of an inevitable destruction.

Is this how it ends?

Nada es para siempre.

The lights sway and swim, casting shadows into the empty space between us, slowing... slowing... slowing...

Numbly, I take a step back. "Why... why are you here?"

Beneath the bass, I don't know if the whispered words even leave my lips. I can only hear a heartbeat—a pulse of a city trembling beneath my feet... a party unraveling into a million strands of silence... and a...

He takes a step forward, and I fucking flinch.

"Enzo, why are you here?"

Not even the sharp edge in my voice stops him. After years of being too far away to fight, Enzo is finally here, refusing to back down.

Because mi hermano has always been the more determined one in our sibling rivalry. I'm the one who gives up; I'm the one who leaves my family behind.

Inch after inch, so fucking slowly, cutting through the haze of smoke and lights, Enzo edges closer and closer... cautiously... as if I'm a wounded animal he's trying to capture and kill.

"I tried to tell you on the phone last week," he says, the words tumbling out over the music. "I mean, I tried to tell you before you hung up on me."

What? When did I talk to him? Last week?

I shake my head frantically. No. I don't even remember last week, or last night, or... or...

"Your friend, uh, Antonaccio," Enzo rushes out, a breathless laugh steering my gaze back to his face. As he takes another step, reaching behind his head nervously, my throat tightens. Too close. "He called me from your phone back in September. Invited me to this party. So I planned a trip."

What?

I hear him, but the words don't make sense. Nothing makes sense.

I swallow. Hard. "I... I don't..."

Enzo glances around uncomfortably, and everything feels foggy, or heavy, or just... broken. As I follow his gaze, tracing the parted sea for our reunion, I shrink back, scared and... and small... and lost.

Like I don't belong here, like I never did.

"Hermana." Soft, but strained, his voice breaks through the faint film that keeps falling over me. Tears burn my eyes, blurring my brother into an unrecognizable silhouette. I don't even know him. "Can we... can we talk outside or—"

"I don't want you here."

"Neva..."

Something in me fucking snaps.

"No!" Fuck him for saying my name again, still wielding that apology that means nothing. "Don't even come near me, mano."

Because if he does, I'll kill him.

Because I'm lost in something wild, shaking, trembling, quivering, and I can't see straight, and I can't think straight, and I can't fucking control anything, and I can't fucking breathe.

I can't.

"Enzo, don't." As the music dims, mi hermano stills. "I. Don't. Want. You. Here."

Hurt flashes in his eyes. Hurt. I hurt him.

I almost want to laugh.

"Neva, no te he visto en años," he breathes. "It's been years."

"There's a fucking reason, pendejo!"

The music stops.

Enzo exhales, rocks back on his heels, spares a shaky, sideways look at the thin crowd. As his gaze skirts around and lands on me, heavy with something hopeful,  I... I... I feel the impact of those years... like I'm reliving them through his eyes.

My heart sinks.

There's no way back for us. Enzo and I are too far apart—a fragmented family... fucked up beyond repair.

"Your friend seemed worried about you, hermanita."

My friend? Antonaccio is as good as fucking dead to me.

"So I came to... to... make sure you were okay," Enzo says quietly.

It's almost sweet of him to pretend. "Like you care if I'm okay."

His brows crease. "You're my fucking little sister, Neva."

"So what?" I scoff, rolling my eyes. Everyone is fucking worried about me. "You were actually worried about me?"

"Of co—"

"Chingados, Enzo." Exasperated, frustrated, just exhausted, I shook him a dry smile. "Don't pretend this isn't all about me coming home for that fucking wedding."

Enzo meets my gaze in a silent challenge.

"I'm sorry," I sneer. "Does mamá want those perfect pictures of the whole fucking family?"

A silence. A long, dead silence.

"Well, you can tell her to go fuck herself, hermano."

"Neva." Enzo takes a step closer, his eyes flashing with a warning, his voice lowering with barely concealed anger. "Neva, if this is about papá, th—"

Red.

Everything is red.

When I lunge for him, I don't have control of anything. I'm suddenly shouting something, stinging palms and stinging eyes, a mangled mess of Spanish sending everyone scattering away from us.

"No." Gripping his collar tightly, I shove him. "No digas eso."

Enzo stumbles, but clasps both of my wrists to still me. "Neva, you haven't been the same—"

"Let go of me."

"—since papá left, and I—"

"Let go of me!"

As I wrench away, the room spins. My head reels, my hands shake, my heart hurts. Vaguely, I hear murmurs of concern, I hear glass breaking, I hear Emmy in my ear, but I can only taste it.

Gravel. Hazy and hot, a bloody grit.

"He..."

Enzo reaches for my forearm to steady me. "Cuidado, Neva."

My fucking brother.

My fucking brother still doesn't care.

"He didn't leave, mano," I whisper, my bottom lip trembling. "Papá was deported and then killed. You know that."

But he likes to pretend he doesn't.

I yank my arm from his grasp, and Enzo doesn't fight it. His gaze falls to the floor in defeat.

"Oh, so you don't have anything to say about that?" I laugh, but it comes out strained and sore. Heartbroken. "That's because you were okay with it. You were okay with him being tossed back to Mexico when we were... we were trying to start over."

"Neva, I..." Enzo peers up at me with glassy eyes. "I was only seventeen. I—"

"You didn't care when he died," I bite back, an icy veil coating the truth. "And you didn't care when mamá picked up the first man she could to replace him. You didn't fucking care."

"She found someone to support you, Neva!"

"Support me. Not rape me."

Enzo fucking pales. "Neva."

"You... you still don't believe me, do you?" I ask quietly, so fucking quietly that I hate myself. I know he doesn't believe me. "You still don't believe me."

"Neva, you were drinking, and you were..."

"I was raped, mano."

Silence.

"And you... you want me to go to the wedding. You want me to watch mamá marry the man who did it."

I wait. I wait for him to say something or do something, but Enzo doesn't move or blink or breathe. Stuck in some silent standoff, tense and tangled with those regurgitated memories, my brother and I stand still... like... strangers.

"That pendejo should be in fucking jail." A lump gathers in my throat. "I was sixteen, Enzo. I was... I was... how..." Tears spill over my cheeks. "Hermano, how could you think I would lie about that?"

"Neva," he starts cautiously, inching closer and closer and closer. "You were drinking and you were partying and you were lying about everything."

I was drinking and partying and lying.

"Don't lie, hermanita."

"Well, here I am, mano." I throw my hands up with a weak smile. "Nothing has changed. I'm still drinking and partying and lying about everything. You still think I'm fucking lying."

"Because Vance would n—"

I don't even think. I swing.

As my fist smashes against his cheek, time stops. Everything in the world freezes.

"Don't fucking say his name."

Enzo takes it gracefully. His head cracks to the side, and then he stills. When I pull back, chest heaving, panting, crying, crumbling, it's every little thing I've been running from.

We'll never be a family again. This is broken.

We are broken.

"N—"

"Don't."

"I can't even talk?"

"You didn't believe me," I hiss, my spine straightening. Strong. All the foreign sensations in my chest bubble up my throat with the confession. "You were my fucking hero, you know. My big brother. I went to you because you were... you were supposed to have my back. You were supposed to keep me safe and believe me and— and— and you... you told me I was lying."

In that moment, I find it in his eyes. A million little slivers of guilt, glinting in the hazy red light, cracking and splintering like ice under each lash of truth.

If I'm cold, it's because I have to be.

"You don't get to be worried," I finally say. "You don't get to act like a big brother now. Not now. Not ever."

"But you're my—"

"No, I am not your little sister." I can't fucking breathe. "Because you are not my brother."

Suddenly, the air shifts. Tangible tension, swift, fearless, something suffocating and strangled pushes us further and further apart.

Separation.

Swallowing a sob, I straighten and gather every every ounce of strength I can find to pin him with a glare. "Enzo, if you don't leave, I will kill you."

And I will. I know I will.

Drowning in anger, sick, dizzy, fucking nauseous with how much I hate him, or myself, or everything in my life, I know I'll kill him.

So when his shoulders drop in defeat, a relieved sigh falls from my lips. Those glassy eyes meet mine, one last attempt still hanging by a thread. "Neva, I love you."

"And I hate you, Enzo."

Another blinding flicker of hurt, deep, deep, deep in his eyes. If I could feel anything, if I wasn't numb, maybe I would feel remorse or pain or love, but I'm just... nothing. I feel weightless, defeated, almost like I don't exist, almost like I never should have existed.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Ice chases away any trace of regret, leaving me with this infinitely intimate chill in my bloodstream. I'm fucking cold because there's no other way.

When he turns, I don't say anything. When the door closes behind him, I don't feel anything. When my brother finally disappears, I don't know anything.

I don't even know who I am.

A hollow hopelessness chokes me. Is this how it ends? Is this how I'm going to feel forever?

I don't want to feel like this.

"Neva, I swear I—"

"Leave me the fuck alone," I snap, my gaze finding his frantic expression. "You had no fucking right to invite my brother. That is not your fucking job."

A hand presses against my hip. "Neva," she drawls weakly, "we were worried ab—"

I don't even know them.

Wrenching free, whirling around, they're both there, but I don't recognize them, or the world that is spinning around us, spiraling and crashing and... and...

"Neva, we were just trying to help you."

"Help me?" I choke out a humorless laugh. "Do you know how humiliating it feels? To admit that my own brother... my own brother thinks I'm... thinks I would lie about that?"

"N—"

"I told you because I trusted you."

If I don't leave, I'll... I'll hit her.

"Fuck you," I breathe. "Fuck you both. I can't believe you did this."

Blinking back a violent rush of tears, swimming through a riptide of nameless faces, the floor tilts and turns beneath my feet. I whirl around, and I trip, I fumble, I fucking flail free from the crowd, thrashing to the back door, desperately clawing for air.

I can't breathe.

And even when I surge out into the cold, cold, cold air, there's nothing. Nothing.

I need to stop feeling like this.

Like I'm crawling out of my skin, twisting and churning uncomfortably, bones grinding, teeth clenching, jaw locked and throat clogged... like I'm... just... dying.

"Backyard is closed. Sorry."

Fuck.

Disoriented, I watch the ground blur.

"It's just me," I whisper. "Just me."

Dizzily, I drag myself into the smoking corner.

"Neva."

Desperately, I meet his dark gaze.

"Do you have anything? Do you have any coke?"

"Nah," he drawls with a loose smile. High. "I've got better."

Anything.

"Yeah?"

Easy.

Jesse shrugs. "Some H."

❘❘

**Sooo. That happened. This was planned for a very long time. I mean, you all saw this coming, right?

It still scares me to write some of this. It's scary to emphasize how violent she feels because that FEELING is so fucking scary. Like you have no control over your actions, like you WANT to hurt the people you love.

Neva doesn't want to feel like that.
Sometimes, Neva doesn't want to feel at all.

Thanks to everyone still with me on this rollercoaster. I love you guys so much. 💕