Hey guys, I've got a delayed opening on school today! So I'm going to try to update a few times within the next hour. Wish me luck!

??? POV:

So this was her. She had changed a lot. What used to be a small round face with big brown eyes had developed into a feminine profile with high cheekbones and almond colored, oval shaped eyes. Her hair had grown longer, by far, and turned a darker shade. She looked so much like Mamá.

But there was something else. Pain surrounded her like an aura, and what used to be innocence had changed into .... fear? Hate? Distrust? I can't tell.

She was sitting upright, with her mouth open in surprise. 

"B-b-but it can't be you. You died! They told us you were dead!" Her soft voice almost breaks my heart. 

I stride across the room to her, enveloping her in a hug. She sobbed into my shoulder clutching my shirt. 

"I can't take this anymore. You do one simple thing and the world comes crashing down like dominos." She whispers, her voice muffled. 

Can't take this anymore? There is so much I want to ask her, I already heard her story but I want to hear it from her. But right now she needs time. I warned those estupidos chicos (Stupid boys) to not let this fall on her all at once. And look what they do! They made her cry. 

My body shook with fury, but I stroked her head. 

"It's alright hermanita (sister). It will be okay." I whisper to her, tears clouding my own eyes.

Eleven years. That's how long I was held, unable to come to my sister, to protect her. I heard about the things she had to go through every day, and it tortured me. It was all my fault.

"I'm here Elena, and I'm not going to let anybody hurt you ever again."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elena's POV:

I sobbed into Ángel's arms, as if I let go of him he would disintegrate into memory. When I was five, my brother had been taken by men in uniform, who were going from door to door - demanding that all eligible young men were to be taken and trained in the army.

My mamá didn't want him to go, she cried and screamed and fought against papi's arms.

"Mi hijo, no mi hijo!" She screamed. (Bella, help me with this one, I think translation is: My son, not my son!)

I didn't know what was going on, but I saw everyone else crying and knew something sad was happening. I watched as my hermano mayor (Big brother) walked away, gripped tightly in the arms of two soldiers. 

My neighbors came over to comfort my parents, and I didn't understand why. Wasn't my big brother coming back? It was only later I found out: He might never come back, and if he did, it would be a long time. My brother was taken at the age of fourteen to fight in a war we wanted no part of.

Then, one day, when I was seven, a man came up to our door. At first I was joyous, thinking Ángel had returned. I ran to the  door, and opened it to see a man with a grizzly grey beard, and small blue eyes like chips of ice. He entered without a word to me, and went and sat on the couch. 

Papi came down and talked very fast to him in English. My English was not very good then, I only knew two words. Hello, and cat. I walked up to the man, stuck out my hand, and said "HELLO CAT." He looked up at my father, then slowly back to me. Then, he began to laugh. And so did my father.  Soon they were both laughing, and even though I had no idea why, I began to laugh with them. My father told the man (He told me later what he had said) "I love how even in the darkest times, my little girl can bring a little light."

I did not know, however, that that would be the last time I laughed for a long time.

Now, my brother was sitting next to me. I used to think he would come back for me, in the foster home, I clung to that selfish little hope, but he never did. I cut myself, hoping it would take the pain away. It only worked for a moment though. Then the despair and pain would be back, and I would do it again. I knew it wasn't right, but I felt like I couldn't do anything, that I was powerless. Except for my control over my own body.

"There is someone else here to see you." Ángel whispered.

"Who?" I asked, confused.

To all the Spanish people out there, and people who know Spanish in general, please forgive me for my horrendous translations. My friend has actually been shouting at her phone in frustration, probably. I want you to be aware of this: I DO NOT SPEAK SPANISH. Now, that we've gotten that out of the way, I would appreciate people *cough Bella cough* not commenting on how 'no this isn't right, blah blah blah.' Instead, kindly PM me, and clue me in to what you think is wrong. This goes for anything in my story. 

Also, I understand that some of you may be confused right now. Let's set this straight.

Jose, is her childhood friend. 

Ángel, is her big brother.

THEY ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON. As to the questions about Jose being alive, well, you'll just have to find out ;)

Also: This book is UNEDITED. I may get around to is some time, but doubtful.