“You tied a brick?—”
“Drop it!” I snap, pushing off the ground to stand over him. As I glare down, I see the whites of his eyes flash as he stares up at me in fear. I lean in, venom welling inside me. “If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll tie a brick around your ankle and drown you. Do you hear me?”
“But—”
My palm connects with his face before I can pull it back in. It makes a sickening crack, so loud, it drowns out the crickets, and he recoils. Tears glisten on his rounded cheeks before dropping off his chin, disappearing into the darkness.
What’s left of my soul withers and dies.
I’ve never wanted to hurt Mateo—I’ve spent most of my life helping him, protecting him, even, but I don’t know how to protect him from this, not unless I push him away.
If he’s out of arm’s length, I can’t pull him under when the tidal wave of agony surely comes back to claim me.
“I mean it. Never speak of this again.” I turn on my heel and stomp away, bruised and beaten.Broken in every way a person can be.
TWENTY-NINE
RAFAEL SANTOS
November 24th, 2025
Am I wrong?
Is everything I know a lie?
Is every horrible thing I’ve done been for no reason?
Am I wrong?
Starring at the ceiling, I watch the fan twirl, its paddles casting shadows over the ceiling. I picture a world where the worst person I know is really just a sad, misunderstood girl not only coerced into an evil life but stripped of anything good. A broken girl who was forced to become the villain in order protect her shattered soul.
In that world, she’s fiercely protective of the people she cares about—maybe not by telling them, but by showing up and being the bad guy for them, no matter the stakes.
In that world, she’s sharp tongued and venomous to the people who’ve wronged her because she doesn’t know how to be kind to herself, much less anyone else.
In that world, she cries at rejection and abandonment—not because she’s sad or even mad, but because she’s terrified of being alone with her demons.
In that world, she doesn’t know how to use a gun, doesn’t know or even try to protect herself, because she doesn’t see the point in living another day if it’s going to be as hard as it’s always been.
In that world, she doesn’t kill innocent boys.
I slam my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose, and try to suck in calming breaths that just won’t come. I see the world I’ve come to know exploding before my very eyes.
Have I always been wrong about Valentina?
“What have I done?” I whisper to the ghosts of my family where they crowd in the darkest corners of my mind—where I’ve shoved them, afraid if I allow them out, I might actually decide to let them go.
If I don’t have my family, what do I have?
I pull the tattered photo out from beneath my pillow, the edges frayed and bleached. Four little boys, their cheeks rosy and eyes full of joy. We didn’t yet look at the world through the jaded glass of loss and vengeance.
Staring at the third boy to the left, always the skinniest, tallest, and shiest of the four, I think about what he would say about Valentina—what he would think of her now.
Is she really so evil, or is she just hurt—a caged cat fighting to stay alive?
I know the answer without saying it aloud.
I slam my eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners. Taking a deep breath, I grab my phone, checking the time. Two in the morning, and even though I’ve always loved my sleep, I know I won’t be getting a wink more tonight. Every time I close my eyes, I picture a younger Valentina being traded by the manshe worshiped to a group of men who destroyed her world in a matter of moments.
