#fic!rlw

Well Javier was on the floor. Without a complaint. The two of you didn’t stay too long at the fair considering each ride had a wait time of forty five minutes. In the car you decided to keep your hotel but still be open to staying over, when it was appropriate.  So now you’re on his bed, back in one of his shirts. Surrounded by him. Criss crossed while he’s sat up on the floor. 

“You could come up here.” You offer, removing your rings and placing it on his nightstand. Already claiming his space as your own, too natural for you. The offer has him quirking a brow. It was a test, you know he shouldn’t. Shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” He settles into the mattress, pulling the blankets to his shoulders. “We could talk like this.” Grunting from adjusting his newly relaxed body. You move forward on your stomach so that he could see you. Resting your head on your arms. You smile feeling like two kids at a sleepover, whispering and peering over the bed to see if the other fell asleep yet.

“Good you passed that one. Let's continue shall we?” 

The game of 21 questions was more like two hundred questions and it continued all the way into the house. 

Did you date?

I thought you asked me not to tell you about all of that.

I said I don't want to hear about Camila or Daniela or whoever.

You remember their names?

Yes, I couldn’t sleep and thought about a Camila under you. He flexes his jaw at that. 

I went on two dates, which were set up by my partner Steve Murphy and his wife. They ended with goodbyes after dinner. Never spoke to them again.

I went on some dates too. 

I don’t want to hear about that. You pinch him on the elbow and he shrugs. We’re different about that stuff, I hate to hear it. You nod and get the urge to apologize but fight it. 

Now in bed he clears his throat, “Alright. Tell me what your apartment looks like?”

You smile, “It’s a steal for the area. I actually have a bedroom for the price of a studio. My rooms a bit more eclectic than my one here. My bedding is white but my room walls are a burgundy color. There’s no closet so I have a clothing rack. None of my living room furniture is new… it’s all second hand from stoop sales or whatever. My birds shit without batting an eye so I opted not to be dumb about that. What did yours look like?”

His eyes are closed for a moment like he’s trying to imagine it. “Hmmm.. it was dim in there, always. The kitchen and living room were open, a few steps to lead you to the living room. I had a leather couch and a desk. My television was pretty nice. Nothing was really– mine. I tried not to make it feel lived in because I didn’t want to get attached to that place–that world.” There’s a face that you’ve never really seen from him until you’ve been here. It’s one nearly blank but you know the way his face moves, there's a small crease in his brows and he clenches his jaw. Like talking about Colombia pained him and he has to conceal it. Almost like a child admitting to their faults after a spanking. Quiet, embarrassed, unsure, and on the verge of breakdown. “You would have hated it there.”

Probably. You just nod the best you can while laying down. Waiting for his question. 

“Um…” He closes one eye, like it’ll help him think. He opts to go silent for a moment like he conjured a question but was waging his options. 

Should I? Is this a line I shouldn’t cross? Is the wound still open? “Have you heard from your father?” 

You frown for a second. Off put and taken off guard. Remembering the day, remember the rolling grass, low hanging branches and the cold demeanor from the one person she needed warmth from. Hearing urgent and violent words like I love you. Promising to take care of you. 

“No. I never went back there. He never called me even though I’m sure my grandmother told him I moved to Louisiana. I stopped needing him after I got to know him.” You rarely thought of him, just the concept of being without a parent. Then you became an educator and realized that anyone you call family is your own. Your students taught you that, so did Javier years earlier but you suppose maybe you weren’t ready to accept it yet. 

Javier hums to himself, staring at the ceiling. Contemplating if he should really share the way he had felt. Afraid it would break some rule in this delicate game you’ve got going. Wondering if you’ll furrow your brow and turn you back to sleep or internalize what’s climbing up, up, up his throat. 

“If this is… against your rules you don’t have to say anything or we could move on…”

“Okay.”

Again he can’t look at you. How is it that you reduce him to a shy young boy? 

“There’s nothing more that I want in life than to be the father of your kids.” There he goes leaping over the bounds to which he’s left in, but he can’t help it. It’s all he thinks about, all he thought about three years ago and it plagued him every time you spoke of your own father. He doesn’t see you but he can feel your eyes closed, silent, internalizing it all. After all, you'd never turn your back on him. “No one will ever know you like me. Love you, sure, but not as much as me. You’re too easy to love. But I know that you could show me what a mother looks like and I could show you what a father looks like. Our kids will never be in pain the way we were. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or-or confused. It’s all I thought about when I was away. And I’m so sorry for ever making you think I didn’t want you in that way.” Because he should have known that it was a deep point of insecurity for you, a deep well created by your parents. Urge to be loved, to create something and love it in a much fiercer and kinder way than your parents did you. Lorraine being able to have all that you wanted came like slice to the stomach. 

Sniffling, you rub your face into the crook of your arm. Hiding from Javier. He looks this time and he doesn’t try to hold your hand like you’re itching for. 

“Thank you… I—.” You wipe your face. Not willing to open the can of worms this could conjure if you just told him straight up that you’d be willing to start now. Fuck the trial, fuck trying to learn each other again, let’s start a family. Be irrational but be happy. You decide to keep it together. You thank him and he knows it’s genuine, you see it in his eyes. He understands your reluctance. “I found that I don’t have the need for many people in my life-“

“I need you.” He says before you. Like he did when he said he loved you. Throat bobbing, he pulls his sheets over him. “I’ll wait for you, until you need me again.”

“Can never get enough of each other huh.” Chucho chuckles while washing his hands in the sink. Boots clean and squeaking against the floor. It was a part of his routine, cleaned his boots every night even if he worked the next morning. 

Last night you fell asleep with your face buried into the crook of your arm. Hand dangling off the mattress, grazing Javier’s neck. Need to touch, woke up with a sore arm. Bleary eyed you notice there’s no-body by the bed. Silent but the sound of running water. 

That’s how you found Chucho, ready for the day at 8 am. Embarrassingly you pad into the kitchen in Javier’s shirt and boxers. 

You shrug, he hands you a cup of coffee. Nodding a thank you, “We have established clear boundaries. We are just spending quality time. We have a lot to make up for.” You say it with a bit of a half awake half still dreaming slur that has Javier’s father beaming. 

“Well if that’s what you’re calling it nowadays, so be it. I won’t be back until four pm.” He places his cup down and starts walking away. Your jaw drops and you nearly run after him. But you know he’s fucking with you, his shoulders bounce. 

“It’s not like that!” You call and he waves a hand at you over his shoulder and steps straight out of his own home. Screen door slamming with a brisk breeze. 

You hear a sneeze, “What’s not like that?” Your head snaps and eyes lock with Javier’s. Freshly showered, hair so wet it droops on his forehead. He looks younger this way. Grey shirt loose with jeans to match. Socked feet, he looks like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. At least seeing him like this makes you want to find a nest for yourself in his bed. You can’t help but smile at him. 

He’s skeptical of your cheery mood. Brows furrowing, nostrils flared but a hint of a smile. He’s cautious, like he knows you’re up to something. You aren’t, at all. You’re just giddy and it’s only been two days and you feel your boundaries loosening. Just wanting to find that place you yearn for. Just run to him now, kiss him, tell him to put a baby in you. Grab, pull, lick, love, whatever came with it. You decide to control yourself a bit. 

Your eyes drop to his hands, he’s holding three VHS tapes. Your brows furrow just the same, wondering what movie he wanted to see with you. It wasn’t a thing the two of you ever did. Your time spent was short and only for conversations and kisses. And pot, back before everything. You had to stop smoking after getting your teaching gig. 

You want to say something bratty like, assuming I’m staying for some home videos? But you can’t even do that, lord when did you become such a softie? “Big plans?” Is all you can manage to croak.

He shrugs, “Are you staying?” He says it without shame, you know it must take a lot for a man to nearly beg. You know he means please stay. 

You look at him once more and down at your boxer clad legs. Shrugging. “I suppose”

Eric Fredricks' family owned a Haitian restaurant off main street. It was a small take out spot that had been bustling with business since 1961. Eric was your classmate. A friend of everyone, known for his large digital camera he carried around school. The loud, goofy kid shoved his damn camera in everyone’s faces. Annoyed or not, he would always say, “When you fuckers are forty you’re really going to appreciate these recordings!” 

Well, each year he cut, edited and burned these tapes as his own NR rated yearbook videos. Selling them around school and you bought one each year. He was chill with the price for you just because you always perked up in front of his camera. Ready to gleam and answer whatever stupid questions he had like;

“Andrea, how does it feel to be the worst lacrosse player in Laredo history?”

“Or Andrea, what are your thoughts on today’s LHS Chilli special? “ 

You always answered with the same slapstick humor he had. You thought you lost these tapes years ago. Javier seemed to remind you that you left them at his house, might’ve been when Javier was in Houston.

 He was right, your mother’s VHS player stopped working in 1982. You remember popping these tapes in and watching them during your winter break from Miami. Chucho snoring on the lazy boy, saved him from watching the closest thing he had to a daughter do a keg stand with her skirt flipped up towards her chest. 

“I’ve never seen these.” Javier grunts when he straightens back up and walks to sit next to you on the brown couch. A couch with the tendency to swallow you whole. You remember Javier on his knees before you, pillow covering your spread legs while he unlaced your boots. 

“Well you left so…” You grab the control and snicker, pressing play.

“Hah. Hand me that.” he gestures to the pack of cigarettes on the side table. You shake your head no and settle into the seat. “Cmon.” 

“No. No smoking in the house.” You snap at the tv, “Watch.” 

It’s Eric’s face, he’s sitting in his bedroom. “Hello. I’m Eric Fredricks. I’m fifteen and my passion is digital media. The yearbook club is full of hacks and strokes, so I’m going to make my own. The date is September 21st 1979. Ok bye!” the film glitches and the camera makes its way down the hall. Faces of people who you haven’t seen in years. Hairstyles forgotten, thank god. Winks at the camera, sly comments from Eric behind it. He asks questions in his interview segment that would never make it to the school's video yearbook. 

“What does Eric do now?” Javier asks. It’s easy to forget that he missed so many crucial moments. He missed the infamous lunch box incident in 81', Laredos first soccer championship, the halloween rager that led to the assembly—all of that. You wonder if that’s normal, for the development of a person. To be plucked out of childhood and forced to be an adult while everyone else got to worry about if their drivers test aligned with their basketball practice schedule. Burdened with the responsibility of a person's livelihood is no place for a seventeen year old. 

You bring your knees to your chest, finding the most comfort when you're guided and held. “Last I heard he was doing media production for Saturday Night Live. Like in New York City.”

He feels it too, you see the way his brows quirk. How he almost frowns. “That’s crazy—how different things went for everyone else.” You knew at that moment that the tape would be mere background noise. 

“You— you know you made a name for yourself too.” 

Hm. 

You weren’t sure if that’s what you wished to say. He doesn’t get upset with you for it. He chooses to let it slide and for that you’re grateful because you hadn’t had a clue about what to say to him. 

“Yeah.” He chuckles but doesn’t seem to be that amused. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his head against the back of the couch. There’s not much to be said anymore. Lorraine changed the fabric of his being, so did the DEA. And maybe you too. His hand splayed on his knee, knuckles red from repeated trauma to the area. You opted to abandon the topic in general. Seeing his stomach tighten up under the thin fabric of his t-shirt when the choice was your hand on his. Small, soft, against his. 

The two of you relish in the harmless intimacy, you give each other this. Tiny touches could be enough. 

The two of you watch the bootlegged documentary in mostly silence. Rotating who strokes the other with their thumbs. You think about turning your cheek, kissing him. Pressing close and making out for a bit. A casual make out, breathy and gripping. You decide against it. This would be so easy if it was anyone else but him. 

It’s not because you feel like you can’t control yourself—it’s not like a make out with Javier Peña would have your panties at your ankles. You could control yourself more than that. What it is—is that you’ll take advantage of those little liberties. Sneaking kisses at any time and when you go back home, you’ll be lost without it. 

Maybe you’re doomed anyway, because if this doesn’t work out you don't know what you’ll do knowing you can’t just hold his hand. 

Your brother comes out on halloween with a fang induced lisp drunkenly reciting the alphabet backwards at a party while Eric cackles behind the camera. It makes you laugh so hard you cry, missing being young. Missing your brother. 

Lorraine pops up. High ponytail with red cheeks from gym class. Hands on her hips, it’s wrong for such an evil person to be so beautiful. You look at Javier and there’s a frown on his face. 

He wonders why she was so bad to him, what he did to deserve to be plagued by her. He regrets knowing her, it’s hard for him to watch her smile. 

Then you show up and Javier’s eyebrows raise. “I remember that day.” He mutters. There you are, looking the same just with that baby fat at the apple of your cheeks. Your hair was the closest to its natural brown, your pants were severely high waisted and your shirt a lacy shawl like thing. You’re at a locker taping a flier about lacrosse tryouts when the camera rushes you.

“Andrea Diaz! How does it feel to be Laredos worst lacrosse player?” Javier snorts next to you, squeezing your hand. That’s what he would do, come up to you and ask the dumbest, rudest questions. There, a fifteen year old Andrea rolls her eyes and rolls her thumb to secure the tape. 

Crossing her arms, “I’ll answer your dumb questions if you’re nicer about it.” You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding awfully juvenile. Javier’s entire demeanor goes soft. All it took was the sound of you—back then, for him to forget the panic in his gut when watching Lorraine in her prime. 

“Alright sure-sure- Andrea Diaz how does it feel to be the sexiest girl in all of Laredo?” Eric had quite the country accent, it made every line delivered feel like that of a typecasted movie star. 

Quirking a brow, “I wouldn’t know. I could ask your mother.” 

“All right that’s enough! You’re impossible to please ,woman!” Eric yells from behind the camera and it fades in little blocks to you getting set up for a keg stand. 

You’re in a skirt and a flowing yellow top. Stumbling a bit, Daniel holds your shoulder to keep you upright. You try not to think too hard about the images you’ve left in people’s minds while you were drunk. Javier is getting more and more tense each passing moment. His hold on your hand becomes just a hold and no longer a soothing stroke. 

You’re cringing at yourself, flipping your hair and chanting that you could do it while Daniel holds your waist. Hands trailing over your stomach, you almost forget that before Javier you had your fair share of hookups, him your most consistent. 

The date on the corner March 1st 1980. 

Drunkenly you lean forward and another one of your peers holds your other leg while another shoves a tap in your mouth. The entire party off screen and on, start chanting your name with whoops. That’s when your skirt flips and exposes the plain blue panties. 

You cover your eyes. 

“I don’t like this.” Is all that Javier can say, on the screen no one covers you until a random classmate of yours, Jenna? Or was it Jessa? Runs to your aid and calls all the men pigs before holding your skirt in its place. You’re dropped down and again you stumble backward into the arms of your pseudo boyfriend. 

And then you yak all over the floor.

 “Jesus christ I forgot about that.” You rub your eyes afraid to look over at Javier. 

“Did—anything-“

“No. Well I think we went to someone’s room and made out. Then I walked home.” 

His head nearly falls off his shoulders. “He let you walk home like that?” Javi grits, letting go of your hand. 

You shrug, “Dunno, high school shit.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

Your brows furrow, he’s being ridiculous but you know he can’t help it. He wanted—wants, nothing more than to take care of those he loves. You watch the video back, seeing your young eyes and wish to take care of her too. You can’t even imagine him. He only lets you know the surface level of his concern for you. You know it’s more than wishing you had called him. 

You had before, panicked and blushing using the party home phone. 

You decide calling him ridiculous would be in bad faith. You just lean your head on his shoulder. Moving your hand from his and holding his bicep instead. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Face softening along with his tense shoulders. “I don’t know. I was sixteen and stupid. And drunk.” Your cheek feels too good there. 

He’s studying you. You wished you could read him in these moments. When he’s so in his head, he’s taking you in completely. “Can you? Now I mean.”

Your lips quirk and the apples or your cheeks redden. Pulling your brows because sometimes he’s too sweet it gives you a toothache. “I live in New York, Javi.” 

“I know.” He’s close enough to kiss. “But I want you to call me anyway. If you ever feel unsafe or unsure—i know how twisted a human can be—i’ve seen-“

There it is. He’s cut off by a kiss on his shoulder.

 “I will.” It’s a featherlight whisper and he does that thing again. That look, this time with a bit of restraint. The two of you focus on the screen again.

Twenty minutes into the forty-six minute video the two of you revert back to telling stories about the students on the screen and laughing at how high school, your high school experience really was.

“This is great, hottest couple in the school right in front of me.” Eric laughs, camera pointed at the ground then quickly shot up. Blurring than focusing on Javier at his locker. He looked so young, red cap on his head with a Righteous Brothers t-shirt. The image of him as a seventeen year old in your head had been fading for a few years, but now you’re watching him living, breathing and moving as himself. Smiling once he sees Eric approaching him. 

“What the fuck was I wearing?”

You laugh, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t know but I was obsessed with you anyway.”

He makes one of those grunts where you can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself or with you. You nudge his shoulder with your chin. “What?”

“Makes me feel like such an asshole.”

All you could do was sigh. You know he’d give it all to do it over again. You look at Lorraine and there seems to be love there. It never fails to make your blood boil. You know that loving Javier can make you feel sick, crazy or desperate. But you suppose her love was selfish. For a while you felt like your own love was selfish, not caring for the consequences. But you suppose it was just a natural progression. Miles away from scheming to keep him forever, by ways of manipulation. The look in his eye isn’t the same since you left him. 

A young Javier takes Lorraine’s jaw in his hand and kisses her cheek. She rolls her eyes. “He’s obsessed with me.” She smiles and he mumbles a yeah. Your cheeks heat in a rage that’s so juvenile, you want to turn off the entire thing. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Watching your most insecure and turbulent years in front of you. You were obsessed with him, crying furious tears. Avoiding contact. While he was content with her. It’s a nerve that will always be left exposed. 

He clears his throat. 

“Were you?” You bite. Removing your head from his shoulder, he sinks at the loss. Leaning forward to get a full image of your face. His brows are pulled together in confusion until they soften when he notices this is nothing but you showing him you are still so into him. 

He bites back a smirk and you want to smack it off of his face. “Was I what, querida?”

You swear you will-

“Obsessed with her.” Firm, no room for it to sound like a desperate question. This definitely breaks one of your rules. But fuck it, he’s flawed and so are you, 

He shuts an eye and shakes his head no. “I liked her. She was pretty. She was my girlfriend…”

You frown, that title belonged to you. 

There he is, an inch away from your face with such intensity. “But I would fuck her, and picture you. I imagined that you’d blush the whole time and would pretend like you couldn’t handle me just so I can fuck you harder. Would have to bury my head where she couldn’t hear because I’d come and say your name.” Your cheeks turn cherry red, just how he likes. Cunt pulsing, it betrays you. You’re so flustered and angry with him you want to lean forward and bite him. He doesn’t waiver, he leans much closer. You shudder, feeling crowded by his body. He has the strength to do what he’d like with you, you’re sure you’d put on a fight until you’re unable to lie anymore. You had been soaked the whole damn time. “What? Have I broken your rules?” He whispers, nose nudging your own lightly. You can’t help it, your mouth parts searching for his—

But he backs away and laughs at you. He laughs! Shaking his head like you’re some bastard child. Leaning back cooley and pressing play again. Lorraine’s voice ringing through the speakers. 

Absolutely not. 

You sit in silence. Staring at him while he’s glued to the image of him and his ex girlfriend. Your chin quivers, and you clench around nothing.

“G-give me the remote.” You blurt. Chest falling, bubbling with anger. He doesn’t look at you but smirks. He ignores you. Eyes welling with tears. “Javi.”

More silence. More her. You reach for his hand and he doesn’t look at you. He isn’t looking at you… so you pounce. 

Jumping into his lap, clawing at him while he laughs and hurriedly finds different ways to keep you away from the remote. You’re seeping through your underwear and onto his boxers, your cunt rolling against his crotch unintentionally.

 Your brows screw—“Just—Javi please turn it off.” He chuckles again and he’s all of this without focusing on the pain you’re in. Emotionally, sexually, whatever. You reach around him lifting your hips to get ahold of the controller but you lose again. Bouncing on his lap a bit. He grunts.

“Javi— Please- I’m not kidding.” 

The tv shuts off with a wiring tone and his eyes finally land on your own. All the playfulness leaves when he realizes. And you feel like a heat sick kitten, rubbing on yourself this way. His brow raises, eyes falling to your tear stained cheek and down your grinding hips. You drop your face into his shoulder. At first he doesn’t touch you, he just watches you. Nose nudging your cheek. Wondering why after everything you’d give it up just to come quick like this. 

“Hey… hey.” He whispers at the shell of your ear. “Fuck—Andrea—“

You can only whimper into the crook of his neck. Taking your feel for the girl in those tapes, for the girl who dreamt of him while he did the same. It drove you crazy, it made you violent and horny. “Baby…” His big hands span from your shoulder blades down to  the small of your back and then splayed on your ass. Spreading you and rolling you harder. He grunts again. “Andrea… I can’t—we said we wouldn’t—I'm sorry for teasing you—cmon.” His hands move from your behind, come to your front, at your waist and lightly push  you away from him. 

He’s impossibly hard now, his tan cheeks have a bit more color now. He’s sweating. Feeling embarrassed, you freeze. Eyes dropped to his lap, cunt begging you to move again. You feel the length of him under you, mocking you. You shouldn’t. You know. You know he’s sorry for how rushed and stupid Christmas eve was. You’re still ticked off by it, but he’s doing so good for you. 

“I’m sorry… we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Is all you can muster out. 

“You know I want to.” He rushes, leaning forward so he can hold your face, it just makes him shift against you again. Your brows furrow at the release. 

“Okay…” A drop of sweat builds at the nape of your neck, the both of you are so turned on you’ll fuck each other if you keep this up. “Can we…can I…” You swear if he brings up your rules again you’ll crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

He juts his chin at you, egging you to complete your sentence. 

You think you’ll die before you say it. Your face brightens real red and you shimmy out of his hold. You crawl off his lap and mutter to yourself. “Sorry, it’s stupid. I should just go.” 

He catches your wrist and sits you back down next to him. “Tell me.”

“It’s stupid! And gross probably.”

“We aren’t children.” 

You’ve been so open sexually until now. You felt twenty two again, never having orgasmed with another person, afraid to tell him what you wanted. He gave you it all. 

“Can we— or can I touch myself?”

Javier’s eyes darken, “You want to touch yourself.” 

God it’s like he’s trying to humiliate you. 

“Yes.”

He clenches his jaw so tight. “Can I watch? Or do you want to go to my room alone?” 

Idiot. 

“Can we do it together? Now.” You can’t let the moment pass. 

Well, he can’t either. His nostrils flare and he places his hand on his belt. Unbuckling so fast you can’t help but watch. You watch him unbuckle and unzip while you shimmy out of his boxers. His eyes glued to your movements. You feel filthy exposing yourself like this. He lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down a bit, the heft of his cock making a print through his underwear. You remember leaning down and pressing your lips along his bulge once. You’d like to do it again. 

You circle your fingers along your clit over your panties. He palms himself. 

“Tell me what to do.” You whisper. 

“Oh.” He reaches into his boxers and pulls his length out. Your pussy clenches at the sight, a thatch of hair at the base and curved. You touched yourself to the thought of it. You pull your panties down and lift one leg up on the couch, spreading yourself open. “Give me your fingers.” 

You furrow your brow but remove them. Bringing your hand to him. His free hand grasps your wrists and he takes no time, he puts the same two fingers in his mouth. You gasp, while he sucks, stroking his dick at the same time. Your fingers are impossibly wet when he stops. Your wrist is still in his hold. “Don’t put any fingers in until I tell you. Just play with your clit for a little.” 

You nod, bringing your fingers back to it. Moving in tight circles. Javier’s fist is dry, working his way up and down his shaft— your lips gather with drool—you want to-

“Spit on it. If you want. Or I can.” He reads your mind. You take no time, moving to your knees, your knees knocked together giving you a tighter squeeze for your fingers. Feels even better. You lean into his lap, back arched like a kitten. 

Javier groans at the sight. You desperately want to put your mouth on him—my rules, my rules. Spit drips from your mouth and onto the red head of his pretty cock. His hand comes to the back of your head and you moan, wishing he’d push down and force himself into your mouth. But he just strokes the back of your head instead. You lean back into the arm of the couch, you’re no longer side by side. Your whole body is barred for him, you bring your free hand under your shirt. Grabbing your breast and rolling your fingers over your nipples. 

He uses your spit and moans audibly now. Grunting in his low baritone, you collect your slick and use it for slip. Your stomach tenses, “Put your finger in. Middle.” You nod and feel even more unsatisfied. “Fuck, I missed that pretty little face you make when something goes inside your cunt.”

“Javi…” You whine throwing your head back, fucking yourself with your small finger. 

“I know—fuck.” Pre-cum gathers all over the tips of his fingers. You’ll ask to lick his hand clean when you’re done. “I know your cunt wants my cock again—I’m sorry I can’t.”

“It’s not enough.” Your knees knock together in protest. 

“I know-I know. Add another baby. Ring.” You watch his stomach go taut so he slows down his strokes. Licking his lips at the sight of you adding another. “Mm. I miss you so much.” He shudders. 

“I’m right here.” 

“Please don’t leave me—fuck.” He whines, it’s so unlike him. You watch his tip surge through the tight hole he’s made for himself, he’s close but you’re closer. You can’t believe it’s him asking you this. “I want to follow your rules—show you I’m good—but please let me kiss you.” 

The ridges of your fingers aren’t enough, you use your other hand to circle your clit without permission. He’s so caught in his emotions that he doesn’t seem to care that you touched yourself without his command. 

He tells you what to do but truly he’s at your will. His eyes well with tears and his brows are pulled together. “Let me take care of you, I’ll do everything you say if you let me kiss you—“

“I can’t— I’m going to come!” Your back arches and it builds. You can’t see him now but you hear his pace, his fist slapping against his base. You writhe and shiver and it comes crashing down. You come hard, you mutter I’m sorry, over and over. And he groans at the sight, you can’t give him what he wants. 

You can try and give him something else. You catch your breath and open your eyes. Your own come dripping to the inside of your thighs. He watches in pain, “Baby—” You whisper, fuck that’s against the rules probably. He nods, submissive suddenly. “Come here, come on my cunt.” You want to be marked, he’s yours. 

“Andrea—“ still he’s fighting his need to follow your rules. 

You nod, “It’s okay, come here.” He lets his length go at once, it twitches at the sudden abandonment. You lean forward and grab his arms, and he finally climbs over you. Reluctant, “Please Javi. Let me have what I want.” Were you power tripping? Yeah. But it was always him in control. You open your legs and he clenches his jaw. “Do you want me to finish it?” 

He shakes his head no, you know he wants it. Still he tries to be good. You begin to touch yourself under him. He begins to jerk himself off inches away from your cunt. Your knuckles brush against each other and you're already climaxing again. He slaps faster, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck—move your hand.” You do and he’s coming all over you. It shoots and covers the new growth of hair, it's warm against the bare part of you. Dripping and he instinctively slides his twitching, softening cock between your folds. The two of you gasp when just the tip of his cock prods your hole. Gasping at the way you pulse for him for that one second like muscle memory. “Sorry.” He mumbles, taking a hold of his still twitching and leaking length. He panics and tucks himself back into his boxers before he relaxes himself on you. 

He’s catching his breath, you think he’s crying against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay.” 

You hold the back of his head, hoping to soothe him. 

What do you say to your ex-boyfriend after you make him come so hard he cries?

Age old question. 

“Do you need water?” You ask, ankles wrapped around his lower back. Sated and satisfied, he nods before parting his body from yours. Eyes heavy lidded, staring at you bare covered in his come. Your questions sinks in and he takes back his nod with a furrowed brow.

“No-let me clean you.” He stands before you can protest that you can do it yourself. His jeans hanging low, sweat painting his hairline, he walks away. 

You’re left alone on the couch, a bit shameful you’d say. You might never look at the couch the same again. Thank goodness Chucho only ever sits in his recliner, he’s saving you from decades of embarrassment. The tv was shut all the way off and the December breeze creeped through the window steadily then all at once. Sobering your mind that only had the capacity to be turned on. Your pleasure sensors doing its job. 

He comes back, shifting his bulge with his palm. Kneeling before you, and wiping you clean. “We always seem to get here.” He whispers, leaning down to grab your panties off the floor. You thank him silently and pull them back on. He stands and watches you for a moment. He’s still licked with sweat and red eyed from his orgasm. “I don’t want this to be a step back-”

“It won’t be. We’re… human. And I’m almost getting my period so…” You ramble and he hums. You usually can keep it in your pants. And you talked up such a big game about boundaries just to fold the second your hormones whacked and Javier made the slightest reference to your previous sex life. You had an extraordinary forty-eight hour attempt of celibacy. 

He nods, leaning back in the seat. “Going forward?” He crosses his arms. Your brows shoot high, he waits for you to set a new rule. His pants are still unbuckled and he looks fucked out. Too sexy for his own good, that fucking mustache drives you up a wall. 

“Going forward…” You straighten up, criss crossing your legs. “I’d like to… not make it a habit while we’re figuring it out. But… if we get… in a mood-“ He chuckles, you stumble over your own words as if you weren’t just talking him through coming all over you. You narrow your eyes at him and nudge him with your foot. “No sex. Penetrative sex. No kissing.” You stabilize your voice, his eyes saddened at the last part. 

“Can I eat you out?” He asks like it’s nothing at all, like he’s asking what’s the weather like. You think for a moment. 

“Do you want to eat me out?” You ask, not sure why—

He looks down at your lap. “Please.”

You kick him. “Pervert… Yes you can. If! It happens to progress that way not just because we want to. We aren’t together-“

“Yet.” He nods. “Not together yet.”

You snort, “You’re confident.” 

“Andrea. I know you don’t want anyone else.”

You scoff this time, sitting up. “You’re right. I don’t. But if you can’t prove to me that you’re ready I’ll have no fucking problem setting foot to New York alone. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your face is red, feeling something close to anger. No, you weren’t trying to be controlling. You’re just not the passive twenty-two year old ready to just cry and move on. Over and done with it. “Tomorrow. I want you to visit Lorraine. I’ll come with you if you’d like, I can’t promise to help the situation because I might pop her.” You exhale, running a hand through your hair. Genuinely frustrated and violent when you think of her. Javier smirks and nods

“Okay. But I need you there with me.” 

Flustered and frankly pissed off, “Alright.”

His under eye twitches and he opens his mouth just to shut it again. You squint at him, annoyed. “What.” You snap.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“So you’re back together” Genie wipes her lips, just to take another bite of bruschetta that drips on  the plate. You and Javier napped on the couch until four pm when the sound of a polaroid click and flash jolted you upright. Chucho stood at the couch without a clue, grinning as his photo developed. You yawned and Javier drove you back to your motel. He didn’t want to say goodbye, watched you until your waved at him from inside the room window. 

Then you put on your bumiest clothes and drive to your brother's house. In desperate need of talking to a woman. As much as you missed your brother, you were absolutely thrilled to find that he took your niece to a birthday party. 

Your lips tangy and oily, Genie was trying something new as a snack. “No. We aren’t-“

“So please explain this to me again.” She uses her bisquit to pick up what fell off before, grunting when it falls again. 

You sigh, licking your lips. “He ate me out on Christmas.”

“That’s blasphemous.” She grins and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever, I think we were just high off of seeing each other. Missed one another, then we both felt shit about it the next morning. I told him we had to do this differently. I told him that we had to have rules because I want this to work so badly— Genie you don’t understand. I’m so tired of running around in circles.” You aggressively bite into another piece of bruschetta. Genie gives you a sympathetic nod, “I told him no kisses, no sex, just honesty. I need him to continue getting help—I need him to talk to Lorraine.”

Her brows shoot up, moving to stand and grab the bottle of wine left uncapped on the counter behind her. Internalizing all that you’ve said, she pours you another glass. “Don’t you think maybe… that won’t be a good idea. Like it’ll bring up old memories.”

And of course you’ve thought about it. You wonder if there’s a part of you who’s just being the jealous little girl you once was, You think that if he came back here, the same person he was in 1986 you’d be a bit crazy for making him talk to Lorraine. But that isn’t the reality, But that isn’t the reality, Lorraine intruded, she placed a wedge in the track of his life. Leaving him even more uncertain than he was before she came home.

There’s a part of Javier that stayed with her, a person isn’t made to be lied to in that way. You’re not sure if you can move on without officially leaving her in the past. 

You shake your head, “Lorraine is more than an old memory. She baby trapped him, attempted to isolate him on purpose, so she could keep him. And it has nothing to do with me—or-me feeling like she was taking him away from me. Even if we weren’t involved she still took advantage of him. It was an abuse of power, simple as that.” You crunch so loud it acts as a closing statement. Genies brows raise a bit, internalizing all that you’ve said. 

Genie is your family. She is your best friend. But she has also never left Laredo, Texas. She has lived her whole life in a bubble. She’s smart, she’s charming, she’s the only woman you’ve ever looked up to. But, she’s also very, very, southern—“You sound so damn therapized. That’s probably healthier than whatever I would have done!” She snorts and she means no harm. 

You laugh too, you love her so much sometimes you forget she isn’t really your sister. 

“What would you have done, Genie Diaz?” You quirk a brow. 

“Spun that bitches jaw at the altar!” 

“She was pregnant!” You cackle and Genie shrugs. 

“You’re right. I forget she didn’t lie about that. I don’t know, maybe spit in her face or something, she ain’t pregnant now. You should try it this time.” She gives up on piling her tomatoes on her biscuit and begins spoon feeding herself. You do the same.

“I’m trying to be good—I want to be healthy and mature about this. “ You say, mouth full of tomatoes. 

You playfully reach your spoon onto her plate, your silverware clanking. You find a scoop anyhow. “Huh. You’re really putting a lot of yourself into this.” 

You frown, because she knows. Because you have to say it anyway. Say it out loud. Face solemn and inward. Everyone always said you could never keep an emotion off of your face. 

“He’s the love of my life, so.” You shrug like it’s nothing to the ear. Genie smiles a small biting thing. You know she loves to hear it, you want to tell her to look away. But you don’t, “I will do anything to make it work. I’ll be thirty in a few years, I want to start building my life with him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to hear anything in my life.” She taps her spoon against yours, it’s like a hug. Like a kiss on the cheek.

 You tap hers back and burn bright red.  

This shit better work. 

Is the first thing Javier thought of the second you left his house. Feeling aimless and confused, which could be unhealthy but he just figures it just the effects of missing someone so much. 

He unpacks a few things, leaving most of it in its place. He’s ready to leave with you, if you say yes of course. He puts on his fathers records and picks up the living room. His brain was a bit clouded from the pseudo-sex you two had. Banishing himself from replaying it over in his mind. Ears hot with embarrassment and arousal thinking about the way you held his head when he came. 

His semi died in his pants the moment he remembered he needed to just call Lorraine, see if she’s even willing to speak. Javier’s therapist had been suggesting that he do something like this for a few years now. She believed that the way it ended wasn’t truly an end. And it wasn’t, he never got to face her and just ask her why. 

Granted, he’s been too fucking angry and rather never see her again. 

But it was you that asked, so he’ll do it. 

He knows he needs to, it petrifies him. But he wants to be with you so badly, the thought of this not working petrifies him in a whole other way. A way he won’t recover from. So he looks through his fathers phone book and finds her name.

It only took him two cigarettes, a lap around the kitchen and four minutes of silence to ring her. 

It rings twice and he hears a child's screech. Javier feels his world crashing down on him for a second.

“Hello?” 

Her voice makes him go cold. It makes him angry in a way that quickly turns to grief. All in twenty seconds. “Hello?” She asks again. 

He blinks, ashes his cigarette and straightens in his seat. It squeaks the same way it did when he sat half asleep over fifth grade math homework. The thought scares him, he’s been in this house for too long. Change becomes too much when you can pinpoint exactly what you did in that very spot twenty years ago. What he would give to do it all over, to drool over homework while his mother cooked. Instead he sits here with years of trauma, on the phone with one of the perpetrators. He blinks three times, “It’s Javi.”

There's a small breath from the phone, some shuffling and a similar creak that only a wooden chair could make. “Okay…” Is all she can say and he wants to bang his head into the hand sawed table Javier built with his father when he was fourteen. 

“I want to… talk to you. In person.”

“When… when did you come back to the states?”

“That doesn't really matter. When are you free?”

She does something that sounds like a scoff and his ears ring. He closes his eyes and sees you and everything clears up. “I guess tomorrow. Andy won’t be home.”

Javier’s brows furrow, “Who-”

“My son. My parents are taking him to the indoor waterpark. Does noon work?”

His eyes burn, chin usually strong but nearly quivers. He closes his eyes and can only feel heat surrounding his senses. His face an inferno, he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin at just a few words. He feels it, the isolation. Where would he be? How miserable would he have been with her. She speaks to him in that rude passive-aggressive tone she’d give him after a long day of classes.  Like he was a child needing reprimanding. 

He agrees with a simple sure and has what his therapist would describe as a panic attack. He cries again today. He feels stupid, exposed and weak. Unlike a man. He locks himself in his room for the rest of the night, doesn't come down for dinner and avoids thinking of you. He knows you’d cry with him and tell him he isn’t weak or stupid or whatever–he avoids thinking of you some more. He chooses not to be hopeful tonight, and that's what you are for him. 

He feels even more embarrassed when he wakes up at eight in the morning and realizes he fell asleep because his panic attack took the energy from him. He wakes up an anxious mess and he calls you to tell you that he’ll be at your hotel in two hours. He  barely lets you speak beyond the agreement, he wasn’t ready for this yet.

He showers and dunks his face in cold water, hoping his eye swelling will settle. He dresses the way he likes, denim, button up and boots. Burns one on the road, he knows you hate the smell. 

His panic fizzles the moment he pulls his fathers truck into the dingy motel “hotel”. What a rare thing you two have got going. You come out of the room, locking the door behind you and he already feels better. 

His lips twitch in a smile watching you struggle to work the overused key. He stares at what you decided to wear. Looking like a vixen, hair straightened, pencil skirt stretched across your behind taut like it's struggling. A sweater similar to yesterdays, white this time. And heels, like you're on your way to be the sexiest defense attorney in the state. He wonders if you could just forget it, fuck Lorraine, we can be fine without ever speaking of her again. 

Then he panics and looks at his eyes in the rearview mirror, still swollen and he decides maybe you have a point with all of this. He swallows his fear.

“Hi.” You chirp, not too excited for the day but excited to be with him. He furiously avoids  eye contact with you. 

“Hi.” He leans forward to kiss you cheek fast and you feel like an absolute loser for getting full body chills. “You look pretty.” He turns the key and the car rattles. The day is gray and depressing. The moment you opened your eyes alone in the itchy sheets of the hotel, you beamed at the sound of Javier's voice from your temporary home phone. Left sad at the brief tone and the Lorraine related reality check. You stared at the popcorn ceiling and cried for a few minutes. 

You see him now and figure maybe he feels the same way. 

The line between your brows creases, in the way that bothers him. You can’t help being worried about him. He had gone through so much without you. 

You observe his every move as he pulls out the lot without a word. Watching the way his hands look older on the steering wheel, thinking of what they’d look with a wedding band. You see a glimpse of the freckles on his cheeks that seemed to have layover from the Colombian sun. You see that under his eyes are puffy and that he’s clenching his jaw. 

He comes to a light and you can’t help yourself. Your hand flies to the back of his head, nails gently scraping his scalp. He pulls his brows together and leans into your touch. “Hey…its okay we don’t have to-”

He grunts, “Andrea…”

“We can go home, find another way– I can feel how unhappy you are it’s-”

“Andrea, please don’t do that-”

You drop your hand. “Do what.” 

The light turns green. 

“Try to take care of me– try to change the plans just because I’m not happy about it. It's right for us–I want to get it right.”

You frown and your hand feels as if it’s been stung. 

“I can't take care of you?” You whisper. 

He clicks his tongue, “I don’t want you to worry about that. That’s for me to handle.” Still, Javier has yet to look you in the eyes. Your face is filled with heat. 

“No.”

“No, what?” It’s meaner than he anticipates, you can tell in the way his forehead creases. 

“No. That’s not how this is going to work. Yes, I shouldn’t coddle you and I’m sorry for my immediate reaction to you being upset. But as long as I’m around I’ll want to take care of you. Let me have that.” You cross your arms, feeling like a petulant child, also not caring at all. His chest puffs and you can tell he’s about to speak again. You cut him off before he even begins. “You hurt me when you don’t expect me to care just as much as you care about me.” 

He looks at you, nostrils flaring and his face crumbles. He clenches his jaw and you watch the muscles in his face twitch, wanting to shut down and turn away. But he doesn’t, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just trying—you’re the most important part of my life. I’m not used to feeling this… open.”

“We don’t have to see her today.” 

He chuckles, “No. Now I have to see her today. She was just as callous and cold on the phone as she was years ago. It fucking pissed me off.” 

You smile, leaning your head against the window. “I probably shouldn’t come in with you. For her safety.” 

He snorts, a long loud beep snaps them both out of the little world they’ve created in that truck. Javier looks at the rear view mirror and cringes, before stepping on the gas. “How many times do you think that light changed?” He leans forward and readjusts himself to his regular driving posture. You take a deep breath and just shrug which makes him laugh again. “And I need you to bear witness to her manipulation.” 

“I’ll try to behave.”

He raises a brow at you but returns to be inward. You allow him, he lets music play the rest of the ride.

The lawn is only slightly overgrown. Overgrown in the way that everyone’s lawn is in the winter. Even in a place where you don’t get snow, or really cold weather. Still winter is a feeling, feeling like your lawn isn’t important. There’s a mailbox too, only the last name Smithfield is on it. So she isn’t married which honestly comes as a surprise to you. 

You’d assume in some ironic alliance of the stars she’d get all that she wanted and you’d suffer. Or maybe she realized she needs to be alone in order to figure herself out entirely. 

Javier lets you knock when you ascend the stairs. There’s a cat on a porch swing. It meows at the sight of the two of them. Like the world’s softest guard dog. It makes Javier smile for the first time since he stepped out of the car. 

You aren’t nervous, you had your moment to confront her. You’re not nervous in that way. 

Javi though, you could almost feel it lift from him. Since the moment he picked you up, you saw it in the bags of his eyes and in the way he snapped and hurt your feelings. The way he gets in a headspace where he cares so much about everything and he can’t conceptualize someone else caring for him. 

He’d look into the eyes of killers, men so ruthless, so deeply connected that bringing them to justice is a task nearly impossible. But when Lorraine opens the door his eyes dart to the ground first then to hers. But it’s no use.

Her eyes are on you. 

You aren’t expecting it but it doesn’t show. 

She looks the same, hair still blonde, brighter now like she goes for a touch up once and a while. Her cheeks lost its roundness and she’s skinnier in the way that moms get. When they realize that maybe they should focus on themselves too, fifteen pounds lighter later. There’s not a lick of makeup on her face and her nostrils flare at the sight of you. Then she looks at Javier. 

“Well. Come on in.” She bites out in a tone that seems like an attempt to be nice. She turns and walks straight in. Javier follows first, taking a glance at you and clenching his jaw. The house is nice, modern, and tidy. The front door leads you to a hallway that brings you into the kitchen. Lorraine’s back is still turned. Picking up a toy from the floor and mail from the dinner table and placing it on the counter next to the stovetop. “I made lunch, I wasn’t picturing a third person here.” 

She glances over her shoulder and runs her eyes from the top of your head down to your heels. You smile back and you know it disgusts her. She turns her face back to the food on the stovetop. It’s a casserole, she had no reason to complain about her lack of food other than to assert some pseudo dominance over you. 

It’s laughable, you watch as she serves you a plate as well. 

Javier shakes his head as he notices her comment was unnecessary as well. “Should we sit at the table?”

“Yes. Water?”

“Sure.” You respond and the sound of your voice has her shoulders tensing. 

It’s a brown table with two chairs on each side and two at both of the heads of the table. You and Javier sit side by side. 

Javi places his hand on your knee, soothing you to soothe himself. It makes you frown, it feels like the first time you aren’t hiding yourselves and it’s in front of Lorraine. 

Someone who doesn’t deserve to see. The second Lorraine walks towards them with plates and forks and water and whatever she puts in that casserole Javier straightens up. 

Lorraine settles down and sips her water, her eyes attempt to avoid you but they lose. 

Javier doesn’t like this. 

The way he stares at Lorraine is the way you pictured him staring down the face of officials, criminals, and his boss. It’s like in one moment all the nerves he once had cease to exist, all that was left was the anger he feels and the itch for confrontation.

Her fork drags across the plate in an ear aching screech. She takes a bite, waves the fork gesturing between the two of you. “So? You too finally together?” She says with a smirk, a knowing hint of sarcasm. She talks with the knowledge of her role in all of this. 

Javier clenches his jaw, “No. We aren’t. I just got home.” He doesn’t entertain her 

foolishness.

Her eyebrows furrow, she frowns and looks at you. 

“Ah— that’s unfortunate-“

“Where’s your kid?” You cut her off, taking a sip of the water she served. The smirk is immediately wiped off her face.

“Andy is with my mother. Not like it’s any of your concern.”

“Well my relationship status wasn’t your concern either so I suppose we’re even.” A timer goes off in the kitchen, Lorraine startles. It settles something in you, she’s much more affected than you are. 

She ignores the noise. 

“I want to talk about the wedding—I want you to tell me about it.” Javi sits straight, pushing his lousy dish to the side, it clinks with your cup. He pats his pants, digging for his pack. He taps it against the table. “Can i?” 

Lorraine shrugged. The apartment reeked of smoke anyway. 

Here is where you need to take the backseat. Let him feel. Let him ask. It’ll be impossibly hard to just let it happen but he needs it. He lights up. 

“What do you want to know?” She leans back, food abandoned only twenty seconds into the conversation. 

Javier furrows his brows, like, what a stupid fucking question. “Why. Why did you lie? When did you decide to fucking lie? Who’s the father—just fucking tell me.”

“You were in love with another woman.” She looks at you and you feel that stupid pang of shame. “I don’t know why I fucking agreed to this—why did you bring her?” Her voice breaks but there’s no tears, she’s afraid of being vulnerable in front of you. 

And you want to claw her eyes out. Flip the table over. Call her evil. And yet, you see a girl so insecure—so jaded by what she perceived as normal—and you feel pity beyond belief. 

Javier doesn’t reply, neither do you. Because she knows why you’re here. How life would have been different for them if she hadn’t come back around. She knows, so she frowns and the facade is gone. The act, like she’s above all of this mess, like it was just some thing she did that she got over so he should too. It’s gone. 

Finally she looks at Javier. “I- In high school you—we were so good. I fucked it up— I know. I thought because we already were planning a life that we could be adults and work through it.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I told you I was sorry—for cheating. I told you that you were it for me. That I’d try but it was written all over you. You were over me so fast, I couldn’t understand that. We were together and you were over me. I became the other woman in our own relationship. Watching you fucking glow whenever she was mentioned. Or watching you hold yourself back from talking about her.” She exhales, she avoids your eyes the entire time. Like it could maim her. 

You can’t help it but you do feel an ache in your chest. Javier clenches his jaw once more, his cigarette sizzling before he drags again. 

“I was stressed too, we said horrible things to each other when we were like that. Then we’d make up, and be sweet and it would be good. That’s what couples do…”

“They don’t Lorraine—they shouldn’t. We were worse than horrible when we fought, you know that.”

She shakes her head, “I was blindsided when you asked to separate. You’d say we weren’t together but we’d have sex and you still paid for everything.” 

Your brows furrow and Javier has a face of guilt. Like maybe he doesn’t want you here anymore. 

“We had an agreement.” He says lowly and Lorraine rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her water.

“Sue me then! For still having feelings for an ex boyfriend who is still living with me, paying for my life and fucking me at night.” She slams the cup on the table and your untouched silverware rattles. 

Javier narrows his eyes at her outburst. 

“Lorraine.” He says it like a whisper and her chin quivers. She could play the role of the heartless unaffected woman but she breaks character. “It was… irresponsible of us. Of me. I know that, and I’m sorry. It was six years of confusion and I really am sorry but I’ve apologized for this. Before I left, we had that talk, I was moving out. It was over that spring, you were seeing other people. I was going back home. You tried to baby trap me—that isn’t normal—that isn’t okay.”

“I wasn’t going to—then I saw the two of you at the wedding and my parents they-"

June 16th 1986

Lorraine is sobbing into her hand the second her aching body sits on her couch. Her parents followed behind her. Coming to sit down next to her. She put on a strong face when she walked in on them in the bathroom, telling each other they loved one another. She stared at herself in the mirror and smiled as tears threatened to fall. Her stomach is touching the sink. 

Her parents were livid when she burst into tears on the car ride back. When through a snotty nosed red face she says that Javier was with Andrea. 

They assumed he was the one who knocked her up. But she knows it doesn’t add up, she knows the man who did would never take responsibility in the way Javier would. She knows she can never find him if she tries. One drunken night with a man on a work trip. She continued to cry while they cursed his name, saying that he was less than a man.

“We will figure something out, he’ll step up once you tell him he’s his. You were together for nearly a decade! We know about Andrea. She was a fast little girl, brings shame to her family name.” Mrs. Smithfield paces then pauses to stroke Lorraine’s head. “She’s just a temptation.”

He held Andreas hand, comforted her at the sight of me. That was supposed to be me.

She remembers less than a month ago when she had just come home from her second appointment, getting on the phone with Genie. Asking about them, knowing the possibility of seeing Javier with you when you came back. She wasn’t prepared.

Lorraine hiccups, “I need him,” There it is, the truth. There's a part of her that loves him but most importantly she needs him. Overcome with that fact she can't seem to stop speaking through her tears. “He-he isn’t the father but I need him to be I can’t do this alone I-”

Mr. Smithfield storms out of the kitchen at that.  “Lorraine Marie. What are you saying?” He booms and Lorraine’s mother sits back in the recliner, head in her hands. Lorraine begins to cry more. Burying her head in the crook of her arm. “Sweetheart! Do you know what they’ll say if they find out. Your mother would lose her spot on the board, we’d never be welcomed in the church again.”

He mutters curses he would never dare say outside the living room. Lorraine sees the looks of their disappointed faces. She sees the same face they gave her brother before they sent him away. She thinks of all they’ve sacrificed to be here. To give her this life, their status. She thinks of the way she was brought into this world. A saving grace of her parents' marriage. Her heart clenches in her chest. To help her sleep at night she may say it's at the thought of being with Javier but something tells her it's the thought of taking him from you. 

“I…he doesn’t have to know it isn’t his.” She fills the silence.

Mrs. Smithfield lifts her head and there's a glimmer in her eye that maybe Lorraine should fear.

She accepts it. 

Javier is stone faced the entire retelling. His hand is holding his fist in a ball at the table. Watching Lorraine justify her actions. Excuse after excuse, thinking that pity will save her. At least that’s what you see. Product of her own environment, he wasn’t foolish enough to accept that. 

You hope Javier sees through her, he should. You know he’s worked on this in therapy, he told you he can no longer be manipulated by her.

 She’s rambling, and then she’s silent. She stares at the children’s drawing behind Javier’s head for a few moments and her face crumbles a bit. 

“My father was going to leave my mother. It had gotten so bad that despite his devotion to God and his-his dedication to maintain his image— he still filed divorce papers.” She lays her hands flat on the table then drops it into her lap. “But my mother was determined to keep her husband. She—had an idea of what her life was going to look like and she made sure of it. So she made sure their contraception wouldn’t work— and she saved her marriage with her pregnancy. That’s how I was brought along. That’s what I know — Javi I was going to do anything to have you again-.” She stares at him with an intensity like no other, the eyes of a manic woman. The eyes of a woman who hasn’t grown up. 

Javier shakes his head, and sits up straight. Heat swarming his face, he’s angry and you watch. Still you feel out of place here, you look away to avoid feeling the urge to cry at his pain. Then his voice booms and he’s pointing his finger in her face. “It’s not good enough— you can’t fault your parent’s actions for your own decisions. Choices you made as an adult—a choice you didn’t have to make. We were over, I didn’t want you. Don’t go using the way you were brought up as an excuse.” He leans back in the chair like the burst of anger pained his aching body. He exhales and Lorraine stays quiet.

Your teary eyes stare at the floor parts and look into the eyes of Lorraine. Her chin quivers but she doesn’t cry. She looks at you finally.

“Then what do you tell her? Huh?” She points her chin towards you, crossing her arms. Mirroring Javier’s posture while you perk up. His nostrils flare. 

“What are you talking about Lorraine?”

“Every time you leave her, every time you come back. Do you tell her it won’t happen again? Do you tell her you’re afraid of becoming like your mother so that each time you come home you can fuck up her life, keep her burning for you, and then blame it on it being the only way you know? Do you accept her dependency on you because you know she was neglected by her parents? Tell me Javi. Just fucking say it! Tell me it’s okay for you to be flawed and fuck up peoples lives, tell me I can’t live by those rules.”

You stand so fast, the wooden seat behind you clatters and falls. “Fuck you!” You yell, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about me— you don’t know how hard I've worked to recognize my issues and deal with them! You don’t know about our relationship.” You look at Javier, he’s completely shut down. You reach down and grab your purse, you gesture your finger between Lorraine, you and Javi.

 “You see— the difference between you and us is that we know we’re fucked up. Everybody is fucked up! But we are trying to take responsibility and grow. You—you’re the same mean spiteful girl you were when you made the conscious decision to trap Javier into a marriage.” Javier’s brain catches up with his body only barely when he stands. Lorraine watches his every move like she’s expecting him to stay. 

Your outburst harshly contrasts his tone when he does finally speak again.

“Lorraine—you will always be miserable and full of guilt and anger and fucking resentment for us if you don’t seek some help for your own fucked family trauma.” She stands too, wipes her face and you move away from her. You grab Javier’s hand and he stares at it for a second before following you toward the door. 

You step outside and Lorraine follows after. 

“Javi!” She calls from the doorway, crying hard. His brows furrow at her call, still holding your hand, he turns. 

A crack of sun shining on his face as he looks into the eyes of his former fiancée.

He shrugs, “I never want to see you again. You’ve made my life hell for too long, I'm tired of knowing you. I hope you figure your shit out for your—for your son.” 

It’s a harshness she deserves but a cruelty unlike Javi. You know it takes so much of him to be so headstrong. Your heart breaks for him as he turns away and drops your hand. Walking ahead of you as the sound of a screen door closing ends an excruciatingly long chapter. 

He raises his fist to his mouth in a motion and sounds akin to a cough but you know he’s hiding his tears from you as you follow him into the truck. You swing the door open and settle in, your heart beating so loud in your ears you feel like your cheeks may burst. Shortly he loads in, sniffling and crying in the way that he does. Continuous tears and furious shameful wipes. 

You’re so proud of him. 

You’re brought back nearly four years ago.

You in the car, with your head in your hands. Crying so hard you think you might drown. Replaying each word your father said to you, waiting for a comfort that cannot be provided by a kiss or a hug. But instead—

He wipes his face again with a shaky hand, he can’t seem to find the strength to away. 

You’re reluctant, afraid to overstep, afraid he won’t remember. 

Still you reach your hand over to his shoulder, up his neck and with your pointer finger and thumb you rub his earlobe. His simple gesture of, I love you, I’m your family.

 When he rubbed the beautiful bee earrings he got you in New Orleans.

You love him so much. You’re afraid to say it again. Instead you rub his ear to remind him. A quick pass that his brow relaxes at, your fingers caressing the shell of his ear. He leans into your touch for a moment before going frigid. You frown moving your hand to his jaw, holding his face with your face crumbled. 

You feel young again.

“When we were little—when we were young you’d always avoid talking about your feelings—or your personal problems when all four of us would get deep at 3 am. You’d listen to all of us but you always sat quietly.” You’re rambling but you picture the night.

 The summer before Javier’s freshman year, you, Genie, Frankie and Javier stayed under the stars way past curfew. The night Genie started crying when she told them about what happened with her dad’s friend. That sometimes she feels like the only person in the world who’s struggling. Frankie was already in love with her. He comforted her and talked about his dad. Which was a topic untouched between the two of you. You remember crying for him too.

 You told them about the way you felt inside, you sat there wondering if your brother would feel bad for you. And Javi, young, fourteen year old Javi said nothing. He just gathered you when you cried. And Javi, who still, sometimes says nothing, just put himself out there in a painful display of commitment to bettering himself. 

He knows what you’re talking about because his eyes soften at the mention. “I remember thinking how badly I wanted you to open up. How badly I wanted to comfort you in the way you comforted me-“ He closes his eyes and moves to part from you but you reach back out. “No— no one deserves to be manipulated and hurt in the way she hurt you. And i’m so—so fucking sorry I made you come here I thought it would be good for you-“

“Andrea-“

“No, Javi. Please. At Frankie’s wedding she got in my head— i’ll admit it. She made me feel ashamed of being in love with you—you told me you loved me that night and I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” He wants to run, you know it, You see it on his face. “I can tell, I know you. She got in your head when she suggested that you’ll find another way to hurt me. But you won’t. I know you won’t hurt me again. You’re only finding a way to hurt yourself and I’m not letting that happen. When you hurt yourself—you hurt me, do you understand?” 

His hands come to hold to your wrists. “I’m not good for you.”

You chuckle through tears, “You think that’s enough for me to leave you alone, you’re out of your mind. Please can we go home.”

His skin is so soft under your palms, “I’m sorry.” He gravels out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t care for an apology, you don’t need any. “I—I need to be alone for a moment. I need to process alone I think. I’m sorry.”

Your chest swarms with worry. Your hands drop from the side of his face to his shoulders, you inspect his face and let a beat pass. 

“Are you sure?” You feel desperate. You want him to retract, you’re being bad but you hope he kisses you. He looks at your lips when you think this, he stares at you and looks pained. His hands remove yours from his chest and he turns towards the wheel, starting the car. 

He never answers and you drive in silence. It feels like a closing of a door, you’re not sure which. You look for an olive branch when he pulls into your motel lot. 

“Will you call me?” You ask, you try your best to let him feel on his own. After all, you were the one to put in place all these rules. Javier averts his gaze from you for a moment.

Then he does, his eyes soften at the sight of you. You’re vulnerable and open for him. Standing at the door of his car. “Yes. I will.”

When the sun comes in you aren’t regretful. But you aren’t happy. 

Your head is pounding and there’s a pit in your stomach that you can’t get rid of and it isn’t from the remnants of alcohol. Your legs are intertwined and his palm is laid flat on your stomach. There’s a part of you expecting to wake up and rub yourself on him, continue what you left off last night. But you have the urge to cry. 

“I don’t know what came over me last night.” He speaks first, raspy from sleep or maybe lack thereof. “We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have.” 

“it wasn’t just you. I wanted it to happen.”

 You remove his palm from your belly and raise it, fingers around his wrist you intertwine your other hand with his. It was calloused and littered with tiny abrasions. Much more man. “But I think I know it wasn’t right. I don’t feel really good.” Stroking your thumb over the knuckle of his pointer finger. Skin had been split there many times, you feel it. 

His chest stutters below your cheek. “I’m sorry.” His voice is so broken you drop his hand and shoot straight up. His eyes are darkened and there’s tears out of the corner of his eyes. One falling too quickly for him to hide it. Your own chin quivers and you sit criss crossed beside him, taking the pad of your thumbs to wipe the tears that continue to fall. You whisper his name, leaning close to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I pushed you away…I was sick from feeling so guilty—I couldn’t focus the first few months—until I started therapy—Andrea..” His voice rips and his eyes are swarmed with tears. You weren’t— you couldn’t be immune to his tears. You weren’t angry, you never could be. Not when you know how he was taken advantage of. 

“Javi…” You wipe his cheeks. It’s all you could say.

“Tell me— tell me how it made you feel.”

“I was mostly feeling for you—because of what she did-“ You lie and he shakes his head.

“Just tell me.” He sits up and you shuffle to give me space. “Tell me so I can stop driving myself crazy. So that when you leave I’ll be fine.” 

The tables turned and you hate it. 

You recall being in this position, wanting every answer from him so that you aren’t left to spiral when he leaves. There’s so much to tell him, he looks so desperate. So tortured by his own circumstance. You swallow, furrowing your brows. Wondering how to start. How to lay all of it out on the table. You peek at the window, the sun creeping in, it's early. Early enough for the house to still be silent. Your hair is mussed, you feel his wet eyes burning a hole through you. 

“I hated you. For those two weeks. My cheeks would get red from anger when I thought about how careless you could be… plan a future with me after everything we went through– after everything I went through. It drove me crazy that you couldn’t fucking keep track of who you fucked and when or whatever. I was already feeling insecure when she came into the bathroom at Frankie’s wedding, I knew something was wrong. Honestly, I don't even remember the night when you told me. All I recall is the moment you told me, the pain I felt in my chest. I don't know—I realized over the years  that I had the mental power to completely block out what hurts me the most. Like I don't think I can make out my fathers face and I can't remember that night. It started my journey to try to forget you.” You know every word is hurting him but maybe he could get a taste of what you felt. Your thinking isn't spiteful, you just want him to understand. He asked for this. “Lorraine was lying, I know. But you took responsibility so quickly, I know you had no idea but the idea that it could have been true felt like a heartbreak in itself. You laughed last night… when I told you how hurt I was–crying to songs–”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Javier, it's okay. You just have to know that I spent those two weeks picturing you rubbing her belly, and laying in bed with her, and whispering to her to not wake your father up. And at the wedding she said that you used to tell her I was nothing to you. I couldn't picture you saying it but after the wedding I could see it clearly. I knew it was really over when I saw you holding her at 7/11. I walked away without saying anything but I was really hoping you’d come after me.”

You can't see him, he’s sat up now, shifted behind you but his downcast gaze is felt. You can feel him thinking behind you, you're taking him step by step along your brain. “I decided I was going to move away. I buried myself in phone calls and realtors and car dealerships, packed everything or whatever. I didn’t speak to anyone really, just wanted to disappear. But I wasn’t going to miss your wedding.”

“Why?” He isn’t crying anymore, the fog in your brain clears. Glancing over your shoulder you connect with his own blood shot stare. 

“I had to see it so I can just move on. You know… then we all found out.” He asked not to see you. “I was so heartbroken for you. All the pain I felt from the rejection from my father, from when you left for Houston, from when you told me she was pregnant– none of it compared to the pain I felt for you when I found out it was all a lie. I just wanted to see you.” Fuck, your voice finally gives. You could spell it out for him like you did the rest, you could tell him that his request freed you while simultaneously ripping you in half. You know it led you to accomplish all the things you wanted, you left your doomed home for christ's sake. But I wanted you to do it with me. We could have left together. You think your body's decision to sob and fold over into your hands tells him the rest of what he needs to know. 

“Andrea…” He whispers, his hands encircling your shoulders. You shake him off. 

You catch a breath and wipe your tears with your palms. Probably dragging some mascara along the way. “It isn’t smart for us to be doing this. I promised myself I wouldn't. I should go.” Your body begins before you can even form a thought. Getting off his bed, still in tears you search for your panties. The bed springs with him coming to his feet and he’s so much larger than you, you begin to miss fifteen minutes ago when you were nothing but someone encased by his warmth. You snatch the small thing and nearly fall over from blurry eyed vision while attempting to put them on. Like the gentlemen he was and fuck him, Javier holds your arm steady. “Thanks.” You murmur before padding away from him. 

“Don’t leave… you don’t have to stay here like we said but please…” He rasps, “Please dont leave yet.” He lets go of your wrist. You were a victim to his begging eyes, and frankly you loved the chase. No matter how many times it hurts you. It’s too easy for him to convince you but he heard you. You had to be fair, you had to listen to him. 

Without a word you pull the chair of his desk with a screeching sound. He fucked you there once or twice. You missed when memories still felt sweet. You settle down on the chair, elbows on the desk you inhale and exhale steadily. In your peripheral Javier settles at the corner of the bed. 

“I won’t keep you here. I didn’t scheme to have you back in my bed, to confuse you—frankly I’m fucking confused. I’m confused on what I feel. I’ve spent years working out how to approach you, my therapist brought me through it. I knew once I saw you I had to tell you everything, I had to apologize and let you make the decision whether you wanted me in your life or not.“ It comes out all in one breath, no longer a whisper or a rasp. “And I’m so fucking sorry but the second I saw you all of that went out the window and I shouldn’t have done this.” 

“I offered to sleep in bed with you.” You correct, he was apologetic about the wrong things. 

“I was emotionally manipulated by Lorraine. I don’t care if it makes me sound weak, I’ve worked it out with my therapist. I already felt like I needed to push away anyone I loved, I guess I’m like my mother in that way. It’s not an excuse but through all the shit I went through in Colombia at the very least I can say I left that place with a better understanding of myself. I made too many decisions for you—for us. I thought I was protecting you—it’s what I feel like I’m actually good at. And I want to tell you that I have changed, that you have to stay so we can make it work. I want to—” He’s speaking with his hands and suddenly they drop to his lap. “But I can’t keep making decisions for you. It didn’t work before, it’s unhealthy. So please Andrea… just—. What do you want?”

Your blood runs dry. Sobered in an instant from your state at the hardwood, your brows furrow. “What?” 

“I will spend every day of my life apologizing to you if that’s what you need. I’ll never speak to you again if that’s what you want. I’ll move to New York and you know I hate New Yorkers. I’ll move on. I’ll leave town without a trace. I’ll do whatever you want.” It’s desperate, your heart is beating against your rib cage so hard you fear it’ll break the bones. “What do you want Andrea?”

You feel like you’ve been here before, your future spanning across your palm. Choice is a funny thing, especially when the possibilities are endless. Yet for someone like you, choice feels constrictive-suffocating—panic inducing. It feels like your heart is going to break through skin and bone. What a mess your mind is, what beauty.

Everything speeds and flashes those few seconds you’re absorbing the simple question of what do you want? 

You see Javier pinching the skin of your back inspecting the freckles there when you were twelve, Javier lifting you up to give you a better view, Javier kissing you for the first time, Javier coming home, Javier telling you that he loves you. 

He always made the choice to touch you, to kiss you, he said he loved you first. In this Chess board he played white and made the first move. You accept each move because it’s Javi and he has a read on just exactly what you want. 

You lift your chin.

“I want to be given time. I want to see that you’ve worked on yourself. I want to learn you again. I want you to learn me. We can see each other as friends while I’m here. I won’t be staying the night with you again, there’s too much—“

“Sexual tension.” He finishes and you roll your eyes hard, it burns from its previous use (sobbing).

“To put it lightly. “ You sigh, wiping the last wet spot on your cheek. Feeling confident when in control. “I want us…” Your brows knit, overtaken by the reality that he will quite literally do anything you say. “To go to dinner.” His brows raise. “As exes—and friends. I want to know everything, I want you to tell me there.”

He shrugs, “I can tell you now.”

“No. I need a neutral environment.” He nods in agreement, the two of you tried to be vulnerable last night and that ended with your pussy on his face. “I want you to speak to Lorraine.” 

You watch his body language shift, he was sitting almost boyish and relieved that you had taken control of the situation but this request—it almost looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Cheeks paling. “Only if you feel you’re ready to. I will too, separately or together—whichever you prefer. Even if I decide to stay exes, this could be a step to fixing our friendship because we lost that too.” You bring one knee up on the chair and rest your cheek on it. Afraid to say this next part because it might discredit all these boundaries your setting in place. Attempting to be progressive and modern and healthy. Maybe it was the school teacher in you. You lick your lips a bit anxious to speak again. 

Javier’s eyes narrow, he leans forward with his arm crossed. “Is that all?”

“I don’t want to hear about whatever hookers you paid when you were away. It’s disgusting and frankly disrespectful to even bring up to me.” Yeah, maybe you were being a little hypocritical and rash. But fuck it, if he said he’d do anything you’d ask. 

“Correct if I’m wrong but-“

“Javi, I don’t give a fuck. You said anything.” Your jealous bone was a lethal one. It was like an open wound you loved to toy at. 

Sadistically, you pressed him for answers and you were even more furious internally that he actually answered them as if it were nothing. You’re sure when you were tipsy and warm and horny, it didn’t bother you. But you swear your eye twitched the moment you woke and replayed that conversation in your head. Win stupid prizes you suppose, tough shit. 

“Alright.” He rasps with a curt nod. His eyes full of promise, nervous and prepared to ace the exam you laid out for him. Ms. Diaz style. 

With the morning birds chirping at his window, collar bone exposed from his shirt ruffled from your hold on him the entire night. Javier was here, in front of you, twenty six years of age. 3 years in the police force. Six years in the DEA. Each time you see him he looks older than the day before but still you stare and see just Javi. The unchanging eyes that have done nothing but adore you your entire life. Lips that called you beautiful when no one had, called you smart. Plush lips that kissed you. Hands that pushed you in rivers and pulled you back out. Fingernails that traced words into your sleeping back. The two of you, changing in time mentally-physically and still somehow possessing a love so strong it goes unchanged. 

Your decision was made. You’re not sure he’s deserving of your never ending generosity. You’ll give it to him anyway. 

He just needs a bit of fear in his heart. 

You decide to sneak out before Chucho could wake. You tell Javi that you’ll call him later, that you need time alone. Or maybe away is what you meant. He looked pained and truthfully, you felt just the same. How easy it would have been to drop your pride and climb back into bed. Be safe, know deep in your heart that he would never hurt you, not again. You believe the words he says, you just want to make sure he believes it. 

You realize, very rudely, that you aren’t sixteen anymore and this isn’t a summer at the lake. The Christmas morning air was chilly and you were ready to spend the day in your hotel room wondering if this was all a big mistake. 

Driving out of the rolling fields and into town, you're forced to take a back road to your hotel because of Laredo’s Light and Lord Christmas Fair. It was your favorite part of Christmas until age thirteen when the fair went from running around with your friends to a day to hang with your boyfriends. It wasn’t like you had many friends outside your brother but the Christmas fair was always an opportunity to just have fun with girls your age. Of course until everyone got boyfriends. You hated on it but you secretly wanted to also walk around cozied up with someone you loved, decorate some cookies and kiss with sugar laced lips. 

It doesn’t seem like this Christmas will cut it either. You fish the gold little key from your cup holder and shuffle back out of your car and into your hotel room. Phone rattling on the desk. You frown, thoroughly confused and slightly creeped out by the telephone seemingly going off while you weren’t there. Your hotel rooms a mess from your nerves of seeing your family. Hah, imagine what the place would look like if you were warned about Javi. You don't think too hard and pick up the phone before you can set your purse down. 

“Hello?”

“I don’t want to be apart from you.”

Your heart swells and your cheeks heat. You should have known giving him your hotel room extension was a bad idea. He was always like this, a flirt on the phone because you couldn't be there to smack his hand. You shut your eyes and place your hands on your hips like a mom ready to scold. “How many times have you called?”

“Twice, will you come back. It felt like we argued.” He rasps and you consider it for just a moment. 

“We didn’t argue.” You say it softly and you can’t understand why. You settle into the desk and begin undressing to just sleep the day away. 

He clears his throat, “I guess I’m not used to you being around and willingly deciding to leave my room. It feels like you're punishing me.”

“That’s not what this is. I don’t blame you for anything.” 

“I know.” You hear the unspoken, so why can’t we just be together. You know it’s what he’s thinking because when you’re around each other logic runs out the door and all you can conjure up is acting on the intense feeling of love you have for each other. You’ve got to learn to harness it, because look where it got you your whole lives. 

“If it makes a difference, I don't want to be doing this.”

“So don’t” It’s quick and biting and his voice is clear as day. 

“I just don’t want us to make a crazy decision before working things out. I don’t want…” Your voice dies a bit, it's much easier to say it how it is without seeing his face. “I don’t want us not to work again because we rushed into things and chose not to acknowledge everything between us. I can’t-I can’t- I don’t have it in me.” 

I’m tired, I miss you so badly but you were hurt more than me and I want you to recognize it. One day you’ll figure that all I want is for you to be okay. 

“Okay.” It’s soft and so him. It’s the tone he has when you're dozing off against his chest, when his palm cradles the back of your head. When he speaks to you like there’s nothing that could ever do you harm. “I’ll stick to the plan. You tell me when to call Lorraine, I’ll do it. Tell me when you want to have dinner. I’ve done harder things in my life.” He chuckles beyond the phone and you follow suit. Missing him and damning your attempt at self control. Unsure what to say next you look around the room because you’re afraid of the silence that comes once you hang up. Soon to be a stark realization that now that you’ve had him again you’ll need him around. 

“Well…” You fill the awkward silence with even more awkwardness. 

“I have a request for our relationship repair list.”

You smirk, eyes trained to the carpeted ground, It amazes you how white the rug was for a hotel room.”Shoot.”

“Let me call you every night. Good night or a conversation or whatever.” 

Cheeks ablaze you feel your tiny smile lines deepen. There's nothing more humbling than smiling at nothing. You were smiling deeply and you hope he can’t hear it in your voice when you say, “Sure.” in an attempt of being aloof and collected. You’d be kicking your feet if you could. Staring at the pink off-shoulder top that will likely be out to no use this trip. You think of sugar kisses. “Come to my hotel at 5. I want to go to the Christmas fair.” 

You hear the springs of his bed loud and creaking like he sat up, “Like a date?” A bit too high, he clears his throat. 

“No. Like Javi and Andrea hanging out in town. As friends. “ You’re not convinced yourself. “Okay?”

“Okay."

Javier is whipped, to put it lightly. He didn’t really care if it's just two friends hanging out. What a joke. Javier showered fifteen minutes longer than usual, hoping the stains of who he was in Colombia don’t show. Tempted to scrub his skin raw he decides that you’d have him stains and all. He steamed the red button up that had been catching dust at the top of his suitcase, ruffled his hair in the mirror–once–twice–three times. He gets it the way you like. Slightly falling over his forehead and curling at his nape naturally. His hair was swept to the side these days, an attempt to look like he has it together. He knows what you like best. You’ve never commented about it but he remembers the look you used to give him when he let his hair be. He considers putting on his ranch hat, sunglasses but opts the brown belt, jeans and cowboy boots had said enough. 

Dr. Hertz is going to kill me, he thinks the moment he looks at himself in the mirror and considers cutting flowers from the yard. 

Waiting for the bathroom so he could brush his teeth once more he wonders what gotten into you two last night. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, so quickly the two of you were reduced to sex crazed animals. He told himself it wasn’t going to be this way, that no matter how good you looked and— you never looked better— no matter what— he’d show you how good he could be first. 

But he fucked it all up talking about his hookers and eating your cunt. 

Now he’s being forced to show you how good he could be—on your own terms. Which was both terrifying and absolutely exhilarating. You must know how flustered he gets when you take control. He can feel himself crumbling already. Ready to drop to his knees and beg you just to trust his word. 

But you were a school teacher, you had to have believed in the tales you told your students. The hare and the tortoise. Slow and steady wins the race. He’ll be at that pace as long as it’s you at the finish line. 

Javier told Chucho that he was taking you out to the Holiday festival. He just smiled and went on with his business, which was wrapped in a blanket on his recliner watching a new American Experience episode on Ellis Island. Javier chuckles to himself while retrieving his keys at how content his father was on days like these. 

Turning the keys with a jiggle, Javier realizes his fathers truck was pushing on fifteen years old. I should really buy my own car. It struggles like it always did but eventually tracks the gravel onto the road. It was a chillier Christmas, like the weather knew you’d be in town. Give you a real taste of winter. The roads were clear up until main street when Javi realized that maybe taking the road past the festival wasn’t the smartest idea. He’ll blame his newfound discomfort for American roads after years in Colombia. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, looking at the window and realizing that all of Laredo would be there. Strangers who knew him, who read about him, who would wonder why he was here. Wondering why he was here with you and not Lorraine. They last saw him as the man who left the golden girl at the altar. The judging stares and whispers would be a guarantee. 

But once he approaches the grubby hotel you were at, your blinds open. Perched up on your bed in a pink sweater, eyes glued to a notebook scribbling. Heedful in your own way, like whatever you had to write was very important. Cute little ripple between your brows. In 1986 your hair was dark with a diamond in your nose. 

You lighten your hair, stop wearing your nose ring and start wearing rings. Javier feels his chest tighten with every second he’s looked at you since yesterday. It’s like every time you see him you’re trying to remind him that there will never be anyone else. 

Javier looks at himself in the rear view like a kid getting ready for his first date, nervous. It seemed that you noticed his headlights through your window because when he looked back up you were opening the door to your hotel. Javier opens the door to receive you. Light pink sweater falling off your shoulder showing him skin that would mean nothing to him if it were anyone else, but it’s you and his urge to step close and kiss that freckled spot. Brown skirt flowing below your knees. He’s ogling you and he doesn’t care, he’s never seen anyone more beautiful. When he looks back up at your face you're doing the same, eyes glued to his hair. Score. 

“Hi.” He steps close and grabs your waist and places a chaste kiss on the cheek. Skin soft, you smell good enough to eat. He clears his throat, readjusting his belt as he straightens up and you burn bright red. “You look beautiful.”

Timid eyes flash back to him, “Thank you, you look good too. Like the hair.”

Javier’s lips twitch for a smile but he bites it back. “Let’s head on the road before this car breaks down.”

You snort and cackle, just a week ago who told himself he’d do anything to hear that goofy laugh of yours. One that would ring out in the cafeteria, earned side glances and scoffs from people who were too cool for school. He remembers sitting tables away, Lorraine clung to him and his ears perking up at the sound of your giggle from feet away. 

“God I’ve done way too much in that car.” Javier steals a glance at you in the same way you look at him. Kicking your sandals off, pulling over and bouncing in his lap. You both looked at each other and pictured the same distant memory. Your eyes narrow stopping at the door of the truck. “Not. Like that.” Through your teeth yet still teasing , opening the door and hopping in. 

He says under his breath, “Yeah sure.” 

“God this was a shit idea.” The two of you stood side by side in the middle of mainstreet. Parking lots turned into grounds for dingy rides. Tents set up with rigged games. Crowded at every corner. Children running, laughter and The Ronettes blasting so loud it sparks your nerves. You look up at Javier next to you and he’s already pulling out a cigarette. “Everyone’s here. I swear I just saw Josefina Alto with a baby bump.” You exhale. Javier looks to you from the corner of his eye, lighting his cigarette.

“Who’s that?” He murmurs, stick dangling from his lip. 

“Seriously?” You cross your arms, he gives the same dumb stare and shrugs. “The girl you had sex with right before we started dating.” In the bar, trying to forget about me. You might add but chose not to get him in uncharted waters. His brows shoot high, a small play of realization and disgust spreads across his features. His eyes drop to the ground.

“Yeah.” He says it to himself like a child punished. You hadn’t figured that running into people you’d like to avoid is absolutely what will happen tonight. He drags and exhales. Looking ahead at the food stables ahead, decked in green and red. “Fuck it. I see Elote.” He begins to walk and you follow with a giggle. Impossible to stay mad. Tempted to grab his hand but this isn’t what this was. You’re not sure who needs more convincing, you or him. Elote didn’t really read Christmas but any fair was a place for great vendors. You try to catch up with Javier’s steps but fail considering he had a head start and far more comfortable shoes. 

“Wait up!” You shout, shivering a bit. Texas really took the New York out of you. Despite the blistering reality of being seen and judged the fair was a beautiful sight. Christmas lights strung between light posts. Storefronts decorated with tinsel and the sounds of laughter from young teens in the artificial snow pit a few feet away. 

Javier shook his head and glanced behind at you, “No one told you to wear kitten heels. Ms. Nueva York.” He says in an accent so thick it’s much more “nueva yol”  than york. 

Eyes rolled, you try to keep up. “I could say the same about the ranchero costume Agente.” 

“Haha.” He deadpans. Approaching a crowd of teens in the middle of their way, the line to the swings bleeding into streets of food trucks. Javi stops for you and distracted by the world surrounding you, you walk straight into his back. Nearly falling over Javier swings around and grasps your wrists. Bringing attention to them. Pulling you through the crowd with head nods of hellos and permiso’s. He really was a celebrity to these kids. Eyes wide and shocked at the sight of their hometown hero. Él mató a Escobar! And whispers alike. Wide eyes like he was Princess Di. Glances at you, fortunately they were middle and high school aged children who likely didn’t know what a scandal Javier Peña and Andrea Diaz had been for many years.

You figured your neighbors and church goers would come up with their own stories. It wasn’t until a late night call with Genie that you decided to pry and ask if people had asked about her.

Well, the people at the wedding saw what they saw. They saw you leaving abruptly into the church where Lorraine was. Heard commotion in the chapel and then Javi never showed up. Then people started telling their own stories, seeing you kiss him at the library just a week before, sneaking out to his car or whatever those people stuck their nose at. Everyone just thinks you're the other woman. 

And well, you were quite set on not being home for longer than two weeks a year before you found out what was being said. The stomach turning panic you develop each time you're home wasn’t aimless. 

Fuck them all, you grip Javier’s hand tighter and he looks back at you as if he’s asking you are you okay? He leads you to the line. The only sound between them is the christmas bells and chatter. Eyes flashing to your conjoined hands you jump out of your own skin and drop his hand. His brows twitch and you know it hurts him. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

“You're a real local hero.”

He grunts, crossing his arms and you notice a slight bulge in the pockets of his denim jacket. “They can add that to the list of rumors.” You scoff, a breeze causing a rise of skin on your collarbone. You move up in line, the vendor's face is familiar but not enough to place a name. He still stares at the two of you a bit longer than your nerves appreciated. “¿Nos puedes dar dos elotes y dos chocolates con licor, por favor?¿Tienes cambio para un billete de cien?”

“Javi.” You tug his sleeve but he waves you off. This was how it used to be, you cursing him while pulling out your wallet and him looking at you feeling so deeply offended that you would dare lift a finger to pay for anything. Suppose Javier Peña was a traditionalist in that way. You know you’d be taken care of your whole life if you decided that was what you wanted. The vendor smiles and heads to prepare your order. Javier turned to you, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. “I have a job you know.”

His lips flip in a mocking frown with a shrug, “Thanks for the information.”

“Jodón.”

“That’s liquor.” Javier grunts, settling into the picnic table. You sip too, face screwing. 

Coughing, “Oh fuck. That shouldn't be allowed.” Javi nods, using a bite of his corn as a chaser. He groans in approval and tilts the cobb toward you. You comply, biting into it, mindful of not looking suggestive. 

His stare burns anyway. 

You can’t pretend, none of this felt real. It was too easy to fall back in, to laugh, to share food, to bicker, to touch. Could it be this easy? It couldn’t be. Easy wasn’t really Andrea and Javi’s thing. Weighted with anxiety, you bask in his gaze and all of it goes away. You can only think of how it feels to be heard. How it felt to have him with you the day you met your father. How just last night he held you. How you still touched your empty ear lobe when you felt alone. This, this has to work this time. I don’t have it in me to love anything else–anyone else. I’ll forever be plagued by you and all the years we spent apart and the months we spent in love. 

Wiping your lips and murmuring a mouthful thank you. You decide to get on track. Stick to the plan. Put it all out there so you could never hurt each other again. Ask him the questions that make him break contact. 

And you do the thing you always do, “Is hero so bad of a rumor?”. The thing where something lingers on your mind and you pick up on it minutes maybe hours later like the person next to you sat in the corner of your brain and watched it form. Jaya, your mother, your brother could never catch on. But Javi, fucking Javi, caught on every time. Thrived in your disorganization, familiar with your quirks. There’s no one else for me. 

He chews, jaw tightening. He was chiseled by the gods, lord was it unfair to those who came after him. “Rumors are damaging in their own ways. I’d like to forget about Colombia but being called a hero at home keeps me stuck there. Stuck in all the things I didn’t do.” He shrugs, “Now I’m afraid of failing on the basis of expectations I haven’t even set myself.” 

I want to know everything, you think, but not here.You didn’t know how to console him, any topic of his time at the DEA made him tense and timid. He would contort into a person unknown. All you can do is ask,  “Does it get in the way of your self perception?” 

His brows furrow, placing his corn on a paper plate. “Suppose so.” It is short, definitive, like he isn’t ready to elaborate. He reaches for a napkin and blots the corners of his mouth and then yours. Oh, how desperately you wanted to lean your forehead into his chest and stay there. Feel his palm cradle you. Is it so bad? “You?”

Lips pursed, you think for a moment, body facing him entirely. If it were any other day, if the wedding hadn’t happened, he would have had his hands on your knees. But his distance is respectful and he’s being awfully good. “Well the rumors about me arent very positive. Most people view me as some homewrecker that fled when it blew up in my face.”

“People know she lied.” 

“I know. That’s why she moved two towns away. Still, narratives were made. That I have always been this side piece that you’ve kept burning for you for almost a decade. Even in high school.” You take a sip and suddenly, the drink isn’t so bad. You almost continue but a child screeches from a table away, his mother wiping his shirt of hot chocolate. “Just feels like I’m being punished for being in love.It was our business and I guess that’s why I don’t like coming here.” Most of it is true. The trauma that you have connected with this town isn’t just because your one true love failed here. 

He nods, you can see that he’s taking it all in but tethering on the line of a question. “So why did you ask to come here… with me.” He doesn’t have to say it. You know what he means, why, why in your right mind would you willingly make such a public display despite the gut turning unease being in Laredo gives you. Your brows screw together because your reasoning feels silly, desperate–pathetic even. But Javier never judges you. 

“Cus’ I don’t want to feel this way forever. I want to be able to feel at ease in my own home.” Glancing from his red shirt, up the column of his neck and to his eyes. No one has ever been so interested in what you had to say. “And because despite everything you make me feel secure. We could hate each other but if I was forced to face a fear it’s you that I would call first to encourage me.” It’s a confession in itself, it's saying, and I still love you. He knows it because his warm eyes soften in a way that you yearned to see again. 

He clears his throat, choked up and he tries to hide it by looking at the string lights above. Attempting to seem interested in anything but you for a few moments, “You’re not alone in that… you know– in feeling that way. Everything that went down with Lorraine created a fear I didn’t know I had– its sadistic– selfish thinking but it was only you who I wanted to be consoled by.” There's pure reluctance in his voice, like he knows that this sounds crazy. 

It’s not to you–you thought about it sometimes. I wished I was able to be your friend, be there for you, but I was far too in love just to watch it all happen.

You give him a nod and take another sip. It was warming you up but not in any significant way. The tone of it all took a turn. I guess we’re doing this here. 

“Can I tell you something that bothered me.” A bit averse, afraid of sounding like some girl who wants to pick a fight with their ex. You just want answers. “It’s not like– it’s just something that I felt.”

Luckily, Javier knows you aren’t one of those girls. He nods with permission. Looking awfully southern, all he needed was a cowboy hat to tip and you’d be on your way. You exhale, bracing yourself because it was a long one. Probably something he’s never thought about. You start anyway. “In New Orleans we had like our first real fight. Do you remember?” He nods, not saying a word. Looking grumpy as ever, you were too tempted to kiss those pursed lips. Focus. “In the car we had unprotected sex.You came in me, you sort of– well not sort of– you cleaned me after. Then in the hotel room you sort of freaked out on me like I was just waiting to trap you. You told me I should have gotten off of you. It was only after I said I was on birth control that you told me that if I got pregnant that you’d stay but when you were faced with the tiniest chance you put me to blame. I guess it just made the Lorraine thing all the more– I don’t know-sad for me. Because you dropped everything. You never questioned her, but you did so to me. I guess in my own twisted head, hearing all these rumors about me I started to really feel like maybe I was just this place holder until she came home. I know it’s ridiculous. And stupid but I felt like the woman in the bell tower. I guess being alone makes you over analyze a lot of shit. Sorry, I’m being crazy.”

“You’re not being crazy.” It’s whispered and it’s fast, it nearly interrupts you. When you two are together it’s scarily easy to forget all that's around you. The passing glances, the whispers, the sleigh bells, babies crying and carnival buzzers. “I was afraid. I am afraid. I was afraid of altering our lives together because I know that if you got pregnant I would have paused my life for you–that you would have to put a pause on your own life. In my head we live our dreams and then we start our family. I was reckless with Lorraine because I knew no matter the outcome… me and her wouldn’t work. Oil and water. I wanted to do right by you. For a moment I realized I hadn’t really done right by myself. I would have saved myself and everyone around me a lifetime of pain if I just pried. But…”

“We can’t go back there.” You finish. 

He shakes his head, distant. “Yeah.” He scratches his jaw. “I'd give anything to go back to seventeen and do it all over.” 

Goosebumps rising on your collarbone you hug yourself and lean into the table. The sun was completely gone now, nothing to warm you than his hulking form next to you. Gaze fixating back on the only man you’ve ever loved. “What would you change?”

Javier can’t hide it, he’s like you. His lips twitch and his nostrils flare a bit. He doesn't need to answer, you know. He decides not to answer at all, eyes floating from your own to your neck and down to your shoulder. Clenching his jaw for a split second,he takes out a camera from his jacket pocket and places it on the table.

 For a moment you think this is quite the awkward time for pictures but you soon realize this wasn’t that. He begins to remove his denim jacket. He doesn’t struggle, he places it over your shoulders. Warming you once more. Hands hovered and retreated. Like he was fighting the urge to pull you into him. Rub you warm and kiss your temple. 

You smile to yourself and sling your arms where they belong. His oversized jacket dangling off your wrists and covering your hand. You were truly surrounded by him, the scent of him settling into you, overwhelming your senses and you get the incessant need to be in bed with him suddenly. Smirking you dig your denim paws into the pockets of his coat, digging for anything he didn't remove. 

Jackpot.

You whip out his reds with a smile and he can only with with a sly smirk. You look up at him and wiggle your brows, placing the carton down in front of you. Raising your wrists and shaking the fabric away like you’re getting prepared to eat a mess meal. You pull your sleeves back and pull one lone cigarette out. Placing it between your lips, you stare at the wooden table- perfecting your smolder before looking up at Javi. Lips pursed in a frown, cigarette dangling off your lips, brows furrowed. “Smokin’ all alone querida?” You deepen your voice. 

He bursts in a laugh, eyes closing and dimples deep. You don’t break character, flipping your hair out of your face. “Is that what I look like to you?”

Raising your pointer and middle finger in two form, you remove the cigarette from your lips. “Yes. Am I seducing you Andrea?” You ask, wiggling your brows once more.

He leans in close, so close his lips nearly press on the shell of your ear. “What does that say about me if you are?” He rasps, hand spanning  against your stomach. Holding you in a way that’s far more suggestive than any grope. 

Rolling your eyes, “You weren’t supposed to answer!” 

He laughs at how flushed he can make you. How in the cold you look a million degrees warm, tips of your ears fiery. His hold on your stomach bringing you back to being under him,  pressing, can you feel me here Andrea? 

Straightening up and moving to grab the camera, he struggles to figure out how it works. “Pose for me, give me your Javi face or whatever.” 

You grin, sitting up straight and posing. Drowning in his coat, doomed to smile with his cigarette between your lips. He whispers something about being so beautiful before the flash goes off. He smiles to himself, placing the camera back on the table. 

“Alright, I know who’s operating that ferris wheel let’s go.” 

Hands warmed by disposable cups of your spiked hot cocoa, you lived New York City winters but still the forty degree texas chill caused occasional teeth chatters. Staring up at the ferris wheel decked in Christmas lights you look over at him. Cheeks bitten by the wind, he was already looking over at you. Looking at you in his coat. You two had been playing a little game of 21 questions on line while it moved so so slowly. 

“And you? What’s your biggest fear?” You ask finally. What a strange thing this was, learning more about the person you know best. His eyes narrow at you for a moment. Mustache and lips twitching into what seemed to be a ghost of a frown. 

He makes this face and blows some low air like he’s about to say something so real yet slightly embarrassing. He clears his throat, “Becoming my mother.” He can’t look at you when he says it because he’s visibly cringing and quickly bringing his hard hot cocoa to his lips. 

You blink hard at that. Blowing a raspberry with your lips. “Fuuuuuuuck” You say in an exhale. “I’ll drink to that.” You clink your drink with his while it was at his mouth, quickly taking a sip and catching him off guard. Laughing into his own drink it splashes in his face. 

Covering your own mouth, nearly choking on your drink and snorting and giggling so loud the surrounding line stares the two of you down with  judging eyes. Javier wipes his mustache that drips. Like always, the two of you laugh without regard of whos watching. 

Javier eventually slips the operator a smile and four dollars and you are loading the rickety piece of metal. Securing the holster until it clicks. Giddy, you lean your head into his shoulder quickly—feeling a surge of happiness before straightening up. 

“Happy?” Brow raised. 

You shrug, “Just missed you is all.” The stomach pitting rocking began as your cart lifted higher and higher in the air. Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas” bleeds out the ride's low quality speakers.  

He hummed. Reaching an experimental hand out onto your lap, palm up. Lustful nights turned to innocent actions the next. Something in you heals. No cares, refusal to conform to what you should do according to everyone else. Run, two damaged goods are just as useless as one. You intertwine your hand with his. Pads of your fingertips pressed against his knuckles. 

Christmases spent stressed, the ones she spent alone. You decide this once you won’t rip herself from this illusion. God, you hope it wasn’t an illusion. 

He stares intently at where you connect. Those hands of his that have done wrong to many, still dwarfs yours. 

“Andrea.” It’s featherlight. Not in need of a response. “Stay at my house. I don’t like the idea of you at that place— when your home is here—with us—with me and my dad.”

You think of your plan. You think of how lonely it felt to be stuck in an outdated inn, watching M*A*S*H with only the sound of your breathing and the running air conditioning. His house was your home. 

“Alright. But I’m sleeping on the cot.” The uncomfortable little mattress that stood up at the basement of the Peña Ranch. Thrown on the floor with quilts whenever your brother would crash. 

“I’ll sleep on the cot.”

“No that’s unfair it’s your bed.”

“You’re my guest.” 

“I thought that it was my home? I’ll take the cot.” The ride jolts at the top of wheel. A view of the entire town, if you squint, you see the hills that lead to the rolling land where he lives. Homes glowing in various colors, the town that brings you pain, burns so beautifully for the two of you.

“Fine. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I want you in the room with me.” You rush, burning bright at your display of desperation. Javier chuckled, squeezing your hand. 

“I’ll leave when you fall asleep.”