Before You (17 page)

M
y lips are on fire with warmth and desire. They practically jump off my face in their eagerness to taste Faith. She would pick me over everything else. She said it. Her words hang between us. I break them with a kiss.

Our lips crush the breath out of us. Our tongues dance. I thought I could control myself, but it's instantly clear that I'm wrong. From the moment our lips meet, I want more. All of her. Everything.

It's too hard to have my girl on my bed and still take it slow. I break away from her. I need to grab kitchen chairs. Maybe if I bring them into my room, I won't be as tempted.

“What are you doing?” Faith asks before I reach the door.

“Thought maybe you would be more comfortable in a chair.”

She laughs. “I won't bite, you know.” She moistens her lips. “Unless you want me to.”

She's probably joking, but the look on her face makes it hard to concentrate.

“Come here,” she says.

I am back by her side in a second. She lowers herself onto my bed. We lean against pillows on the headboard. Her fingers roam my face, outlining my eyes and nose.

“What are you thinking?” she whispers.

“That you look incredible,” I say.

I play with the hem of her shirt. It hitches slightly. The tips of her tattoos show.

She notices my stare. “Did my tats surprise you?”

“Definitely.”

“Took me two summers' worth of part-time jobs to pay for them,” she says.

My tattoos were free. But I would've gladly paid for ones I wanted, rather than be branded with ones I despise.

She points to some of mine, asking the meaning. I explain. Ask about hers. As I suspected, the haunting images in the smoke are demons. Now I understand why.

“You're brave to get tats there,” I say, thinking of the pain.

“No one can see them unless I want them to. I like it that way,” she says.

I wonder if maybe people wouldn't look at me like I'm a no one who will never amount to anything had I chosen more discreet locations for mine. Then again, I didn't really have a choice when it came to the cartel tats. They chose where to brand me—the more obvious, the better. That way everyone knew whom I belonged to.

I am not theirs to take.

I draw circles around Faith's pierced belly button. A charm hangs from the loop. Broken wings, I think. I touch the silver. It's warm from her skin.

“I went to the zoo once. They had a beautiful bird sanctuary,” Faith says. “There was an eagle. Regal. Strong. Sun glinted off its white head . . . it was almost blinding.

“The zookeeper said that one of the eagle's wings was misshapen. Broken beyond repair. He'd never fly again. It broke my heart that a creature so beautiful would never reach the sky. The zookeeper said nothing can fly with broken wings. Injuries have to heal first, he said.”

Faith twists the charm and peers deep in my eyes. Like fingers touching my soul.

“But, sometimes—like this eagle—injuries never heal right. So, what then?” Faith glances at the charm and smiles. “I'll never forget that eagle's look, Diego. He watched the sky like he trusted that one day he'd soar again. I think if you're persistent enough, you can fly on broken wings.” Faith drops the charm. Truth fits her face like a glove. “I'm going to be proof of that.”

She thrives despite the scars, despite the past. I feel an intense connection to Faith. When we're together, we're the rawest, truest forms of ourselves and both of us accept one another. Even with flaws. Especially with flaws.

I bring my hands to her face. Brush the hollows under her cheekbones. Her big eyes watch me intently. Her hands draw patterns on my back. She reaches under my shirt. Touches me softly. My control is fading.

“I don't know if—”

Faith cuts me off with a kiss. I forget to warn her that I'm losing control.

My hands reach up her stomach. I lay Faith flat and lean over her. Strawberry shampoo intoxicates me. I hope the scent lingers on my sheets. A part of her with me even after she leaves.

My room is heat and humidity joining hands. I think about opening the window. Then decide not to. I don't want Faith to hear what goes on in the streets below.

I softly brush over her breasts as my hands go to her arm. When she leans into me, I touch them again. I feel the outline of her bra.
Dios mío
, I want to take it off.

Faith's hands wander underneath my shirt. Over my chest. Down my stomach. She stops above my belt. I groan.

Faith surprises me when she sits up and presses down on my shoulders, flattening me. She lifts my shirt. Kisses my neck. Her mouth trails down my body to my waistband. She comes back up. Kisses my lips.

“What are you doin' to me?” I ask. My voice is gruff.

“Driving you
loco
,” she replies. “Is it working?”

I love it when she speaks Spanish. Maybe I can teach her more.

“Yeah, it's workin',” I answer, pressing my pelvis into her. “Too good.”

I lift her top a little, enough to expose her ribs, and kiss her sides. Her breaths are heavy. Her hands weave through my hair, pressing my head down harder, wanting more.

I lick a trail from her belly button around her hips. I move to her legs. Her shoes are sexy, and like everything else, I want to take them off, see every inch of her. I kiss her knees. Move back to her lips.

“Diego,” she moans.

She shouldn't do that. It's too much, my name coming out of her mouth between heavy breaths. I care nothing about control at this point. I've gladly lost it. The heat of the moment burns away every thought but Faith. She is fireproof.

“Diego,”
mi padre
says from the other side of the door.

Faith jumps back. Straightens her shirt and hair. I'm momentarily stunned. It takes me a minute to snap out of it. I clear my throat.

“
Un minuto
,” I say as I stand. Faith sits up.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper to her.

“Shh. It's okay,” she says.

I search her face. Her hair is perfect, but nothing can disguise her puffy lips.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she replies. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

I open the door.
Mi padre
tells me about one of the landscape clients today. They gave him herbs, fruits, and vegetables from their garden. He stopped by the store and bought a package of chicken and rice. He wants to cook dinner together tomorrow.

Mi padre
doesn't notice Faith at first. But when he does, he goes completely still. He looks from me to her like he doesn't know what to say. Faith stands and smiles.

“
Lo siento, lo siento
,”
mi padre
says. He goes off in Spanish about how he didn't realize I had someone over.

“It's cool,” I tell him.

I motion for Faith to come to me.

“Faith, this is my dad,” I say. “Dad, this is Faith.
Mi novia
.”

“
¿Tu novia?
” he asks.

I've never had a girlfriend.

“
Sí
,” I answer.

Faith sticks her manicured hand out to shake
mi padre
's. “It's nice to meet you,” she says.

“Yes, yes. You, too,”
mi padre
says eagerly. “I was just telling Diego about dinner tomorrow night. Like to join us?”

Though
mi padre
speaks in a heavily accented voice, Faith has no problem understanding him.

“I'd love to,” Faith answers.

“What time can you come over?” I ask.

“Um, after school. After dance rehearsal. I don't have anything else going on.”

“Great,”
mi padre
chimes in. “See you then.” He closes the door as he leaves.

Faith smiles from ear to ear. “Your dad invited me back over,” she says. “It's like he doesn't care that we're different.”

My mind flips at the thought. “Does that mean you'll come over more often?”

She laughs. “Yeah. I think so.” She bites her lip. “I hate to do this, but I have to go.”

I look at the clock. It's late. And a school night.

“Okay,” I say, leaning in for a kiss.

I walk her to the car, thinking about change. I don't want to admit it, but I think maybe I'm wrong. Maybe change is possible.

Maybe there is such a thing as a brighter future.

“I
don't get how it's going to work, Faith.”

Melissa is sitting on her bedroom floor painting my toenails purple, the color of the sky when it's swollen with rain.

“It's pretty simple,” I reply. “We're not going to tell anyone that we're together. Well, except you and a few of Diego's buddies.”

I finish painting her nails a pumpkin orange, the color of the harvest that Florida never has.

Melissa's eyebrows scrunch together. “But don't you want everyone to know he's yours?”

Yes.

“In an ideal world,” I say.

“Okay, yeah, your dad will freak and gossip will fly at school, but so what?” Melissa says. “Forget them. I mean, I'm happy for you and Diego and I, of course, won't say anything, but I think it's a mistake to hide your relationship.”

I wish I had another option. Now that Jason and I are through, it's easier to push prying eyes out of my mind. The place where I need to keep up my image is church, though. If Diego and I were together at school, it would eventually get back to the church community. Last thing I need is to hear about it from Jason's mom. Volunteering with Mrs. Magg makes me susceptible to her constant meddling.

“It's not that big a deal,” I say. “Diego knows people want me and Jason to reconcile. He can handle it. And his dad has no problem with us being together. We can spend a lot of time at his place.”

Melissa snorts. “That's stupid, Faith. You're a teenager. You should be having fun. Going on dates. If you only meet at his house, it's like you're forty years old or something.” She stops painting my nails. “Look at me, Faith.”

I look at her. She places a hand on my knee.

“I love you, girl. I've seen you through a lot. You. Need. To. Have. Fun. I think it's great that Diego's your boyfriend. Really, I'm your biggest fan, but this secrecy stuff is not going to work. Trust me.”

She's probably right, but I have to try.

“I can't break things off with him.”

“Who said anything about breaking things off?” Melissa asks, exasperated. “Like those are your only options? Meet in secret or break up? I have half a mind to call your dad myself and let it out.”

The look I give my best friend is scathing.

“Chill. You know I'd never do it.” She rolls her eyes. “But someone should.”

She's daring me.

I can't.

She finishes my toes. I walk like a duck, trying not to ruin them. We head outside. I stretch out in a lounge chair on her back porch. We're both wearing bathing suits. Melissa's is solid red. Mine is pink-and-silver polka dots. Melissa had the idea to sunbathe after school in hopes that I would catch a tan for my date with Diego tonight. The day is relentlessly hot. Within five minutes, I've perspired enough to fill an ocean.

Next to me, Melissa lights a cigarette. I have no idea how she can smoke when the air alone is hot enough to singe my lungs.

“Enjoy that,” I say, adjusting my shades. Even with glasses on, the sun is blinding. “ 'Cause as soon as I win Prediction, you'll have to quit.”

Melissa laughs. “Not a chance.”

“I'm gonna win, Melissa.”

“Please. You and Jason are over. You've replaced him with a hot boy. Just as I predicted. And you bought new clothes. That's two out of three,” she replies.

I swat the air with my hand, brushing her smoke away from my face.

“Well, you never did stop bugging me about Jason. Plus you have a C in senior calculus. So, ha.”

“Fine,” she says. “We're tied. But I'll win eventually.”

“We'll see.”

 

An hour later, I say good-bye to Melissa and head home. A few days ago, I agreed to let Melissa take me to the mall for new clothes. She persuaded me to pick what I would wear if I could choose freely, like what I'd pick out if I were heading off to college tomorrow.

I take a quick shower. Throw on a new outfit. I don't know what to expect from Dad when he sees my clothes.

I walk like the ground is covered in broken glass, each step careful, wary, scared that I might tumble into the wrath of Dad, cut up my insides worse than they already are. I hate lying to him, but I have to make something up about hanging out with Melissa tonight. No way he'll let me out of the house if I admit my real plans. I almost choke on the bulk of the lie.

“I'm hanging out with friends,” I say. “I'll be home by ten.”

His mouth doesn't say anything, but his look does.

“Okay,” he says, eyeing my clothes.

“Thanks, Dad.” I kiss him on the cheek and head out the door.

Misleading him is easier than I thought. Experimenting with drugs made me a natural deceiver. It's how I got away with lying before Melissa's intervention. I'm not proud of it. But like everything else that's too hard to chew, I swallow it whole.

 

Even outside Diego's apartment, the aroma of food hangs in the air, savory and mouthwatering. I knock on the front door. Nothing. I try again. Nothing. I turn the knob. Diego and his father are already cooking. Paper plates, napkins, and plastic silverware decorate the table. Music plays in the background.

Diego spots me immediately. He sets down a large mixing spoon and wraps his arms around my waist.

His dad smiles and waves. It feels strange to show affection in front of Mr. Alvarez, but Diego assures me that his father is happy for us.

Mr. Alvarez excuses himself to go to the bathroom. Diego and I take over the kitchen. I pick up tongs. Shuffle food around in a skillet.

“
Mami,
you look amazing,” Diego says.

His eyes rake my outfit: shorts and a black top held up by one shoulder strap, leaving the other shoulder bare.

I try not to blush and fail miserably.

“You, too,” I say.

Jeans and a button-down, checkered blue-and-black. I've never seen him wear anything but plain shirts.

Diego presses me up against the counter and tucks his hands in my back pockets. He kisses me softly, sweetly.

A buzzer goes off. Diego takes something out of the oven.

We cook, cramped all together, but it feels nice. Like I imagine home should feel. We fill the table with
pollo asado en salsa
(roasted chicken with sauce),
frijoles y arroz
(black beans and rice), and homemade tortillas.

When we dig in, Mr. Alvarez tells me about himself, pausing to ask questions about my life. He insists that I call him by his first name, Adolfo. His mannerisms, his features, are Diego twenty years from now.

As we talk, a warm feeling spreads through me, and it's a lot like love. This little pocket of an apartment is rich because of the people in it. Somehow Diego's place feels more like home than my own. I talk and smile and listen and eat and simply enjoy the little things. Diego makes me laugh harder than I have in a long time. Hard enough to decimate my problems like an F5 tornado. Nothing left.

Time to rebuild.