Chapter 2
TWO
CARMEN
My eyes are closed, and I am lying in the middle of the bed, sinking into it. Somehow, I feel like I am floating. The doors are locked. I can hear the murmur of voices behind me, but I ignore them. My ears are buzzing. I turn onto my side and bury my face in the sheets.
My hands are in front of my head, a hair tie wrapped around my wrists. As I slowly exhale, I lift it and let it snap against my skin.
Distraction, they said, would keep me from doing it again. I never had much self-control. The pain makes it feel easier.
“Two years,” I exhale. “Just two years.”
I let the rubber of a hair tie hit my wrist again.
But it’s never enough. No one sees that.
No one sees how broken you are inside when all you do is smile.
They see just another scarred teenager, just another girl who will be forgotten.
The system is already broken, even more than I am.
Still, no one cares. Those who do, they give up easily, because no one backs them up.
One person can’t change everything, and they know it. So they stop trying.
I have known I am broken for a while now. The thoughts come quietly, telling me I am never enough, that I don’t deserve anything. That one day I will be like fog, there for a moment, then gone as soon as the sunlight touches me.
I raise the hair tie again and let it snap harder against my wrist.
The question of why they chose me comes again.
Maybe because I know I am not good enough.
Because I know I ruin everything I touch.
Every small good thing that happens, I end up destroying.
That is how it goes. I know I am my own worst enemy.
No self-discipline. Too damn proud. I never let anyone help me because I tell myself I can do everything on my own, even when I can’t.
“One,” I inhale.
“Two,” I exhale.
“Three.”
I turn onto my back.
I stare at the ceiling, at the small dots that seem to come closer the longer I focus on them. My hands rest on my chest, fingers twisting the rubber as I do it again.
I close my eyes and move faster now, letting it burn, letting it snap harder against my skin.
I exhale again. My breath turns shallow.
A knock comes at the door. Loud, then softer, as someone hesitates with their hand still raised.
I stand up and drag my lip across my teeth as I walk toward the door.
“Who is it?” I ask, my hand hovering over the handle.
“Simona,” she says. “I came to say goodbye.”
I open the door.
She stands in front of me, looking at my face. This time, there is no file in her hands. I turn away and walk back to the bed. When I sit down, she follows and sits beside me, close enough that I can feel her next to me.
For a few seconds, neither of us speaks. Then she gently bumps my shoulder with hers.
“You’ll be good here, kiddo,” she says softly. “I promise.”
“How can adults promise things they don’t even know they can keep?” I say, turning toward her. I shift back slightly, pulling my legs onto the bed and crossing them beneath me.
“I guess you’ll find out soon,” she says, placing a palm on my shoulder.
“Yeah, right,” I say, looking at her as I shrug.
“The Harringtons are a good family,” she says. “They really are.” Her voice lowers. “The harsh truth is, if no one took you, you would end up in foster care. Moving from home to home. And considering your case, I thought…”
“My case?” My eyes widen, tears sting as they show at the corner of my eyes. “You have no idea about my case.” My voice cracks. “No one ever listened to me, so there is no fucking case.”
“Carmen,” she starts gently, “just be good, okay?”
“I’m not an adult,” I sigh. “So I can’t make promises, right?” I roll my eyes.
She smiles. “Since you act like you’re six, not sixteen.” She raises her hand and holds out her pinky. “How about a pinky promise?”
“I’m not a child.” I push her hand away. “And I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
“Very well.” She stands. “I hope when you grow up, you stop being such an asshole.”
“Excuse me?” My lips part.
The audacity.
“You’re excused, young lady,” she says with a smile as she walks toward the door.
“Simona.” I smile back, the corners of my mouth pulling tight.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Fuck you,” I say, my smile never fading.
She laughs. “Fuck you, too.”
She opens the door. Just before she leaves, she leans against the frame and turns back to me.
“I know you never asked,” she says, “but I thought it might help that you’ll be in the same house as Judge Harrington, if you want to find your sister.”
My smile fades as I look at her.
“I know you don’t believe in happy endings,” she says, “but you do deserve one. You just have to work for it. Get on their good side, and maybe you’ll find out that something good can come out of…” She exhales and looks around. “All of this.”
“Thanks,” I say, lowering my voice. “The reason I never asked about Sofia is because I know wherever she is, she’s in better hands than I ever was.”
“Okay,” she says. “Your choice.”
She turns and takes a step into the hallway. She looks back once, then walks away without another word.
I don’t hate Simona. She tried her best. I just hate the world. I guard myself so that when I do get attached to someone, it hurts less when they leave. Somehow, I am a magnet for losing people. No one ever stays.
I look down at the hair tie and lift it again, letting it snap against my skin. I bite my lip as my eyes fill with tears.
I am strong. Just as strong as I can be.
I hear a door open down the hallway. Then the sound of lips smacking together. All I can picture is my “new brother“ and his cheerful little girlfriend making out. It makes me sick. He makes me sick.
I get up fast. As I move toward the door, I hear her giggle as she heads down the stairs. I roll my eyes. Just as I’m about to slam the door shut, he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body.
He is wearing gray sweatpants, nothing else.
My heart starts to race. Something tight curls in my stomach when I see him without a shirt.
What the fuck?
No.
Pull yourself together, Carmen.
I raise a brow and try to push the door closed, but his bare foot stops it.
“What is your problem?” I say, opening the door again.
He lifts a hand and parts his lips, but no words come out.
“Huh?” I knit my brows together. “If you can’t say anything, then get lost.”
I roll my eyes. He steps back, and I shut the door.
I’m a bitch. Congratulations, Carmen.
Soy una cabrona.
I exhale softly and go back to bed. This time, I turn toward the glass door leading to the balcony. It’s open, letting fresh air spill inside. In the glass, I see the reflection of the balcony beside mine. Separate, but close enough.
I hear a door open. At first, I don’t pay attention. Then he steps out again, still shirtless, and I can’t stop myself from looking.
He stares out into nothing, his hands holding onto the balcony railing. When he exhales, he turns and leans back against it. I see his muscles tense as he lifts a lighter, sparks a cigarette, then slides the lighter back into his pocket. He inhales, then notices the reflection in the glass.
I’m not sure if he sees me or not, but he stares at the door for a moment.
Then, with the cigarette between his lips, he lifts his hand and flips off the glass.
Middle finger?! Really?!
He goes back inside.
“Asshole,” I shout.
No words came shouting back.
A minute later, I hear his footsteps again. He steps out, leans closer to the railing, and raises his hand once more, middle finger pointed toward the air.
“Wow,” I chuckle. “Very mature.”
I roll my eyes and turn my back to him, still lying on the bed. I close my eyes, biting my lip as the image of him shirtless refuses to leave my thoughts.
“No, Carmen,” I whisper to myself. “Think of something else. Think of him in a clown suit or something.”
But that idiot would still be hot in a clown suit.
Fuuuuck.
I stand up, rolling off the bed, and walk toward the balcony. Just before I can see him again, I shut the door and pull the curtains closed.
“Far from eyes, far from mind,” I say to myself as I go back to bed.
But before I can lie down, the door opens.
“Lunch time,” Catherine says, walking in without knocking. She moves further into the room and pulls the curtains open again.
“You need light.”
What I need is to stay away from Judas.
“Get dressed,” she says. “We usually have lunch in the dining room downstairs.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She winks at me, clapping her hands together. “How exciting. Our first lunch as a family.”
I force a smile.
Yaaaay.
She walks out, slowly closing the door behind her. I head for the closet. When I open it, all I see are pastel colors.
“This hurts my poor black heart,” I mutter as I push past the dresses, searching for something I can actually wear.
When you’re younger, color is everything.
Then you grow up and somehow lose the color inside you.
You learn to love black, not just because it’s simple, but because it lets you blend in.
When you wear black, no one asks questions.
Sometimes I miss color; mostly, I miss the time when I was allowed just to be a kid.
I close my eyes and inhale softly. I bite my lip as I search through the dresses again. Nothing feels right.
So I just stay in a white T-shirt and navy sweatpants.
I walk through the bedroom door and head down the stairs. Judas walks just behind me. A white shirt now covers his six-pack. As I turn halfway down, he brushes past me, forcing me to step aside, my shoulder hitting the railing.
“What’s your problem?” I mutter under my breath.
He doesn’t answer. He turns his back to me, chuckling softly, that same evil smirk on his mouth. He walks toward the living room on the left, one hand tucked into his pocket, as if nothing had happened.
I inhale again, my eyes closing as I keep walking. I pull the hair tie against my wrist once more.