32. Gabriela
Chapter 32
Gabriela
O nce I am sure that the car is gone, I slowly get up, my body so sore from being held down. I can feel the bruises already that are sure to be all over my hips and face. Nothing compares to the hurt in my heart.
How could he do this to me? Was it really so hard to just fucking work on himself so that he could be a better version of himself for me?
I pull myself up to a standing position, slamming my car door closed. I limp to the steps, taking a deep breath, before sliding my key into the lock and heading inside. Luckily, Mireya should already be asleep, so I will only have to make it past Jazmin without her noticing. Entering the house, I quickly lock the door back up and rush past Jazmin.
"I'll be right back. A baby threw up on me and I need to shower real quick.” I take off for my bedroom and hear her whisper-yell to take my time.
With my door shut, I slide to the floor, my hands covering my mouth as I let out a guttural cry. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull out. His name, “Joaquin,” flashes across the screen. I deny the call, and seconds later, he is calling again.
“Fuck you.” Throwing the phone across the room, where it lands on my bed.
I somehow find the strength to pull myself up and strip out of my clothes, leaving a trail all the way to the bathroom.
I feel lost.
Broken.
So fucking hurt that he chose to take from me when I willingly gave myself to him. All because he can’t control his emotions and doesn’t want to work through the shit with me.
I turn on the shower, the hot water scalding my skin, but I need it. I need the heat to burn away the cold, the sickening numbness that’s settled deep in my chest. The sound of the water hitting the tiles fills the small bathroom, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts swirling in my mind. I press my forehead against the wall, letting the spray soak through my tangled hair, tears mixing with the water.
How did we get here? How did I let it go this far?
I could feel his anger, his frustration, his inability to face anything—his demons, his mistakes, the weight of the relationship that was too much for him to carry. But I was there. I was always there, willing to stand by him, to fight for us, for what we could be. I thought he would be stronger than this. He would see my point in making him get better so we could be together for real.
But it’s always the same. He takes, and I give.
It’s never enough.
I grip the edge of the shower, knuckles white, my breathing heavy and ragged as the sobs threaten to take over. Why did he have to do this to me? Why did he have to break me when all I asked him to do was change for me? I didn’t want him to be perfect. I just wanted him to try .
I swallow hard—the tears blurring my vision. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, letting the water hit me, but I know I can’t stay here forever. I have to keep living, keep pretending that everything is fine, because my sister depends on me. I pretend. I smile. I go through the motions. But inside, I’m breaking apart.
I force myself to turn off the water, but I can’t shake the emptiness gnawing at my insides. Wrapping myself in a towel, I step out of the shower, ignoring my reflection in the mirror. I don’t want to see myself. I don’t want to see the woman who thought she could love him despite everything, despite the bullying, the hurtful words, and the fucking lies I told myself—thinking he loved me.
But when my phone buzzes again from the other room, I know it’s him. Joaquin. I close my eyes for a second, willing myself not to answer. Why now? Why is he doing this to me? Why won’t he just leave me alone?
He got what he wanted. Another quick fuck to show me he’s the one in control.
I can hear his voice, even though he’s miles away. “Please, Reina ,” he says in my head. But I know the truth—he’s not sorry. He’s not sorry for the pain he caused me, for the way he ran away and left me lying there, feeling used and worthless. He’s not sorry for making me feel like I was not worth changing for. Not sorry for hurting me again.
I can hear Jazmin’s faint voice in the distance, but it’s muffled, like I’m underwater. I don’t care. I need a moment to breathe, to stop the ache in my chest from suffocating me. I sit down on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone. It vibrates again.
I want to ignore it. I want to pretend he doesn’t matter. But the temptation to pick it up is too strong, and my fingers betray me, unlocking the screen.
A text.
Please talk to me, Gabriela.
I hate him for making me love him.
I hate him for making me care.
I throw the phone onto the bed again, harder this time. It bounces off the comforter and falls to the floor with a soft thud. My chest tightens, and the tears finally fall freely, pooling in my lap. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and stand, pacing the room, the anger slowly building up.
Why am I still crying over him? After everything, why am I still weak for him? He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve me.
But the part of me that still loves him, the one that’s so fucking broken, keeps hoping. Keeps wishing he would just see me. Really see me and realize how much I’ve given. How much I would’ve given for him to just be there. To be honest about his feelings. To be a man.
But instead, I get nothing. I get anger. I get silence when I need him most.
And I’m left here, drowning in it all, questioning everything.
I hear Jazmin’s footsteps now, louder, closer. My heart races in my chest, my breath shallow. I wipe the tears from my face, trying to pull myself together before she comes in. I don’t want anyone to see this—see me like this.
I hear her knock softly on the door before she calls out, "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle, but I can hear the concern there. She doesn’t know what just happened. She doesn’t know the pain that Joaquin has caused or the way he’s slowly destroyed me, piece by piece.
Do I tell her? Do I let her in on this?
I sit on the edge of the bed again, still wrapped in the towel, staring at the phone on the floor.
I force a smile, and I hope it’s convincing enough. "Yeah. Just needed a minute."
Jazmin doesn’t push, but I hear her walk away, the quiet click of the door closing behind her.
I feel the weight of the silence fill the room.
I can’t stop crying.
* * *
The sound of pounding on the front door startles me awake. I bolt upright and look at the alarm clock on my nightstand—the red numbers flash “4:00.”
“What the fuck!” I jump out of bed and run down the hall, praying that Mireya is still sleeping. Peering through the peephole, I let out a sigh. “Puta madre.”
There he is. Joaquin. Of course, it’s him. Who else would it be at this hour, banging like a maniac at my door? I press my forehead against the cool wood of the door and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.
Why now?
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, the emotional exhaustion of the last few hours threatening to pull me under. He’s still calling me, texting me, not doing the one thing I told him to do.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to face him. But the pounding continues, each hit against the door feeling like it’s hammering into my chest.
Fuck it.
I yank the door open before he can knock again, and there he is, standing on the other side of the threshold, looking like a mess. His curly hair is disheveled, his black shirt wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot like he’s been drinking himself stupid. He’s got that same damn look on his face—the one that makes me want to both kiss him and punch him all at once. But right now, all I feel is rage bubbling under the surface.
“Joaquin,” I bite out, my voice strained and sharp. “What the hell do you want?”
He stands there, not saying a word at first. He’s just staring at me, looking almost lost, like he doesn’t know how to begin. I can’t stand it. How dare he show up here after what he did to me? I fold my arms over my chest, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“I came to talk,” he finally says, his words coming out low, almost hesitant. “I know I messed up in the beginning. I should have never taken what our parents did out on you. I know I?—”
“Stop,” I cut him off, shaking my head. My voice cracks as the frustration seeps in. “You think you can just show up here after everything you’ve done to talk? Like that’s supposed to make me forget what you did to me in the driveway? Like that’s supposed to make everything okay?”
I want to shut the door in his face. I really do. But he steps forward, just enough to stop it from closing, and the look on his face makes me hesitate. His eyes are pleading, desperate. And God help me—I still care.
I shouldn’t, but I fucking do.
“The fuck are you talking about?” He says, his voice soft now, almost pleading. “I’ve been sitting at the beach for hours, fucking going over every moment—to fix what I’ve done. This is the first time I’ve been to your house tonight.”
I scoff, taking a step back—the door still cracked open. “You’re telling me you didn’t follow me home, drag me out of my car and fuck me in the driveway?” I shake my head again, feeling my anger simmering, but there’s something else there too—something deeper. “I gave you everything, and you just took more from me. You didn’t just hurt me, Quín. You fucking destroyed me. You played me once as the hurt bad boy who, if I didn’t want you so fucking much, would have raped me in that lecture hall. Then, after I told you we couldn’t be together until you fixed yourself, you raped me in my driveway. Fuck you, Joaquín.”
He winces, as if my words cut him deep, but I don’t care. I want him to feel it. He should feel every ounce of the pain he’s caused me. Every moment of doubt and heartbreak.
“That wasn’t me. Why the fuck would I do that? I just had you— consensually , I wouldn’t rape you, Gabriela. For fuck’s sake, how could you ever think that? Your sister could have seen and I would never do anything to hurt her, and something like that would have scarred her for life. I swear to God it wasn’t me.” Joaquin says quietly, almost like he’s trying to explain himself, but his voice is shaking. “You have to believe me. Look,” pulling his pants down, he still has my blood on his shaft and up his lower abdomen. “That wouldn’t still be on me if I had fucked you again.”
The sincerity in his words hits me harder than I expected. The proof is right in front of me. I want to believe him. I want to believe that he wasn’t the one who hurt me, but then that would mean someone else did, and that scares me even more. But my heart, battered and bruised from everything we’ve been through, doesn’t know how to differentiate between his truth and lies anymore. I’m tired of the games. I’m tired of the uncertainty. And I’m tired of waiting for him to choose me.
“I need you to leave,” I finally say, voice low, breaking just a little. “I need you to work through your shit. That’s what I need.”
I turn away, walking back into the hallway, not wanting him to see the cracks in my armor, but he follows me inside. He’s still not giving up, and damn it, part of me wants to give in.
“Please,” he whispers from behind me, and it’s like everything I’ve been holding back breaks all over again. “I need you, Gabriela. I know I hurt you, but I want to work through it. Together.”
I stop in my tracks, my back to him, fighting the urge to turn around and face him.
God, I hate that I still want him.
But I can’t. Not yet. Not when I’m still so fucking lost in the aftermath of everything he put me through.
I exhale sharply, trying to steady myself. “I can’t be the one to fix you, Joaquin. You have to fix yourself first. I can’t keep being the scapegoat for your emotions. You don’t do that to someone you care about.”
I turn then, finally looking him in the eyes. There’s a flicker of hope in them, but there’s also pain. But it’s not enough. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice hoarse, his shoulders sagging as if the apology is all he can offer. He takes a step back, but not before giving me one last look that feels like a plea. “I just want a chance to prove I can do better.”
I close my eyes, trying to hold it together. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than that, Joaquin.” I place my hand on his chest and push him out the door. I shut the door, the finality of the click echoing in my ears. My chest aches with the weight of it, but I know it’s the right thing. It has to be.
If he loves me, he will do what needs to be done.
“I’m going to find who hurt you, Reina .” He says through the door. I press my body against the door, imagining that he is doing the same. “And then I’m going to kill him. For touching what’s mine and making you think I would ever hurt you like that. ”
I push off the door and walk back down the hall, my feet dragging with the exhaustion I can’t escape. As I reach the bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed and glance at the clock. The day is just starting, but for the first time in a while, I feel like I’ve made the right decision.
But the truth is, I don’t know if he’ll ever truly change. I don’t know if I can ever fully trust him again.
And that hurts more than anything.