18. Beatriz
Beatriz
The room is still dark when I open my eyes. Not dark-dark, but that heavy shade of early morning where the sun hasn’t risen yet.
I haven’t slept. Not really. My body’s exhausted, my eyes dry, but my mind hasn’t shut up once. Not since I rolled over in the middle of the night and remembered what Alejandro told me. What my father did.
The pit in my stomach hasn’t gone anywhere. It just settled in, sharp and sour, and now it’s sitting on my ribs like it owns the place.
Alejandro’s still asleep beside me, and for a second, I just… watch him.
His face is soft in sleep, mouth parted slightly, lashes dark against his cheeks. His arm’s thrown across the bed where I used to be, like even in sleep he reaches for me. I don’t move, afraid to wake him. Afraid that if I see his eyes, I won’t be able to do what I know I have to.
It hits me how much he loves me. And not just the big declarations.
It’s in the way he cleaned his room. I remember the first time I stepped in here—clothes everywhere, half-done laundry, cluttered shelves.
Now it’s… tidy. Organized in the way only someone who’s trying really hard would do it. For me.
It’s in the way he listens when I talk, even when I think I’m rambling. How he always notices when my hands are cold and slips his into mine without a word. The way he makes sure I get the side of the bed closest to the door, just because he remembers that I sleep lighter that way.
It’s the toothbrush he bought me that sits beside his. The bottle of hot sauce I like that showed up in his fridge. The playlist he made me that plays in the background when we cook together.
He loves me. So deeply and so clearly that I can see it in the quietest corners of his life. And now it’s my turn.
Now I have to show him I love him.
Even if it means walking away for a little while.
Even if it breaks me to do it.
Because this—what my father did, the power he held over Alejandro, the silence he forced him into—this can’t be how it ends. I won’t let it be. I’m going to fix it. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way. I’ll make my father listen. I’ll make him see what I see when I look at this man.
And when I come back… I’m going to ask him to marry me.
Whether my father gives me his blessing or not.
I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, grabbing my clothes from the chair by the door. My movements are slow, careful. Like I’m scared to break the moment. Or maybe myself.
The room’s dim and still, just the soft whir of the fan brushing through the silence. My heart’s a mess of noise in my chest, heavy and fast. There’s a pit in my stomach that refuses to go away, like my body knew before my mind did that something had to change.
I’m just pulling on my jeans when I hear him stir. The bedsheets rustle, and I freeze.
His voice is low and rough with sleep. “Bee? You leaving?”
I nod, keeping my tone even. “I have to work, and I need to pick up my car.”
I glance over my shoulder to see him propped on his elbows now, rubbing at his eyes, blinking away the haze of sleep. His hair’s a wild mess, and the second he sees me half-dressed by the door, something flickers across his face. Tight. Tired.
“Didn’t think I’d wake up to you sneaking out,” he says quietly, his voice thick with sleep.
I wince, my chest tightening, but I don’t turn to face him. I can’t.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” I reply, my voice small, trying to keep the tremble out of it.
“I just didn’t want to wake you. Considering…
” I trail off, knowing exactly what I’m leaving unsaid.
The way I’m sure he’ll be battling a hangover for most of the day.
The way he drank himself stupid yesterday from my dad’s words, from everything he’s been carrying alone.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze on my back as I finish putting on my shoes. It’s not angry—at least not yet—but it’s heavy, filled with expectation, like he’s waiting for me to say something. Something more. But I don’t know what to say.
My hands tremble slightly as I stand up straight, glancing at him for just a moment before I finally speak. My voice is smaller than I want it to be. “I think we need space.”
The words land in the room with a thud, and I feel the air thicken even more. My throat tightens, and I quickly turn away to keep him from seeing the vulnerability I don’t want to show.
Alejandro doesn’t flinch. He just watches me, his jaw clenched tight, like he already knew this was coming. Like he’d been waiting for the moment I’d pull away.
“Space?” he asks, his voice low but still soft, like he’s giving me the chance to explain.
“To process,” I say, my voice small, barely audible. “To think.”
He pushes himself up, sitting, his eyes narrowing, studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t quite solve. His chest is bare, the blanket shifting off his body, but he doesn’t notice. “To think about what exactly?”
I hesitate, my words catching. I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard to get out. I was expecting him to just let me go, to tell me it was fine, to let me have this moment. But he doesn’t. He’s waiting for me to explain.
“To fix this,” I say, my voice quiet, smaller than I want it to be. “I can’t let him win, Ale. I can’t let my father’s opinion—his judgment—be the reason we fall apart. Not again.”
He sits up fully now, the blankets shifting off of his chest, his expression turning serious. “And I know you think you were protecting me,” I continue, looking down at my hands, my fingers twisting together.
“I was,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle.
“I know,” I whisper, my eyes still averted. “And I get it. I do. But it still hurts. You should’ve told me. I just need a moment to process.”
A moment to process without him. I need to make sure that being in his arms isn't clouding my judgment. That I'm not going to resent him later for the choices he made in the past.
I'm hurt and I need to think.
The silence that follows feels thick with unspoken words. Alejandro doesn’t speak, but I can feel him processing everything I’ve said. He’s thinking about it. And I can’t keep looking at him. If I do, I’ll break.
He looks away for a moment, a sigh escaping his lips. His fingers grip the edge of the blanket tightly. There’s a muscle in his jaw that twitches, like he’s fighting to stay calm. But I can tell it’s killing him.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Bee,” he says, his voice low but filled with guilt. “I thought... I thought it would be easier this way. But it wasn’t.”
“I don’t want to be angry with you,” I add, my voice thickening, the words harder to push out. “But I am. I’m so angry with him. And you, Ale. So angry. And I hate that you had to carry all of this on your own. That he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice.”
I let out a breath, my chest tightening as I hold back tears. “I hate that he made you leave me.”
Alejandro is still, watching me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
For a moment, I think he might say something.
Anything. But then he doesn’t. He just stands up, the room filling with the quiet tension of his movements.
He crosses the space between us like he’s giving me time to say something else if I need to.
He stops just short of reaching out to me, but I feel him there, close enough to make me feel his warmth, to smell the faint trace of cologne on his skin.
He doesn’t touch me. But I know he’s waiting for me to decide if I’m going to stay or go.
“I’m not giving up on us,” he says, his voice steady, even though I can see the hurt behind his eyes. “Take your space. I’ll respect it.”
My heart aches at the words. I wanted this, I needed this, but hearing him say it out loud—hearing him agree to it—feels like a knot tightening in my chest. “But if you’re not back in a week,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low growl that’s both tender and fierce, “I’m coming for you.”
I can’t help the faint smile that pulls at the corner of my mouth. Despite everything, despite the pain, despite the hurt— he’s being the man who refuses to let go this time. “Is that a threat or a promise?” I ask, my voice a little shaky.
“Both.” His lips twitch, his usual confidence back for just a moment. “You think I’m gonna let you go? Not happening, Killer.”
I swallow, the tears I’ve been holding back slipping free before I can stop it. I quickly wipe it away, but I know better. He sees it. He always does.
Alejandro leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. It’s gentle, like he’s letting me go—but not really. There’s finality in it, but also a tenderness that makes everything feel... fragile.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my skin, his voice thick with regret. “For all of it. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, my voice trembling, and the words taste like goodbye. Even though it’s not goodbye. It just feels like it.
He steps back slowly, watching me as I open the door. I take one last look at him before I walk away, my heart still in that room with him.
The day drags on, stretching endlessly in front of me like the dull, fluorescent lights above my head.
It’s a test day, so the students are quiet, focused on their papers.
It should be a relief, but instead, it just leaves more room for my thoughts to spiral.
I grade papers absentmindedly, my hand moving automatically as I glance at the clock.
I’m not really here—not mentally, anyway.
I can’t shake what happened with Alejandro. I can’t stop thinking about the hurt in his eyes when I told him I needed space. The way he looked at me, like I was slipping through his fingers, like he already knew what I was going to say before I said it.
It’s not just him, though. It’s my father, too. It's everything he’s done to Alejandro, to me. It hangs on my chest like a concrete block, and I can’t breathe.