23. twenty three
twenty three
LYSANDRA
“How are you doing after…” I trailed off, not wanting to expose his innermost bruises to the students walking beside us.
The corridor was filled with rushing scholars, hurrying from one classroom to another.
As Ezra and I walked through the busy corridor, there were occasional groups that leaned against the dark walls of the hallway, impeding others from passing through.
Our history class had finished, and Ezra offered to walk me to my next class. I had resisted at first, yet his excuse had been that his next class was near mine.
It had only been a week since the incident, and his bruises were gone.
Neither of us had spoken a word to each other about it, but it pained me to see him like that.
I had to know how he was doing. I didn’t wish to step past my boundaries, and he—well, I was sure it wasn’t an easy subject to converse about.
I didn’t wish to pressure him. Surely, if he needed assistance, he’d let me know.
“I don’t like talking about it,” he began. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. If anything, I confide in you more than I can in my best friend.”
I pursed my lips. I wasn’t the type of person who held pity for others, until then. Ezra trusted a girl he barely knew over his best friend, whom he’s known his entire life. To me, that was depressing.
“No one knows. No one can know.”
“I understand,” I replied. “But what about your roommate? He didn’t ask any questions?”
“Thankfully, he lives in his own world. Barely in our room anyway. I think he got himself a girlfriend.”
I chuckled. At least he didn’t have to worry about a nosey roommate telling everyone that he came into the dorm—in the middle of the night—with bruises all over his face.
His family had more to lose if students or the administration found out.
I could just imagine the chaos that would erupt within the halls of the academy.
Although I grew up without the conditions he had, I understood that it was much more than his reputation that would suffer.
It would be his family, his privacy, along with the questioning of his sanity.
People would ask all the wrong questions instead of trying to understand him.
People on the outside didn’t comprehend his father was the monster that tortured him.
Flashes of my own father figure forced themselves into my mind.
I beamed brightly, in hopes of pushing away the feeling of dread that was creeping up on me.
“Are you going busy later today?” I questioned.
He sided eyed me before smiling like the Sun that stood high above the Heavens. “What are you planning, Guerrera?”
I enjoyed the way his British accent had a sharp cadence when speaking my last name. It was perfect. Once I realized how I’d been dreaming of his voice, I kicked myself mentally. I couldn’t think like that about a friend.
“I wanted to try a Mexican restaurant nearby. I’ve been a little homesick, which is weird since I hated my home,” I pondered.
He chuckled as we stood by the threshold of my Calculus lecture hall. Other plaid-wearing scholars pushed between us and walked into the classroom. “What time were you planning on going?” he asked.
“How does 6 p.m. sound to you?”
“Perfect. Where would you like to meet?”
“Foyer would be good.”
“I’ll see you there,” he chirped. “I have to get going. I’ll see you later, Guerrera.”
I sent him a quiet nod. I remained by the class doorway, watching as his silhouette drifted among the students.
The edge of his glasses moved in my direction before he stepped into another hallway.
I smiled. Anxiety gurgled in my stomach, yet it was not the same dreadful, pained feeling I had in my usual anxiety attacks.
It was a pleasing one, one that I wanted to succumb to.
We sat in the noiseless diner. There was a couple at the other end of the restaurant, sitting across from each other.
Their glasses clinked every so often. Mexican flags were hung in different shapes and sizes throughout the small restaurant.
Music composed by guitarróns, vihuelas, trumpets, and violins flowed between us.
Ezra was beside me, indulging in some chilaquiles with a side of beans and fresh avocado as I stared at my bowl of mole and red rice. Before I could savor my meal, I realized that Ezra was missing a crucial ingredient on his plate.
“You need to try that with queso fresco.” I pointed my fork at his plate. He looked at me with a questioning look. “It’s fresh cheese. It’s crumbly, and it adds a totally different flavor to the chilaquiles.”
Ezra’s blue eyes examined me. I noticed the way his mind worked as his gaze was set firmly on my person. I felt uncovered, causing me to cross my arms over my chest with insecurity.
What if he saw me for who I was, and I was no longer good for him?
“You know, I’m just realizing that you are great at speaking Spanish,” he said.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
“Are you fluent?” Ezra asked before picking up more of the sauced tortilla.
I nodded. “I am. It’s my first language.”
He beamed, and it felt like I was staring straight at the Sun. “That’s wonderful. Have you ever traveled to Mexico?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
He glared at me while he was chewing. His plate was almost empty. I guessed he fancied the meal. “What is the problem with me wanting to learn more about my friend?” he uttered between bites.
There was something about the word friend that I despised. Of course, friendship was always a privilege that I searched for, but I hated hearing it come from his lips. Which puzzled me.
“I’m kidding,” I began. “I’ve never gone deep into Mexico, only to the few cities crossing the border.
Back home, most of the population was Hispanic, which meant that Spanish was the dominant language.
It’s been a bit difficult for me here. I was used to speaking Spanish every day, and now I hardly need to. ”
His expression fell as he set his fork back on his plate. Ezra’s frames shone under the copper light of the diner.
“We must go to Mexico one day.”
“Together?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“You don’t even speak the language,” I argued.
“I have a feeling that I have a great teacher sitting beside me.”
I lowered my gaze to my cherry-red nails. They glossed under the brilliance of the yellow light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The trumpets in the song echoed into the deepest parts of my soul. “I don’t have the means to leave Scotland.”
“Think of me as your personal bank account.” Ezra pushed his glasses with his index finger as he leaned back against the cushion of the booth we’d been sitting at.
“You’re shameless,” I giggled.
“The rich should use their wealth for important matters, shouldn’t they?” His gaze softened.
I was glad that he finally understood that I had a special disdain for the arrogant rich people of this world. Men and women alike. Those in power who used their authority for all the wrong reasons. Corruption reached even those who had once been innocent.
I had always lived in poverty, and now I was in Scotland, searching for a change in my life. Glory and status were not a luxury I was fighting for. I struggled against the systems of this society to live a happy and comfortable life, which was a major difference between my classmates and me.
Ezra interrupted my thoughts. “You are important to me.”
My eyes met his. There was this gentle longing in his stare. A brow of mine quirked upward. Could he possibly be flirting with me?
No. I couldn’t be that delusional.
I was already delusional by moving to Scotland. A boy falling in love with me was not a dream that would become a reality. No, no, no. I erased the thought from my mind.
Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but wish that a guy like Ezra would learn to love me and the darkness that haunted me.
“So, are you going to try the queso fresco?”