Rosa Sanchez. The first word that comes to mind is always 'power'. Known as Thorn by many, she seems to be the most dangerous woman in the world. But, she wasn't always like this. That leads many people to wonder how she came to be. What made an inn...
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I've never been the type of person to hurt people.
Physically or emotionally.
I was kind, I was good. I had no enemies.
I knew the Sanchez name, I wasn't stupid.
So I was at a crossroads. I wanted her. So much.
But she was bad. She wasn't just part of The Cartel, she wantedto run it.
I should run in the other direction, that was the smart move.
But the way she spoke to me, the ways she looked at me. She couldn't be bad.
She had so many walls though, and I had no idea what was waiting for me behind them.
I'd broken down many while we were here though, and to my surprise, every time I got through one, I only found vulnerabilities.
I made eye contact with her as she was leaving, I hoped she didn't notice the bruise.
She didn't like it when I was hurt.
Even if it was my own fault. She'd blame the table if she knew the truth.
I couldn't tell by her face. She was impossible to read.
I had all of my emotions written on my face at all times.
If I was an open book, she was a book locked in a safe, written in Latin with invisible ink.
But safes can be unlocked, heat can reveal secrets, and Latin can be translated. I felt as if it was my destiny to do so.
I'd already figured out some things, first of all, unlike most people she made direct eye contact when she lied.
Secondly, although her face doesn't noticeably change, her voice does based on her mood.
When she's angry her accent will thicken slightly, it's almost not noticeable. When she's happy, her voice is soft, caring. When she's frustrated she pauses more in between her words.
When she's sad, she talks slower, she takes long breaks between sentences, as if she's looking for the right words.
But that was all I knew.
... Two weeks later.
I walked through the airport in search of them.
I saw familiar faces as I wandered. Some full of pity, some anger, some disgust.
"Anastasia!" I heard her voice behind me.
I swiftly turned. I didn't like the name but I hated being lost.
"Abuela!" I ran to her.
She dropped her bags and tightly wrapped her arms around me. "I'm so sorry Ana, I should've marched into the place and pulled you with my bare hands."
