Love Me for Eternity || Bruno Madrigal

Chapter 27: Words Spoken Under the Tabebuia

Art of Mateo is by me, artsynellyyy on Tumblr and Twitter. Feel free to drop by to ask a question or just hang out!

Art of Bruno and Reader's face claim by cheesy-cryptid on Tumblr and Instagram (permission has been granted by the original artist to use)

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You couldn't find Bruno.

The dark clouds from the sky had significantly passed leaving behind the glittering drops of water dripping from the canopies of brightly colored houses. Clear puddles were disturbed in your wake to find your husband with haste—you didn't care if you shoes got muddy, you didn't care when you tore your skirt at the side for your legs to have its freedom to run, you didn't care if the scratches on your ankles and thighs sting when tiny droplets slid astray—no, none of that. You had to find your husband. You cursed your own indolence for not training your speed. Bruno had always been the faster runner; weak, but quick and agile.

Your thoughts ran as fast as your strides; frantic, hurried—your feelings were jumbled within you. You knew you were upset with your madrina , but would you dare say you were angry at the mother figure who had raised you and agreed to your union with her son? Surely not, right? You had no right to be angry at Alma, more like you had no place to perceive such anger. But you couldn't help but feel that hot feeling that bloomed in your chest as you recall how she had berated her own son in front of the whole family.

You shook your head as you passed by another alley. It was just a misunderstanding—a misunderstanding that can be cleared. All you had to do was to make sure Bruno explains himself with more clarity and they talk through everything. That's right, there was no need to be angry at anyone, especially not Alma. Not with how much she had taken care of you.

"Bruno!" You called out when passing a corner. He wasn't near the alley of the carpenter's workshop, nor was he near the donkey stables. No, he wasn't in casa Madrigal , nor was he in his room. You should know; Casita told you when you came. He was nowhere to be seen, as if he had vanished in thin air.

"Where are you, tonto? " You mumbled under your breath. He should be somewhere—anywhere. Think, where would he go when he was scared? Where would he go when he needed to hide?

As if hearing your internal plea, a butterfly had fluttered into view. Its wings descended onto the fallen petal of a tabebuia, oh so innocently resting its weak little legs while flexing its wings idly.

Tabebuia.

You ran and ran and ran until you could feel fire creeping up your legs. Your breath came out short and heavy, the cold air from the earlier downpour making itself known to your lungs. You almost couldn't breathe, but Bruno, you sweet, sweet Bruno was most likely waiting for you while he mumbled poison into his own self-consciousness. With that thought in mind, the freezing of your lungs dulled in comparison to what your husband might be feeling at this moment.

It took you thirty minutes—half the time needed to get to the Alcantara pastures—to see the pink blossoms of your beloved tree. There, just below some of the buds that have sagged from the rain, was your husband; curled into a ball while rocking himself to and fro. He knocked on the wood once, twice, three times as he muttered to himself the words that no one would have uttered to themselves in woe. Although your labored breath was a clear announcement of your presence, and the wet soil squelched beneath your heels, he did not react to your approach. How could he? He had run away in shame, something no man of pride would have done. He could not speak for himself nor did he try—no—he did try. Yet his words fell on deaf ears.