Pretty lies

nineteen- red velvet box

Isadora Rose:

The key in the lock turns to my apartment door. I slowly turn the doorknob so to not wake up anyone inside.

The door opens and reveals a sleeping Rico on the couch. I walk up to him and place my hand on his cheek. He begins to stir in his sleep and his eyes flutter open.

We all have the same amber eyes. Abuela always told me how lucky I was to have her eyes and not my fathers. He has almost black eyes. I never hated them but, those eyes were always full of anger and pain. So I wasn't exactly fond of them.

"Hey hombrecito, why aren't you in your bed?" I whisper softly as my hand strokes his face.

"I wanted to wait for you."

"You don't need to wait for me. It's not like-" I pause my joke as the realisation hits me. He thought I left.

"You know it's always us. I will always come back." Tears pool in Rico's little brown eyes.

His arms dart up to wrap around my neck as he pulls me into a hug. I feel his tears fall on my shoulder the longer we stay like this.

I snake my arms around him and pull him into my lap. All of the pain we have been though as a family has changed us. Except for Rico.

Throughout my childhood, I watched as my parents turned from loving people with pure hearts and clean souls to cold beings, fueled by anger and a sufficient amount of heroin. Rico only knew of the second side.

"I love you so much Ric." I whisper into his ear as I place a kiss on the side of his head.

"I love you too."  He whispers back to me. We stay with each other on the floor for a while. I feel his grip loosen and his body go limp against me. I down to find that he has fallen asleep in my arms.

I carry him to his room and I put him in his bed. His covers are pulled up over him because this weirdo gets cold in the middle of summer.

Before I leave the room, I make sure to switch on his nightlight and give him his bear. My neighbour made all the kids on our block these knitted beads. I got a really pretty purple one but I left it at my parents house since there was no time to grab it.

I pull Rico's door to a close and place my forehead against the wood. So many things are changing in our little world. People are dying, families are broken. I am just one person in that shit .

My siblings have always been more like my own children since I was the one who raised them. For the my entire life, I have wanted nothing more than to free them from this spiral of abuse and pain.

Children should be allowed to be children. They should be allowed to play in the street without the fear of being hit or yelled at. They should be allowed to fall in love with a stranger in the hall way or dream about what the future hold for them. I didn't get that opportunity but they will.

I taught Rico how to cycle on a stolen bike, I showed Santiago how to tie a tie, I held Mia's hand when she had cramps. I love those children with everything that I have. I would do anything for them.

My feet carry me into the dirty kitchen. There are dishes piled up in the sink , the fridge is empty, the living room has been turned into Rico's personal campsite and that fucking box is still in my room.

My life is a god damn mess. I wish I could say that Alessandro has taken away from that. He's fucking added to it. Now I have to juggle bills, two jobs and fucking feelings. I don't have the time.

Do I call it off? Yes, it's the right thing to do. But, what exactly am I calling off? We had sex twice so it's not like we're together. It was just sex. Did he think that?

I don't know what's happening. Is this a thing like what it was with Frankie that one time? Probably. But, this was a two time thing ,not one, so it wouldn't be a fair comparison.

How do you go about defining types of sexual relations? Is that what I'm having? It sounds weird. I feel like I'm a horny scientist or some shit.

The kettle clicks and steam flows out of the spout. I must of put it out without realising. I rummage through my purse and find an old teabag that I stole from the diner.

They sell that chamomile shit in there and it's so good. I could never afford it ,so I'd always steal it. This is my last bag from my stash. It's like an end of an era.

Mia always steals my fucking tea. I used to collect the lavender one but then someone used it all up. Now, I'm left with this final chamomile teabag.

The bag is dropped into the steaming cup of water. I watch as the flavour oozes from the silk. It's very satisfying to watch but it's even more exciting after a few shots. I am really sad.

I spoon out the tea bag and bring the cup to my lips. The hot liquid burns my throat but I don't stop. The pain is almost enjoyable so I still make no effort to stop.

I pull the away and look into the empty cup. The stains of tea leaves cover the inside of the mug. They have always been there for as long as I can remember. Silvia bought them for me one Christmas from a thrift store. They have beautiful designs of azaleas and lilacs flowing around the porcelain. The chips in the paint add to the character. That's what Mia always says.

I wonder how many other people would do this shit at five o'clock in the morning. Probably a tired mother of four or some hero firefighter who just saved a kid's life  or something. I'm just some mean whore from Chicago with a stupid fucking box in my room.

That thought of that box in my room will not leave my mind. It's like I'm goddamn Gollum and the box is my precious. I read the book in fifth grade and it gave me nightmares for a week.

I am a strong, kind of independent woman and I will not be defeated by a some stupid cardboard covered in cheap velvet. No fucking way.

The cup in my hand meets the kitchen tiles as I storm into my room. I make a bee line for the corner where the box is stashed.

I sit on the cold, hardwood floor next to the box and I just stay there for a while. The box is in my hands but I don't dare open it. The second I open this box, I will have accepted what happened to abuela. This will all be over.

I take in a deep breath and look up to the ceiling as I pull off the lid. All I have to do is look into the box in...

What the hell am I going to see? A million thoughts of doubt and fear fill my brain.

3...

Is this about those weird people at the funeral? I deserve these answers.

2...

Is this her will or something? I take in a final deep breath before I peer into the box.

1...

"Holy shit."