Fascinating Villains

{4} - Hadephobia

I stretch my upper body in miscellaneous motions, making sure my clothes are properly placed and they will not slip or cause me any future discomfort while I am working. I will be wearing my uniform over it, but I still changed into a gray tank top. I pinch my lips and turn in front of the mirror.

I kind of look good in gray, I should wear it more often... It matches nicely with my light brown skin, and the taut fabric of this particular piece of clothing highlights my muscles. I set my hands on either sides of the sink I was using. There is an imperceptible stain on the neck of the silvery faucet.

I unexpectedly hear my mother's fruity voice in the back of my mind.

"What is this mess?! Clean all of this up before your father comes home! Quick, quick, quickly! Are you deaf, children?!"

Of course, Lorena Aguayo almost exclusively spoke Spanish, and that is the language in which she yelled those words at my siblings and I.

Too suddenly for me to reign it back in, the full memory strikes me like a punch to the face.

We were playing around in the kitchen while the eldest of us five, Ingrid, attempted to help our mother cook dinner. My sister must have been aged 14 at the time, because I vividly remember all of this happening during the year before her quinceañera. Izan, my older brother - who was 12 years old back then -, was chasing the twins and I. After I was born, Lorena gave life to a set of twins, Carlota and Mathias, who were both not much older than 7 years on that day. As for me, I had been living for 11 blissful and carefree years of untamed recklessness.

Our parents could be strict. Yet, in contradiction with this fact, they also indulged us a lot. We probably would have grown to become insufferably coddled - spoiled rotten most likely - if they had been less careful with their expenses.

To wrap the recollection up, Izan caused the incident by making the mistake to grab onto Ingrid's apron. She lost her balance and dropped the bowl of salad she had been handling onto the ground. With all this excitement, my younger siblings started running and they were circling me. Unluckily, I was wearing my pair of roller skates and, to avoid bumping into them, I sped towards where my older siblings were standing. Of course, I slipped on pieces of lettuce and the spilled salad dressing and lost control of my trajectory. The next thing I knew, I was clutching at anything I could find to regain the ability to brake. Instead, I knocked over a container that was filled to the rim with corn flour and smashed into the cabinets that lined the bottom of our kitchen countertops. As if all of this was not chaotic enough, the flour container landed on Carlota's head and she began wailing.

The swinging door to my right, behind me, opens up and effectively pulls me out of my reminiscing. Scott walks in and drops his bag on a bench, with a clanging sound.

"Hello, hello, Tanza. How are you?" His tone is cheerful and he immediately starts taking his top layers of clothing off.

I push myself off the surface I was propped against, simultaneously feeling every inch of my skin that is exposed. "Uh, I'm good. That road accident was something, right?"

"Yeah, it was insane, I really thought we were never going to make it through. You were stellar, though, really, stepping in like that and everything..."

I turn around, facing him and startled to meet with his naked chest. Without thinking, I simply revolve back to stare into the sink and pretend to wash my hands. Not unlike most paramedics, his muscle mass is impressive, and ginger hairs are scattered across his slightly tanned skin.

I hum to agree to his statement, sensing his eyes on me. Oh, fricking hell... I should have put my shirt and safety jacket back on. But, now, I'm trapped. The 31 years old man is still pacing behind me, doing God-knows-what. I can hear the ruffling of his bag, but I'm too scared that I will somehow make eye contact with him if I look up into the mirror.