Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓵

   I ᴛʜɪɴᴋ I ɢᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ sᴜsᴘɪᴄɪᴏᴜs. Devi, Fab and Eleanor are suspicious, I'm pretty sure Ethan is too. I mean, the idea they have is not wrong. I have two shitty parents, but I do not want to spend my school year with the pity of everyone around me. Maybe if I said it, they wouldn't pity me. I'm not the only fucking person in the world to have a life like this, hell, I'm sure 1 in 7 children in the United States lives in a shitty household like mine, I'm not alone. I just refuse to talk about it while most children are brave enough to tell someone.
     I'm not. I've never been brave. I give this image that I'm an introvert, that I hate too much contact with people or that I'd rather stay at home—ironic, I know—but I'd actually rather go out at night and drink the night away with some friends.
     Sway my hips to the rhythm of the most random song that comes on the speakers, take a round of shots, make out with three guys in a row. Smoke weed and take pills, sniff whatever substance the closest drug dealer has.
     And do it all again the next day, because I'd rather kill myself slowly with alcohol, drugs and too much loud music that my eardrums would burst than get intoxicated by my parents' own toxic behavior. And if Maria was older, I would take her with me everywhere, but I can't or else the police would track me down and, I don't know, put me in jail for taking an underage girl to a party full of almost-eighteen year olds. I'm sixteen, so I don't think I would go to jail that easily, I would still get in lot of trouble. Maybe get disowned—but that wouldn't be trouble for me, it actually would be a relief because I hated being home anyways.
    The problem is, people are starting to get something is wrong. Only like, four people, but that's already a lot. I still don't trust the girls enough, neither Ethan, and one of them could start a rumor—that at this point would be true—and I would be the talk of this goddamn school.
    Which is something I do not want to see happening. Not now. Not ever. I will never say it to anyone, especially because I don't plan to tell anyone about it. I'll wait for Maria to turn eighteen, get a job and a small apartment, leave and live my life with me little sister until she finds the man that she wants, moves out and only then can I peacefully with my two kittens and friday night one-night stands.
     Now, I was quietly scrolling through my phone while sitting on me bed, and suddenly, my door was pushed open and slammed, Maria pressing her back against it. She was breathing heavily, I took my airpods out and shoved them onto my bedside table. When I realized, mom and dad were fighting downstairs. From the sound of glass shattering, things were getting to intense for Maria to witness even with the headphones on her head.
     I jumped from my bed and walked over to her, cupping her face in my hands as her tears flowed down her face. Her lips trembling, a stream of shivers rippling through her body over and over. Puffy and red eyes, her face soaked in the tears that had left for at least a good ten minutes.
     "I'm tired, Isabel. I'm so tired of seeing them fight all the time." She cried, one of her hands moving on top of mine as the other clenched on the fabric of her pants.
     "I know, sis. You have to be strong, you have to—" I started, but I was quickly cut off by her crying voice and the ringing of my ears.
     "I can't, Isabel! I'm not brave or strong or anything like you. I've never ever seen you cry for their fights." She shouted, her chest heaving fast as she kept crying hard.
     I didn't have anything else in my head at the moment. So instead of replying to her, I wrapped my arms tight around her.
     She punched my chest trying to get me away, but eventually gave out and rested her forehead on one of my collarbones, the way she pushed against it making me flinch slightly but I just rested my chin on top of her head.
     Her tears soaked my top, a stain forming on the thin fabric. I slowly fell to my knees with her in my arms, and she wrapped hers around me in return. I unwrapped my hands from her back and moved them up to her ears, trying to muffle out any noise from downstairs.
     They mostly argued in spanish, and since Maria wasn't really fluent like I was or mom and dad were, she didn't understand most of the insults they spat at each other's faces. She still understood they were arguing, it didn't take much to understand anyways. Their tone was enough.
     Eventually all the noise died down and Maria had fallen asleep in my arms, I had taken off my hands from her ears and was just rubbing her back.
     This was affecting her really bad, and an idea ran through my mind, but how would I ever be able to pay for a therapist for my sister? I don't have a job. I just met Devi and the girls, they don't know about the things that happen at home and I do not want to ask for money. Same for Ethan. So I had to find a solution and fast. I don't want my sister to go into a depression.
     I got up from the floor with her still in my arms and carried her out of my room, over to hers and close the door silently even though I just want to slam it.
     Lying Maria down on her bed and tucking her in, I see a scissor on her bedside table. Extremely clean, like it had been washed. What could she be doing with a scissor by her bedside table? A lot of things. I can't question her, she's already going through a lot. I left her room and closed the door, going towards the stairs.
     I looked down and saw mom and dad on the couch, both at a distance, glasses shattered on the floor.
     They fought and didn't even clean up their stuff. Great.
     It's definitely not me doing it either.