Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕

𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓵

     Iᴛ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴇᴇᴋs sɪɴᴄᴇ Eᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴇᴇᴋs sɪɴᴄᴇ I ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ about Maria cutting herself again. None had talked to me since then.
     Now I was working my shift at the Sherman Oaks Coffee Shop and waiting for the next customer patiently while I leaned my ass against the counter and watched as Theo cleaned the back.
     "Excuse me?" A strong and manly voice with a hint of an hispanic accent said behind me. I turned around and my widened as I saw two tall men in black shirts, a brunette who was rather silent, not even looking at me, while the other one, the one with the latino accent, gave me an approachable smile.
     I snapped out of my thoughts and started talking, "Sorry. Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?"
     "Two black coffees. No sugar." The first guy said.
     "Psychopaths?" I asked, trying to make a joke.
     "Something like that." He said, sounding weirdly serious.
     I smiled and crunched my nose slightly before releasing, taking two cups and taking the Sharpie in the pocket of my apron and pulling the cap off, preparing to write on the first cup.
     "For?"
     "Francisco and Terrance." He introduced, and I wrote both names on the cups and then filled them with their black coffees, putting the lids on both cups then giving them to the two guys, waiting for the 11$ as the guy started digging into his wallet before finally pulling them out.
     "Here you go, sweetheart. Have a great day." He said, nudging the brunette then walking out of here.
     They gave off a weird energy, no matter how muscular they were.
     But I didn't care about their muscles, and trust me, me of last year would argue a million times that that was my type. Yet now it was a set of dark brown doe eyes, scarred lips, curly and short brown hair, a small brown blemish on the right cheek and tattoos that turned me on whenever I saw them.
     Those muscles.
     So defined.
     These guys that were here might have been exactly my type a year ago, but now my type was Ethan. And I missed him. I had been counting the days since we met, it was now two months, two weeks, and one day.
     Ethan has had a lot of girls begging for him—mostly for his dick, but that counts too—and maybe I would be one of those girls, too. One of the girls he would dump. One of the girls he would spend a few nights together then block my number suddenly and act like nothing ever happened.
     Why do I even care? I'm not really stable for a relationship right now. My mom and dad are two fucking psychos, and yet I can't bring myself to hate them. I hate myself instead. It was all my fault. I ruined their relationship.
     Tears sprung to my eyes as I thought of it. This was the single fucking time it happened. I had never cried for this shit. But ever since I found out that Maria cuts herself to get whatever the fuck is in her mind, I've become more sensitive.
     I asked Devi to hide scissors and knives and anything else that could cut skin from her. She even changed the kitchen knives to a different drawer so that Maria couldn't go get any of those. If she could cut the skin on her thighs or on her arms, then what could she really do? I didn't want to traumatize any of Devi's family with my little sister's gore death.
     So now she was going to therapy three times in a week and having to be kept away from any blades.
     After a couple more orders and a bit of cleaning after myself, I finished my shift and said a last goodbye to Theo before leaving.
     Theo was a great guy. He had graduated in Sherman Oaks, and was now twenty six. So it had been eight years since then. He became the manager of the coffee shop and lives in a small apartment not far away from here.
     I left the coffee shop and went straight to my car, but when I reached it, a pair of strong hands turned me around and pinned me to the car, making my car keys fall to the ground and my purse, too, since the tall guy had pinned my wrists against the door of my car.
     I winced at the rough touch, while normally I would have moaned if it was Ethan's hands. It wasn't.
     A tall man hovered me, mid forties I would say, with graying hair and a piercing look as he looked at me like I was a fucking menace to the world.
     Panic crumbled in my stomach and almost made the matcha latte I had earlier travel all the way up from my throat and spill in the most disgusting way.
     "Finally meeting the girl that Ethan is head over heels for is such an honor." The guy said, giving me a wicked smile when I tried to wiggle away from his grip.
     Who the fuck is this? How does Ethan know him? I would say it could be his father, but they would look nothing alike.
    I think.
     "What do you want from me?" I huffed, finally stiling and giving up of trying to get out from his grip. He was too strong anyways.
     "Here's the catch, little girl, tell your fucking boyfriend that if he doesn't get me my money as soon as possible, that he will find your pretty face dripping from your chin down with all my employees' cum and your pretty little body tied up and naked in my fucking warehouse." The random guy threatened. Threatened of rape.
     I started shaking at the mental image and pursed my lips. It fucking scared me to death. So I didn't say anything else and he released my wrists. He took a few steps back and chuckled.
     What a sicko.
     "Tell him it's from Hernandez." The guy finally said before he started walking away, leaving me shaken up and eyes wide open as I tried to process what was happening.
     My hands dropped to my sides and my pupils unfocused. My vision was blurry. I'm pretty sure my mouth was open and breath was missing in my lungs. What the fuck was Ethan into that made a guy so mad to the point he would threaten me with rape? Violent, rape. From what I could tell.
     I knew Ethan did drugs, but to the point he would buy them from a dangerous guy? That would come for me and threaten of not only violent rape but kidnapping and tying me up.
     Alright, in my books it sounded sexier, but not in real life. Especially not with mild violence. But was I going to tell Ethan?
     Fuck no.
     Who knows what he would do.
     So I shook myself out of my thoughts and took my things from the floor, unlocked my car and hopped in, sticking the key into the ignition and twisting it, the engine turning on. I drove off straight home, even though the only thing I want is to head straight to Malibu and take the air from the sea.
     I love the scent of the salty ocean water and the beach. I used to spend days at the beach with abuela when I sneaked out of the house to spend the day with her. Mom and dad would stay at home watching over newborn Maria and wouldn't even care if I left.
     When I say watching over, I don't mean taking care. Changing diapers. Feeding her. Nothing. They simply glanced once or twice to make sure she was alive and breathing. If she wasn't, they would wait for me to do something about it. Thankfully, since she was born, Maria was always very healthy. Not even a single flaw.
     Luckily, me too.
     But I was flawed. Damaged. I hated myself for destroying my parents' relationship when everyone told me from a young age that they ruined it on their own.
     Oh, what I would give to the lord to go back in time and just stop my parents mid coit. Or just make my father pull out, or something.
     I soon got home and walked inside the house, mom and dad sitting on the couch, like always. Never looking at me. I didn't want them to, but I had just been threatened. Harassed. By a fucking drug dealer in his mid forties. I needed a goddamn hug.
     Instead, I dropped my things by some stools and took off my shoes, kicking them off before I walked to the cabinets of the kitchen, taking a bottle of whiskey and walking away with it.
     "Where do you think you're going with that?" The angered voice of my mother said behind me. I stopped right in my tracks and turned around to face her, only to say two words.
     Two words.
     Seven letters.
     One fucking meaning.
     "Fuck off." I cursed, twisting the cap off with my index and thumb and throwing it on the ground before taking a long gulp of the drink, the liquid running down my throat and burning in a sweet fire.
     "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She shouted back before I started walking up the stairs and back to my room, listening to the start of their argument.
     "She takes the alcohol habits after you, puta." My father snarled back at her. They started arguing.
     Yelling at each other while I locked myself in my room and connected my phone to the speaker and blasting my Spotify playlist.
     And I started to drink.
     And I drank.
     And I drank.
     And I drank.
     Until the only thing I could feel in my throat was the sweet burn of the whiskey and the ache of my vocal cords while I sang my heart out to all the lyrics like I knew all of them like the back of my hand.
     My head ached. My limbs ached. My body ached. My fucking heart ached. Everything fucking ached.
     I fell ass down on the floor, laughing at the impact. I was fucking drunk. Yet the words from the random guy lingered on my mind rent-free. And it made my head ache even more.
He will find your pretty face dripping from the chin down with all my employees' cum and your pretty little body naked and tied up in my fucking warehouse.
     My body trembled and I completely loosened my hold on the Jack Daniel's bottle, letting it fall to the floor before I brought my knees to my chest and pressed my back against the wall, the mental image of that happening running through my mind.
     Me tied up to a metal pole, multiple disgusting and laughing and horny and again fucking disgusting men all around me, some of them with their dicks out and the others watching with a smile on their face. Red eyes from how many hours I would have been crying, my throat swollen and clogged up while my mouth was sticky and my chin dripping with some of the men's semen dripping down my teary cheeks. My body marked and naked for everyone's eyes while I tried to wiggle my way out and cry out for help. Nobody coming for me.
     Being completely helpless. It terrified me.
     Yet it was the situation I was in right now. If anything happened to me, my parents would never care.
     I'm locked in my room, if I ever fell and hit my head again now in a sharper edge, they would never care. They would never lose their fucking little time to come up here and check if I was alive. They would never waste their time shedding any fucking tears if I ever died in their fucking arms. They would never come to my fucking funeral. I was helpless. All alone—
     Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone, making me snap out of my thoughts and my eyes darting out to it.
     I picked it up. A message. From an unknown number.
     Unknown: Care to join me at the public pool?
     Me: Who is this?
     Unknown: Ethan. Morales. Don't tell me you forgot my name, cariño. I'm not an easy person to forget.
     Me: I didn't have your number saved, asshole.
     Ethan: Alright. No need to curse. Be here as soon as you can. Oh, and a bring a swimsuit.
     I pocketed my phone and got up from the ground. I was fucking drunk, but I need to breath the scent of something other than whiskey.
     So I did as my brain told me.