Mess You Made

11.

Miguel

She fell asleep. It didn't take long especially once we fell into the thick of traffic, even if she was adamant - I don't fall asleep in stranger's cars.

But I glance towards the passenger seat now and the top of her head's rested against the window. Eyes shut, legs tucked to the side. Her arms are looped around her legs so her body's bowed into itself. Her eyebrows are furrowed even in her sleep, as if she's still on guard with all her hair now slung into a messy sort of bun, where waves lazily fall from the updo.

And I sit in the driver's seat, buzzing with this sort of tension I can't describe because I've never felt it before.

I had her brother's number from when I'd visited the car shop so I texted him briefly to ask their specific address since I couldn't ask her anymore. It's an unnecessarily long drive, almost takes an hour and a half because of traffic and the storm, before I'm back in Spanish Harlem. I keep driving through the neighbourhood and towards the street I remember from when I had walked her home, recognising the maple tree.

On the doorstep - her brother. He's there with another girl I don't recognise. Fuck. The rain isn't letting up at all, neither is the thunder.

When I get out of the car, I have nothing to shield myself with because Malibu still has my coat around her shoulders and the basketball jacket over her legs, so I let the rain thrash down on me, slip out and walk a bit forwards.

He flicks the butt of his cigarette, burning orange in the dark to the side before he walks forwards, a couple feet in front of me - eyes much harder than they've ever been when directed at me when he demands, "Why the fuck do you have her?"

And he's an intimidating guy. I can't sugarcoat it. Some people have it in them, some people are hardened, have eyes that can instil fear and without a doubt, Cristian Adams seems to be one of them. I've been surrounded by intimidating guys my whole life. He's rough - you can sense it off him immediately. A quick fuse, able to ignite.

Except I lack the capability to be fearful of people I should be. Gets me into trouble, too.

"Saw her." I say, "Sat with her in my car. Drove her home."

"That's it?" He says, and his whole body, every muscle is coiled with tension as if he can't let go of it. Have a feeling that I'm fucked if I make a single wrong move here - because he's waiting for a reason.

"That's it." I assure under the pouring rain.

"If I found out you put your hands on her, you're fucked." He says, simply, no bullshit. And when he lifts his hand, wiping water off his dark buzzed hair, I catch a glimpse of something on his wrist.

A tattoo, but it looks disfigured.

"You're looking out for your sister." I say, "That's why I'm not fighting you back for that - but I would, and I will if you mistake my character again, man."

His eyes narrow, they darken in this way I expect because I'm wondering what he's actually capable of. Starting to be certain that it's a lot more than what meets the eye with him.

And then that girl comes forward and I still don't recognise her. Dark skinned, long skinny braids running down her back. A sort of beautiful that looks a bit like a myth. Undeniable. Her eyes are incredibly tender, without trying to - her whole countenance seems somewhat willowy as she grazes a hand over his arm.

Cristian tears his gaze from me, down to her and she just looks at him in a certain way - no words shared, just eyes and a height difference. I think about how many years and moments it takes to know another's eyes like that, like you've worked to understand their irises your whole life. Whatever it is, however long it took, they have it and they have it really fucking strong, jesus.