Aurelia grew up without much love from her mother, and she never thought her real dad would ever come into her life. But then, he did. Now, she wonders if it's too late for him to rescue her from the darkness her parents left her in, or if there's s...
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The incident that happened on my first day left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth. It wasn't just a small misunderstanding it was something people latched onto, twisted, and passed along like some sort of secret meant to be shared. And in this school, words travel faster than footsteps in the hallway. By the time I got to my second class, it felt like every pair of eyes already knew something about me something I hadn't even said or done.
Now, wherever I go, people whisper. Not directly to my face, of course they never do. Maybe they don't have the nerve, or maybe they think it's kinder that way. But it isn't. If anything, the way they glance sideways, lean in closer to each other, and lower their voices when I pass makes it worse. Their silence says more than any insult ever could.
It's not the words that hurt the most it's the isolation that follows. The feeling of being watched, judged, misunderstood before I've had a chance to prove anything different. I walk through the halls like a shadow no one wants to acknowledge, but everyone keeps an eye on. And honestly, I don't know what's worse being talked about, or being completely alone.
Ellie has been by my side, but I haven't really made the effort to let this friendship if you could even call it that develop. And now I'm starting to worry that she might call me out on it soon. I wouldn't blame her if she did. She's been kind, patient, and present, while I've mostly kept my distance. Not because I don't like her quite the opposite. I'm just scared to let someone in.
A group of guys at school has started calling me names lately things that make my skin crawl and my stomach twist. So far, it's only been words. They haven't tried anything physical yet, which I guess is a small relief... though I can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Still, to my surprise, the first week ended without any major incidents. No fights, no disasters. Just silence and side glances and whispers I pretend not to hear.
It's Saturday now, and everyone's home. The house feels full, but not in a comforting way. There's something strange in the air. Every time I walk into a room, conversations die mid-sentence. Eyes shift. Smiles stiffen. It's like I'm a ghost passing through, and it's starting to mess with my head.
My thoughts spiral into worst-case scenarios. Maybe they've had enough of me. Maybe they've changed their minds. Maybe I have to go back to Dario. The very thought of it makes my chest tighten so hard it hurts to breathe.
I hate to admit it, I really do — but these last two and a half months have been the best of my life. And I've been alive long enough to know that's saying something. I've felt safe here. I've smiled more than I ever thought I could. I've started gaining weight again I don't look like a skeleton anymore. My clothes fit differently. My laughter sounds real.
I don't think I'll survive if I ever have to go back. Not just because of what Dario did, but because for the first time in forever, I've had a glimpse of something better. Something almost like... a life.
I looked at myself in the mirror, noticing how the dark, ugly bruises had faded away just like my old life. But something still remained: deep, disturbing scars. Some were burns from cigarettes pressed into my arms and back. Others were thin, angry lines from knives poked at me like it was some kind of twisted game.
My gaze drifted downward. I tugged off my pants, left standing in a pair of shorts, and there it was the worst scar of them all, smiling back at me. I sat down, staring at that hideous thing carved into my skin. The word slut stretched across my inner thigh, each letter a reminder.
And as I looked at it, his face surfaced in my mind, staring back at me through the haze of memory, making sure I would never forget.
I kept staring until the world went dark, my thoughts pulling me into a place I didn't want to be. I don't think I breathed until a sudden crash snapped me out of it something had fallen hard onto the floor.
When I turned, I saw them. Ten pairs of eyes locked on me, every one of them wide and unblinking. And in the middle, someone stood holding a beautiful cake.
I wasn't sure what expression I wore, but the silence was deafening. I could hear my heartbeat, heavy and slow, the sound of blood pushing in and out of my chest.
"Happy birthday!" Lorenzo finally managed to say.
I swallowed hard, forcing down the tears. I will not cry. Never again.
The rest seemed to let the shock of what they'd seen fade quickly, and soon their voices rose together.
Happy birthday, dear Aurelia!
I don't think I remember anyone ever singing that to me before—certainly not with this much joy on their faces. All of them joined in, even Ramón, though their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes. I knew it would have been different if they hadn't just seen that horrible reminder of the past I had barely escaped alive.
"Happy seventeenth birthday, mi pequeña chinche," Santiago said, his voice thick, his eyes shining with tears. (my little love bug)
He came toward me and wrapped me in his arms, hugging me as tightly as humanly possible. I didn't move at first. My body hung limp against him, my arms heavy at my sides, because I didn't know how to react. It was all too much—the room full of eyes, the cake, the song, the memories clawing at my mind.
But he didn't let go. His grip stayed strong, grounding me like an anchor in a storm I couldn't control. I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my cheek, hear his breathing, slow and deliberate, as if he was willing me to match it.
Then he leaned down, his lips almost brushing my ear, and spoke so quietly no one else could hear. "I will bring you justice, my sweetheart. You'll never have to worry again... because you have your dad now."
The words didn't just reach my ears—they sank into my bones. For a moment, the noise in my head went still. Justice. Safety. Dad. Words that didn't seem real, not for me.
Something inside me cracked open, and before I knew it, I was clinging to him my arms flinging around his neck like they had a mind of their own. I pressed my face into his shoulder, holding on as if letting go would send me falling into the darkness again.
And then the tears came. I had promised myself I wouldn't cry not today, not in front of them, but they spilled out anyway. Hot, relentless, unstoppable. I could feel them soaking into his shirt, and still they kept coming. I hated it and needed it all at once.
He didn't pull away, didn't tell me to stop. He just held me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head like I was something fragile. For the first time in years, I let myself believe just for a breath that maybe I wasn't alone anymore.
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