Until Death (Despairful Love, #1)

One

I squint my eyes as the bright, Santa Monica sun filters through my curtains, awakening me from my peaceful slumber. Tiny particles of dust float slowly against the soft rays of sunshine. I snuggle deeper into my soft pillow as I listen to the sound of morning birds singing harmoniously outside. I can faintly hear the waves crashing rhythmically on the beach a mile away from my house. Feeling completely comfortable and relaxed, my eyes slowly begin to close as sleep begins to take over my body once more. I get about ten good seconds of sleep when the loud thumping of someone's hurried footsteps gets closer and closer to my door. Before I can sit up on my bed, my bedroom door slams open and an undistinguishable  blurry mass bursts into my room and crashes headfirst into my stomach.

Motherfucker.

"Val! Valentina! Guess what, Valentina! Guess what!" my little sister, Lalia yells excitedly. 

"W-what?" I wheeze out, trying my best not to cough up my organs.

"We're going to Shee-cargo!" she screams, right in my face.

I stare blankly at her. Shee-cargo? What in the world is shee-cargo?

"Val! Did ya hear me? We're going to Shee-cargo!" she yells again. But this time, Lalia grabs my head and shakes it aggressively.

"Jesus, Lalia. I heard you! Stop yelling at me." I groan out.

"Then why aren't you excited?" she asks, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't know what shee-cargo means."

"Why not? You're a big kid. Aren't big kids supposed to be smart?"

"I am smart," I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

"Nuh-huh. You're not smart 'cause I know what shee-cargo is and you don't and I'm only six," she declares proudly.

"First of all, you're not six. You're five. Second of all, what the hell is 'shee-cargo'?"

Lalia's warm hazelnut colored eyes filled with excitement as she began to bounce up and down happily.

"I heard Mama and Papa talking and they said we have to go to shee-cargo 'cause they have friends there and they need to talk to them about something important and they said that we're all going to meet their friends in shee-cargo and they said we're going today!"

When Lalia finishes speaking, she's out of breath and smiling happily at me.

"Wait...do you mean Chicago?" I ask.

"That's what I said," she replies, confusion etching her features.

"No, you said...whatever. Why are we going to Chicago?"

"I dunno. But Mama says you have to get up and do my hair but I already braided it myself, so I don't need your help. See?"

Lalia proudly lifts up her "braid" which just happens to be a tangled mess of curly chocolate colored hair streaked with light brown and gold highlights. It's the same color as my hair.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she coos.

I shudder inwardly.

I love my little sister to death, but one thing she clearly cannot do is braid hair. It looks as if she attempted to do a french braid at the top of her head but halfway through decided it was too hard for her so she twisted the rest of her hair into a mass of tangles instead. It quite honestly resembled a large birds nest.

"Yeah! It's uh...it's great Lalia," I say, trying my best to stifle the laughter bubbling in my throat . "But you know I like to practice my braiding on your hair, so do you mind if I braid your hair instead?"
Lalia thinks it over for a minute before giving me her signature lopsided grin.