Cholo

(9) Nueve

I left home that night feeling empty. My father was waiting for me when I walked in and we spent the night talking over margaritas. I wasn't the girl in a pink tutu, my sleepless nights weren't spent dipping cookies into milk and talking to my dad about my nightmares. No, my life became a cycle of chores, duties, work and maintaining relationships. A struggle to not break under the piling pressures. I wasn't a mother, but it felt like it. I worry about a teenager that's not even related to me by blood. I worry for a boy that got jumped in too early. I worry for his elder brother that pushed people away when they get too close. He veils his actions as a way to keep those around him safe, but how can you be safe in Freeridge?

I wondered about my life a loud, talking to my father about how hurtful Oscar's words were.

"Mi hija, the both of you love each other. And from what I'm seeing, history is repeating itself. Oscar wasn't too deep when you first started seeing him," my father rested his hand over mine, "he then did and pushed you away, and he's doing it again."

I looked into his warm brown eyes. "But why push me away?" I whined.

"Sometimes you push people away because you fear what is to come." My fathers thick accent slurred the words. I sighed, yearning to yell in frustration. "Oscar is the leader of a gang. He's not safe, those around him are not safe. He pushes you away because he sees himself as destructive."

"But he's not." I whispered.

"All you have to do is make him see that." He patted my hand, kissing my forehead as he picked up the dirty glasses. I spent the a few minutes, or hours staring at the kitchen sink. I wasn't sure what to do, or why it felt like I lost someone. It was only when light fluttered into the room, did I head to bed.

I barely slept hence the reason why I did not attend the ceremony of Olivia's quince and didn't feel like making it to the party. I sent a text to my dad and Jada that I had a shift to cover. I glared at the red strapless dress hanging behind my door. I was looking forward to today- to dance, drink and have a break from all the stress. But I woke up feeling drained both physically and mentally. My heart-ached as I recalled the events of the pervious night. It was ludicrous to believe that I could save Cesar the same way I wanted to save Oscar. I failed before and failed again. Once a Santos, you'll die a Santos. I tossed in bed, turning so that I no longer faced the dress. I cuddled closer to my pillow, the words of yesterday repeating themselves. They echoed in my head. I wasn't their family, so why does it hurt? I didn't give birth to Cesar but why do I feel a maternal connection to him?

Maybe, I should no longer interfere with their lives. I breathed in, attempting to calm my erratic heart and to keep my emotions at bay. In a spilt second, I decided to head back to the local hospital. I threw on my scrubs and left the house.

-   C    H    O     L    O   -

The hospital's emergency room as perusal was in a hectic state; crammed with sick, bleeding patients. It was not uncommon to frantically roll bodies into the ER. Bodies of children and adults alike - being the closest hospital to Freeridge many of the injured were victims of gang infested crimes.

I just finished assisting a doctor with a LEVEL 1 PED—a pedestrian struck by a car. When the pager went off beeping, thrice, with code GSW - signaling that the incoming ambulances were carrying patients with gun shot wounds. The ER was suddenly swamped with police officers; as three bodies were wheeled in by the EMT.

The EMT rushed in barking the state of the patient. "LEVEL 1 GSW TO CHEST!"

I rushed forward grabbing a hold of the body stretcher. My body went numb at the sight before me; a teenage boy barely recognizable from the blood spilling down his chin and staining his shirt. His face lacked it's usual glow and color. I did not expect to see Ruby Martinez. My grip on the the stretcher tightened as the EMT wheeled him into an empty room. The surgery room was a rectangular room with three bays. It's an organized place with small trays on wheels for different surgical procedures, each tray holding instruments that were neatly piled. Tubes and cables from poles and machines looped above an empty bed spot. The temperature in the room feels hotter than in the rest of the hospital, as if the air doesn't seem to move. I felt myself suffocating at the scene. Judy, another nurse, pushed past me with a tray of tools. Ruby's shirt was now torn open, and an anesthetic drip was connected to his wrist.

My breathing becoming harsher and more rapid as I struggled to breath. The room began to blur as tears streamed down my face. Arms guided me out of the room, I looked up to see Judy. Her blond hair was tied back into a slicked bun, and half her face covered with a mask. She looked at me with pity. I was escorted outside of the room.

"He's in good hands." Her hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me. "Hey, hey, look at me." My eyes were glaring at the door as I tried to shrug her off. "Mia, you can't get involved in treating someone you know. I will let you in on everything, I promise." Her blue orbs met my dull brown ones. I nodded my head.

"See if the other patient need help."

I walked with my shoulders slumped, almost in a daze. Entering the ER waiting room was like entering a war zone. It was in such a hectic stage, that you had to push yourself past nurses, doctors, patients and cops.

I made it to the lobby after being duped into or pushed aside. I gulped meeting the eyes of Micheal, another nurse that handled the patients. I raised an eyebrow asking about the two other GSW victims. He sighed, and his face was almost saddened. "One of the body's was transported to the morgue upon arrival. She was a fourteen year old girl shot in the heart. She died in the ambulance. We tried reviving her but it was futile." He informed me.

"What's her name?" I asked, dreading the answer that is to come.

He ruffled through some paperworks, finger trailing down a piece of paper. He looked up speaking her name. "Olivia-"

I felt choked. My body began to tremble and heat up. I struggled to stand up straight and could feel my legs buckling under me. I heard someone call out my name, but it felt as if I was drowning.

She died at her quince.

Ruby was shot.

"Who's the other body?"

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*Spanish is not one of the languages I speak, I know some phrases and such; but I was mainly using the internet and google translate- please notify me of any errors.*
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This is purely a fan fiction.

I do not own "On My Block" or any of it's characters all rights are reserved/belong to Netflix. The plot and story of the series belong to Jeremy Haft, Eddie Gonzalez, and Lauren Lungerich. Directed by Lauren Lungerich. As such all claims are reserved to Netflix, and those listed prior to this sentence.

I only own characters that do not appear on/part of the series.