Snow

14 | no te extraño, mano

❝i got desperate desires, and unadmirable plans; my tongue will taste of gin and malicious intent.❞

❘❘

IT BURNS MY LIPS, but I still inhale. I inhale deeply, and my lungs constrict hard. As my throat tightens, a fresh freeze laps at the inside of my mouth.

And then todo está entumecido.

I lean back on the couch, basking in the dizzy spell that claims me. Cada vez I blink, the faint blue shade of the walls in my apartment darkens. Everything starts to spin and swirl, and swish; chairs and curtains drag, lagging. My stomach swerves with the swift motions. It isn't just my vision, or my head, or the way my arms can't quite find a place to stop moving, even if they're lying completely still beside me—it's everything inside of me, boomeranging and ricocheting like lost bullets and abandoned carnival rides.

My heart feels like it's on a fucking tilt-a-whirl.

The pulse in the back of my head dulls, and the ache in my chest dims. I take another hard pull from the laced Newport to keep everything at bay. A strand of seductive sensations, shaking the shackles around my wrists and ankles u—

A vibration snaps everything.

Like a jerk of electricity, a bolt of lightning, a blinding, raging flash of light plunges through the foggy high, and I come crashing down—a mix of aggravation and anger trudging behind my groggy curses. "Fuck," I whisper, fumbling for my phone until I can blink at it in the palm of my hand; a black screen stares back, those four letters flickering across a muted reflection of me.

My teeth grind together, but I slowly start to regain a subtle consciousness. I hit accept and press the phone to my ear, biting out a curt greeting. "What?"

"Neva."

The breathless, raspy sigh of my name hits me like a fucking hurricane. For one fleeting fraction of a lifetime, nothing is numb.

It's almost like he can't believe it—like mi mano thought I was dead.

"Enzo," I drawl his name cautiously, testing it from numb lips. "I want you to stop calling me."

"But hermanita, I...Neva, I miss you."

Tears sting my eyes as the nostalgic tone creeps up on me, gnashing through skin and snaking around my veins to hold me hostage. No, no, no. I can't let him do this to me.

I take a long, desperate drag. Where there was a hollow aggravation deep in my chest, a burst of butterflies explode and ignite; they flutter and wither with icy flames. Everything is hot and cold. If I'm not burning, I'm freezing, and if my heart stops beating, this silence could keep me alive.

My lips part soundlessly, and I can barely feel the words tumble free, "No te extraño, mano."

A hesitation strikes the conversation, filling it to the brim with a tension I can taste. Numb or not, that bitter disappointment will always relay through the heartbeats of silence.

Though this time, I feel nothing—not a single ounce of regret. Nothing.

Only an irritation for the fact that Enzo never quits.

"You...you really..."

I dig into my lower lip; no siento el dolor. "I really don't miss you. Nunca volveré a casa. So por favor stop calling."

Dizzy. Dizzy. Dizzy.

I feel dizzy as the phone swerves, crashing to the table in front of me; it shakes, and then stills, silent in the empty apartment. As I swallow, the cigarette burns fast between my trembling fingers, and as I wait patiently for something—anything—to relieve the ache in my chest, silent tears burn at my eyes.