ECSTASY.

007

vii. happy people
chapter seven.

i stay with fez for maybe a half hour before i decide to go back out on my run, the run itself lasts maybe an hour overall and in the end i'm left standing in front of my house before the 'for sale' sign, still planted in my grass.

i take my phone from my bra, glancing at the time that reads 4:02. leaving me with five hours before i go to hang out with nate and whomever else. i realize that i hadn't texted him back and move to do so just as the door opens to reveal my mother.

"¿dónde has estado?" she questions me and i shrug, gesturing to my attire.

"salí a correr," i say and she puts her hands on her hips, "dijiste explorar, así que fui y exploré."

she shifts her weight from on leg to the other and i look up at her on the porch from the lawn.

"¿y donde estuviste anoche?" she says and i scoff.

"i'm sorry is this an interrogation? because in that case i want a lawyer." i joke but it's clear that she doesn't find it funny.

"¿seriamente? esto no es gracioso carolina." she says, using my full name.

"i went out to explore like you suggested, got invited to hang out with some kids and came home a little late, then i went out for a run, okay? you act like i'm doing drugs or something. por el amor de dios, give me a little freedom," i say and walk past her on the porch.

"do not dismiss me, your father would-"

"my father is dead!" i finally raise my voice at her only to be met with her eyes starting to well up with tears.

"¡no puedes hablar con papá cuando sea conveniente. no es justo para mí y no es justo para él!" i yell at her, "look, i'm sorry for coming home late and leaving early, okay? i am but that's not fair. papi would be disappointed in me? well im disappointed in him!" i say before walking up the stairs and into my room, i don't slam doors, i don't stomp, i just walk in and sit down on my bed.

"do not speak about your father that way!" she calls after me and i don't even bother to respond.

i'll speak about him however the fuck i want, it's not like he can hear me right? the dead have ears now?

i look over at my wall, blank. that's where my photo wall was in my old house, the nothingness reminds me that i'm an outsider here. i sigh and walk over to my boxes of unpacked shit and stare at the one labeled 'photographs.' it's one of the last remaining boxes, one that i was too scared to open.

i take the discarded box cutter and slit the packing tape down the center, a perfect undisturbed line.

when the flaps of the box open, the first thing i see beneath the bubble rap is a picture of me and santiago, im on his back with my arms wrapped around his neck and his hands under my thighs.

i love the bubble wrap, throwing it to the floor and moving the picture out of the way to look at the next one of us at graduation, his hand on my head, messing up the hair it took me an hour to perfect, i remember yelling at him for that. we were both in our gowns, he even let me put glitter on his cheekbones, all his friends called him gay for that.

i move that picture and see one of my mother and i, the awkward posing explains us perfectly. completely unsure how to act around one another.

moving that aside, i see a picture of my father and i. i was so small that his hand just rested on my shoulder naturally. i was in my gymnastics uniform, i had a medal around my neck that shined like the sun and he beamed down at me with pride written all over his face. i don't understand. i don't fucking get it.

i let my grasp linger on the frame, looking it over before my eyes lock on the smile he wore. happy people don't just fucking kill themselves.

i drop the frame back into the box and move to take my hair out of the bun, trying to cover the hairs on the back of my neck that were standing at attention. i take the picture back in my hand, unable to leave it alone. i stare at it for god knows how long. looking for anything, a sign. something that would just fucking tell me why he was dead. why he would choose to die like that.

i understand feeling suicidal, i understand he was ill. i don't need to be told to be more empathetic, okay? i fucking know, but i still resent him.

i let a tear fall and roll down the glass.

it's then that my mother walks in, she sees me bent over the box. she walks in without a word.

"i was just worried bebesita." she says, moving to sit crisscrossed nixed to me on the floor.

she takes her hand and brushes a hair out of my face, upon noticing the tear she takes her hand away.

"it's okay," she says and i shake my head.

"i hate him." i say and don't dare look at her. i can tell that that isn't what she wanted to hear, nor is it what she expected but i don't care.

"you don't mean that, caro." she says barely above a whisper and it makes my blood boil.

i want to challenge her, to tell her that i mean it, but i don't. repeating myself isn't going to do anything but hurt her and the last person i want to take my anger out on is the last parent i have left.

i swallow the anger and the resentment and the tears and the sadness and i cast it all aside.

"por favor... no hables de papá," i say. i know it's not fair to her but i don't ever want to talk about him. he doesn't deserve my love, he clearly never loved me.

"okay baby. okay." she says, the reply is choppy and i can tell that she's trying to be strong for me. i blink away the last of my tears before they can fall and swipe at my face to erase the path that the first tear left.

"i'm fine," i say to her before i get up and walk away from her.

"i should finish unpacking." i day and i watch her nod out the corner of my eye.

she gets up to leave the room but before she does i let her know, "i got invited to hang out with some people, is it cool if i go?"

she nods and offers a weak smile before she disappears into the hall like a ghost.

i mumble a thanks and go about my business until the time comes to go out, shooting nate a quick text before i continue to unpack the last of my boxes.

me: i'll be there
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