His Territory

1

My hands remain clenched as I stare at the open trunk of my Jetta. Boxes, bags, and scattered pieces of clothing are crammed into every inch of the car—a taunting reminder that everything still needs to be unpacked once I haul it up to the new apartment.

I let out a quiet huff, tugging at the hem of my tank top to let a sliver of air pass beneath. It's nearly 100 degrees here in California, and the kind of heat that wraps around you like a suffocating blanket is something I've never experienced. Even the blacktop seems to melt under the punishing sun, despite the towering shade from the sidewalk trees.

"If I don't move faster, I'll burn alive out here," I think to myself, shaking my head.

As I begin wiggling a stubborn box from the trunk, the low hum of an engine pulls my attention. A car creeps by, crawling to a stop just a few feet away.

Inside are four younger men, each with deeply tanned skin and dark, sharp eyes. They're dressed in tank tops, their arms and necks covered in intricate tattoos that glint under the sunlight.

I blink rapidly, feeling their stares sear into me. Their eyes rake up and down my body as if they've never seen a woman before.

"Just keep moving," I tell myself. "They'll leave."

"Ay, chula," the passenger calls out, his voice raspy and laced with something unsettling. He raises an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a smirk that carves deep into his cheeks. A faint dimple appears. "You don't got much stuff there. Just visiting us for a while?"

"No es asunto tuyo," I reply sharply, my voice stronger than I feel. My shoulders shift back, trying to exude confidence, though inside I'm a knot of nerves. I've lived in New York my whole life and never encountered men this intimidating.

"Ah, she speaks," one of the men in the backseat murmurs. His gaze dips, lingering on my chest for too long. Instinctively, I fold my arms over my body, trying to shield myself from his prying eyes.

"Una buena adición a mi colección," he chuckles darkly.

The rest of the men laugh with him, but the driver remains silent, his expression hard. His dark eyes flick toward his friend, irritation flashing briefly.

"She's not yours," the driver mutters, his voice low and smooth like whiskey on ice—something dangerous, but oddly captivating. "She's got standards, and you wouldn't know what to do with her."

Their laughter dies instantly, and I'm left standing in the thick, tense silence. My heart thuds loudly in my chest, and the heat feels even more unbearable.

"¡Ve a otra parte!" I snap, my glare fixed on the driver. My words surprise even me, but the moment they leave my lips, I regret them. The men stiffen, their expressions shifting to something darker. A chill races down my spine.

"Por fa'," I add, my voice much smaller now, barely a whisper.

The driver's lips curl into a smile, revealing a flash of white teeth. He glances at the passenger before bursting into heavy laughter, the others quickly joining in.

"Por ahora, mi amor," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "But just know, we go where we want."

"Los, don't make us leave!" one of the guys shouts as the driver shifts the car into gear. "That's the love of my life!"

They slowly roll away, but their eyes stay locked on me until distance swallows them up. I shudder, their faces etched into my memory.

They were handsome, no doubt. Each of them with short-cropped hair and a cross tattoo on their shoulder—a matching mark. Maybe they're cousins.

I exhale shakily, turning back to the boxes. I yank at one with renewed determination, eager to finish before I get any more "visitors."

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Chula- girl, mami

No es asunto tuyo-  It's none of your business. 

Una buena adición a mi colección- A great addition to my collection

Ve a otra parte, por fa'- Go somewhere else, please. 

Por ahora, mi amor- For now, my love. 

This is my first time attempting to write a Spanglish narrative, so bare with me as I work out the kinks. ( I speak both English & Spanish.)