Cholo

(31) Treinta y uno

The windows were sealed tight and the doors bolted - they were checked by three women. With every check-up, a bawl of 'locked' echoed throughout the house. An uncanny feeling washed over her; it was weird having people move in, even if it's temporary. She smiled down at the nursing baby. A tuft of black curls tangled around her fingers. Maria was beginning to get used to the racket that came along with having both of her grandmothers under one roof. The coming home to freshly cooked meals and clean sheets is pleasant. But the constant bickering over what spices should be added, or how to properly take care of a baby, even the soap used was criticized. 

She bit her lip in an attempt to stop her bubbling laughter; their bickering was always amusing to her. But at the specific moment, there was no bickering. The house was deadly silent with the lights turned off,  except for the corner lamp on her left. Mateo was put to bed with the baby motor nestling on the coffee table. Her finger hovered over the words, a frown etched onto her lips, and her eyebrows knitted together in concentration. Her plump bottom lips were constantly wetted by a flicker of her tongue as she became engrossed by the book. The silence that surrounded her was quickly replaced by the buzzing of a ball and the clatter of champagne glasses; the lights flickered to a fluorescent setting and low grumble of voices merged with the slow melody of the piano. Flamboyant gowns that glittered under the glow were diluted by the plain black suits of men. She was engulfed by the book to the point where her reality shifted and morphed into the writer's words. A sigh left her lips when the main character described the man she danced with, and a longing sensation overcame her but she shrugged it off and focused the story. 

It wasn't long until her concentration was interrupted. A repeated tapping of a window had her turning her head at the source. His bald head twinkled in the night, she let out a breathy laugh at the sight. He motioned towards the door with his hand, and with a nod of understanding she quietly made her way towards the door. 

The jingling of keys rung loudly as she unlocked the door. Her index finger quickly came to her lips, indicating the need to be quiet. Her other hand grasped his arm and pulled him in. The door creaked shut and the jingling of keys clacked after. She grimaced at the noises she caused, but when the silence wasn't interrupted by the elders, her body visibly relaxed. For as much as she loves her grandmothers, they're gushing, and nagging about her relationship status is unbearable. His palm grasped hers as he pulled her towards her room. Her stomach tied into knots, and her heart pounded louder. A curse left her lips at the lustful thoughts that played. 

However, lustful Maria failed to notice her boyfriend's facial tension, the way his jaw was clenched tightly, and his eyebrows furrowed. She also failed to notice how his posture was tense, or how he had clenched his hands into fists. She was even oblivious to the lingering scent of alcohol that clung to him. It was only when her bedroom's door was shut did she notice his body language and when he spoke she crinkled her nose. 

"Lo siento mucho (I'm very sorry)." He grasped her wrists and pulled her closer. 

Her eyes took in his unstable state, but her mouth couldn't emit a sound. She pursed her lips and cleared her throat. But before she could speak, Oscar continued talking. 

"No hago nada más que herir a los que me rodean (I do nothing but hurt those around me)." It seemed like he was talking to himself, and his tone was flat. His eyes were shut, and Maria found herself longing to stare at them - maybe then she would understand what was going on. 

"Everything bad that's happening is because of me." His words were slurred and he reeked of alcohol. His disheveled state was something that Maria has never witnessed; yes, he would doubt himself sometimes but those were momentary lapses. They were never as intense as this. Oscar never allowed himself to drink too much. Never was he in this state before. Somehow, she had managed to free her wrists from his grip, and she clutched his face between her hands.