Before You (19 page)

“A
re you going to call her back, or what?”

Javier holds my phone out to me. Faith's ring tone plays for the second time today, like an eerie echo of what once was.

“She keeps callin' you, man. You gonna stay mad forever?” Javier asks.

That's the plan, but with each day, my strength fades.

“It's been what, a week since her surgery?” my cousin asks, situating himself on the couch next to me.

“Nine days,” I say. Nine agonizing days.

“And you still haven't talked to her?”

“Nope.”

My eyes make me remember. Everywhere I look is somewhere she's been. The couch. My room. Even the carpet. I want to ball my fists and squeeze my eyes shut and forget, forget, forget.

“You gonna let her think you don't care?” he asks.

“Yep.”

Javier shakes his head. Pity emanating. “You need to call her. I'm sick of seeing you mope around. You're playin' the game with the wrong girl. Because whether you admit it or not, you have it bad.”

Javier puts the phone in my hand. Faith's call goes to voice mail.

“Call her,” he says again, and gives me a serious look.

Javier leaves the couch. Grabs a drink from the fridge. The phone is still in my hand when he returns. I'm staring at a blank screen.

“Give me the phone. I'll call her.”

“No,” I reply, and shove my cell in my pocket. It chimes. One new voice mail.

“You gonna listen to it?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Have you listened to the others?”

“Nope,” I say.

Faith has left several messages. I listened to the first one. It'll be the last. Her voice is too much.

I can't let her treat me like that. Sneaking around is one thing. Treating me like garbage in an auditorium full of people is another.

“Does she know you sent flowers?” Javier asks.

“No. I didn't leave a name,” I answer.

“And the visits to the hospital?”

I rub my tired eyes. “She was unconscious. I doubt she remembers.”

“You still angry about the way her dad looked at you?”

“No,” I say. “I expected it. But as far as her dad knew, I was there as Melissa's friend, not Faith's.”

I remember the hospital.
Walking in with Melissa. Faith's father bent over in a chair, his head in his hands. He doesn't hear us at first. I can't take my eyes off her: her leg in a sling, a million wires, her face like she's taking a nap, eyes closed, lost in a coma. I want to run to Faith. I want to rip out the wires and carry her home. I dare anyone to stop me. My fingers form fists.

Mr. Watters looks up, spots me. His eyes linger.

Melissa introduces me as her friend. I shake his hand, but I can't stop looking at Faith.

I blink. Back to the present.

I hated the way Faith looked, hooked up to machines. So many snaking tubes biting at her skin.

I want to take her pain away.

“She's miserable at school,” Javier says.

“So am I. Am I supposed to feel bad for her?”

Even though I say the words, and even though I don't want to care, I do feel bad. Faith is no longer actively on the dance squad, though she still holds her position from the sidelines, but Melissa is. So Faith's been alone a lot.

“She has a broken foot and hand. Probably a broken heart, too,” Javier says. “She calls you every day. She can't catch up to you on her crutches at school. She even stopped me in the hall the other day to tell me she's sorry for what she did.”

I close my eyes. Memories haunt me. Jason's lips on her. Her hands on him. Faith is supposed to be mine
.
I don't share.

“She chose this,” I say. My tone is sharp. Pain's fingers wrap around my neck. Choke me. Deepen my voice.

Javier leans into the cushions and takes a sip of soda. “You should at least hear her side of the story before you call it quits. I've seen you with other
chicas.
You're different with her. You love her.”

He shouldn't have gone there. I get in his face. “
Cállate.
You know nothing
.
”

Javier shoves me away. “I'm not the enemy, Diego. You're falling apart. You won't talk about
tu madre
. You're having run-ins with MS-13s. You're pushing Faith away now, too. You need to get it together. That girl is good for you. I'm not sayin' what she did was right, but come on. She made a mistake. You act like you never have.”

I try to control myself by walking away, even though it's my apartment. Javier follows and backs me up to a wall.

“What do you care?” I yell. “Who cares if I fall apart?”

“I do!” he yells back. “I care!
Somos una familia
. I won't let you do this to yourself. Not a second time. And you're not going to kill off another person you love.”

That's it.

Too far.

I punch him in the face. “I did not kill
mi madre
!” I yell.

He punches me back. The force of it slams my shoulder against the wall.

“No, but your actions did!” he shouts.

Mi padre
races into the room. Rips the two of us apart. He yells in Spanish. It takes a minute, but I finally cool off. Javier wipes blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood trickles down my face, as well. The skin at the corner of my eye is cut.

“If you're not careful,” Javier says in a low tone, “your actions will kill off Faith, as well.”

T
wo weeks since I've spoken to Diego. The distance creates a canopy of cobwebs in my mind. Blocking colors, blocking light, blocking the promise of anything hopeful. I can't handle the separation any longer. If Diego won't speak to me, I'll go to his place. He may not have good news for me, but I need to hear him say it. I need the finality, if that's what this is. My injury, being away from him, has brought everything into perspective.

My right foot is uninjured, so I'm able to drive. Still, it's difficult to get in and out of the car. Getting up Diego's steps on crutches is so much effort that I have to take a minute to sit on the concrete halfway up. The pain is intense, but worth it if I can finally talk to him.

I make it up the rest of the steps and take a deep breath before knocking. The pit of my stomach coils like a spring. I remind myself to stay calm.

When I knock, no one comes. I worry that he's not here. I knock harder. Wait. Knock again. Finally the door swings open. Diego says something in Spanish, annoyed with the intrusion.

Air whooshes out of me at once, like I've taken a kick to the gut. It's hard to breathe. Diego's hair is dripping wet. Beads of water fall down his shoulders and bare chest, only to be absorbed by the waistband of his jeans, the elastic of his boxers.

His face falls slack. He lets go of the door. His arms drop to his sides, deadened. His expression softens, a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Diego,” I say.

The door is wide open. I want to walk in, but don't know if I should. He looks tired.

“Am I interrupting something?” I ask.

“Just my shower,” he answers. “What are you doing here,
mujer
?”

My stare lingers on his tattooed chest. I want to touch him.

“I needed to see you,” I reply.

Hope holds me with a tight grip, refusing to let go.

“For what?” he asks, not gently.

“Don't do this.”

“I didn't do anything. You did.” I flinch at the sharpness in his tone.

“Melissa told me,” I blurt. I wasn't supposed to say that last part but it slipped out. “I know about the flowers, and your visits.”

He shakes his head slightly. “So what?”

“So I know you care, that's what.”

I take a step toward him and almost fall, wobbly on my broken foot. He reaches out, automatically steadying me.

His touch is everything, everything to me.

“I miss you,” I say. I should give him space but I need to feel him against me.

Diego winces.

“I miss
us
,” I say, reaching for his face.

“Don't.”

My fingers stop midair. My hand drops.

“
¿Estas bien?
”

“No. I feel like my heart is breaking, if that's possible.”

“Your foot, I mean,” he amends.

My emotions are a scale ready to tip either way. Unsure of where I'll end up. Happy, maybe. Or perhaps more devastated.

“My foot's not really better,” I answer. “Not yet. It hurts. I don't take the pain pills because they make my mind fuzzy. I'm unsteady, as you can tell, but I manage.”

He lets go of me then.

“You shouldn't be here,” he says, businesslike, looking at the wall as he speaks.

“But what about us?” I ask.

“What about us?”

I wish he would look at me.

“You won't return my phone calls.”

“And you show up anyway.”

I swallow the lump of rot in my throat. “You don't have to be rude, Diego.”

He's pushing me away. I can't say I don't deserve it.

Diego looks at me then. “And you didn't have to treat me like garbage in front of the entire school.”

“So this is how it's going to be?” I ask, voice rising. “You don't care anymore? What we had means nothing?”

“
No sé
. You tell me,” he snaps back. “You let Jason kiss your lips. Lips that are supposed to be mine.”

My face burns with shame. “I didn't let him. He pushed himself on me.”

“I heard you ask him if you could be friends, Faith,” Diego says. “Why would you want to be his friend?”

I uncurl my fists and blink back tears.

“I don't. I was just trying to be nice,” I say. “Look. You're mad. You have every right to be.” I pause, trying to decide if I should go on. Then, with a deep breath, I let everything out. “I know I don't deserve you. You've been good to me, helping me talk through all that stuff with my mom, even. And I hid you like a secret, yet you still stuck by me. I never should have done that to you. I'm sorry. I want to make things right.”

I don't know what to expect when I look back up at him.

He steps toward me. Waits. Battles himself. I reach for him, grasping air, hoping he will accept me, forgive me. Another step. I hold my breath.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” I say, nervous.

There's a difference between
want
and
need
. I need him. Diego knows it.

“I don't want to be played.
¿Me oyes?
” he says. “'Cause what you did at school was wrong. I need to know that you're mine,
mujer
. Only mine. The guys will keep coming as long as they think you're free.”

“You want me to announce that we're together?” I ask. At this point, I'll do it. I love Dad, but I need to know happiness. The accident showed me that. I have to try. This thing between us feels more real than anything in my life.

“
Sí
,” Diego says.

“Okay,” I reply.

His eyebrows arch. “For real?”

“For real.”

I hobble closer. He lets me this time.

“And I want one more thing if this is going to work between us,” he says.

I am skeptical of the sly flash in his eyes. His stare traces my body: pink halter top, jean shorts, vulnerability on display.

“Let's hear it,” I say.

Diego trails a finger down my bare shoulder. I shiver. Chills erupt, though his touch is searing. “
Prométeme
you'll dress like this every day.”

I laugh as he scoops me into his arms and kicks the front door shut. He locks the dead bolt and carries me to his room, laying me on the bed.

“Done,” I agree, smiling. “Can I have a little time to think about how to break it to everyone? I promise I'll do it; I just have to figure out a plan.”

“Deal,” he says.

Diego climbs next to me and pulls a pillow under his head. “
Te extraño
,” he whispers.

Heat pulses off his bare skin. I place my palms on his chest. “I miss you, too,” I reply, my eyes on his lips. “So much. Too much.”

“You want to kiss me?” he asks, smiling.

“Bad,” I admit.

“How bad?” he whispers. Quick as a wink, he brushes his lips against mine. It's not a kiss, more of an enticement. He laughs, but it's gravelly.

“Kiss me, Diego,” I order. I need to know that I still have an effect on him.

His breathing slows. He licks his mouth. His thumb grazes my bottom lip.

“Diego,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

That's all it takes. He kisses me with pent-up passion. His lips work out his emotions.

Hard at first, angry.

Then fierce, missing me.

Then finally softer, happy. One hand cups the back of my neck. The other plays with my shirt.

It's dark in Diego's room. He must think the same thing because he reaches for matches on his nightstand to light a candle. Diego in the candlelight is breathtaking. My hands slide over muscles in his lower back. His fingers sweep over my breasts. My body reacts to his touch. His hands slide up my legs to my inner thighs.

I'm losing control again. And this time I don't want to stop.

F
aith's legs are soft under my fingertips. One of her knees is bent, propping her good leg up while the other foot rests comfortably on my sheets, swathed in a cast that looks more like a pink boot.

“
Eres tan bella. Preciosa. Perfecta
,” I say.

She kisses me again.

“Diego,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say between kisses.

“I need to tell you something.”

I pull back an inch. I'm spinning in a vortex of happiness. Faith is everywhere. On my lips. In my mind. Building a shelter within my heart.

“I'm not a virgin,” she says.

I'm not expecting that.

“
¿Qué?
” I ask.

“I'm not a virgin,” she repeats.

This shouldn't matter. I'm not, either.

“But I thought—” I break off because I realize she never actually told me she was a virgin. I heard rumors that she hadn't been with Jason. I assumed she hadn't been with anyone.

“I cheated on Jason,” she explains.

I sit back on the bed. Thrown for a loop.

“When you first met me, you insinuated that maybe . . . I was. I felt like you deserved the truth,” Faith says. “I couldn't think of a good time to bring it up. I don't know that there is one. But it needed to be said.”

I don't move. Don't know what to say.

“Are you mad?” she asks.

“Not mad,” I answer. “Surprised, maybe.”

“Sorry,” she says again.

“ 'S okay,” I say. I play with a piece of her hair that has fallen down her shoulder.

She sighs. We're quiet for a minute. I want to fill the silence with my questions but I know I don't have any right. I'm definitely no angel.

Faith watches my face. Answers the question I didn't have to ask.

“It was during the drug time,” she says.

“You don't have to explain,” I say. I wouldn't want to replay my past.

“I know. But I want to. I don't want you to think I would ever cheat on you, because I wouldn't,” she continues.

I believe her. We are starting fresh. She is laying everything out. Honest.

“I never slept with Jason. That's why the school thinks I'm so untouched. But parties with Melissa's older sister introduced me to a world that didn't know the Faith I was pretending to be,” she explains. “I wanted to get lost in something, anything, to ease the pain of my mom's betrayal. I didn't think about who the guy was. He didn't matter. What mattered was that for those moments, I forgot her. I forgot everything.”

I say nothing, sensing she's not done.

Faith looks up at me then, pain etched in every crevice of her face. “The guy meant nothing, though, and it wasn't worth it. I got checked afterward. I'm clean. I wish I'd waited until it meant something. It's too late now. That's the problem with doing things for the wrong reasons. Once they're done, they can't be undone.”

I know all about that. “I'm clean, too.” I want her to know. “I had a physical when I arrived in the States.”

She nods. Twirls a silver band on her pinkie finger.

“And you don't have to be sorry. Neither of us is perfect,” I say.

She curls into me. It feels good, right. Nothing more needs to be said. Some bridges are meant to be burned.

I grab a cigarette from the nightstand and light it. Faith's nose scrunches up.

“You don't like when I smoke?” I ask.

She bites her lower lip. “No.”

“Why didn't you tell me to stop?” I don't want her to be uncomfortable.

“Because,” she says. “People have controlled my life forever. I would never try to control someone else's.”

Faith could not be more different than I imagined. She's not trying to control anything. But knowing she doesn't like it makes me put the cigarette out.

“You don't have to do that,” she says.

“I know.”

Faith reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of gum. Folds it onto her tongue but doesn't chew. She leans toward me. I meet her lips, not expecting her to kiss the gum into my mouth. It's perfect, the way she rolls it off her tongue onto mine.

She grabs another piece for herself.

“Maybe I'll smoke if it means you'll do that every time,” I say.

She smiles. We stay like that for a while. I don't know how much time exactly. It doesn't matter anyhow. My arms hold her tight. I want her near me always.

This time, I won't let her go.