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I WISH I CAN SAY I’M surprised.
That I didn’t see it coming. That the words my dad said to me, the promises of change, of wanting to be better, of finally treating me like someone worth caring for, had meant something. But they didn’t. Because if he truly wanted to be better, he wouldn’t have pushed away the one person who’s always been there for me.
Yesterday, when Aaron left, I stood by the front door like something frozen in time. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. He told me he wouldn’t leave me, but in that moment, it felt like he had. Not by choice, but by force.
I only managed to move when Felix found me. He slung an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side without saying a word. He led me upstairs, straight to his room, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked me how I was feeling, said he’d try to understand. And I know he would’ve, if I’d let him in. But I couldn’t talk about it. Not then. Not when it still hurt to admit that my dad was actively trying to push away the one person who keeps me grounded.
So instead, Felix turned on his PS4 and passed me a controller. We played video games until the sun dipped behind the trees. He didn’t let me leave until he was sure I was okay. And for a moment, I kind of was.
He’s trying. Felix. I see it now. I see glimpses of the boy I used to be inseparable with. The one who used to build pillow forts with me and sneak downstairs for midnight cereal. I missed that version of him but now I’m getting it back.
Later that night when I went into my room, I finally checked my phone. It was full of messages from Aaron, each one more comforting than the last. Telling me he loves me. That he’s not going anywhere. That he’s still here. Still mine.
And I believe him. Because Aaron wouldn’t leave. I know that now. I’m lovable. I can be loved. He proves it to me every day. He does love me.
I called him, needing to hear his voice. Just the sound of it settled something tight inside me. Like I could finally exhale. We only talked for five minutes before a knock came at my door. My dad. I panicked, ended the call, turned off my phone, and pretended to be asleep. I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to hear another carefully crafted apology or false promise.
But he came in anyway. Sat on the edge of my bed. Tucked a loose curl behind my ear like he hadn’t just shattered me earlier that day. He muttered something in Spanish under his breath—too low for me to catch over the screaming in my head telling him to leave.
And now, it’s morning. I’m standing in the kitchen, trying to spread Nutella on a croissant as fast as I can, hoping to make it back to my room before I run into him.
To my luck, I can hear someone heading towards the kitchen. But the approaching footsteps aren’t his.
They’re lighter, more measured. My mother’s.
It’s funny, somewhere in the middle of childhood, I learned how to tell them apart. The sound of disappointment walks differently than the sound of quiet indifference.
She’s dressed for work, sharp and polished in her usual corporate attire. “Buenos días, mija,” she says gently.
I don’t answer. I just close my croissant and place it on a plate, pretending she’s not there.
She might not have been the one to try to push Aaron away, but when I asked my dad what the hell he was doing, Felix was the one who defended me. Not her. She didn’t help me and by doing that, she helped my dad. So in conclusion, she’s guilty by association.
“Carmen,” she sighs, clearly not getting the hint of me wanting to be left alone.
I glance up, letting out a huff. “What?”
“I talked to him,” she says, voice low, like she’s confessing a crime.
My brows knit together. “When?”
“Last night,” she replies. “You’re happy with that boy. I can see it. I want you to be happy, mija. But your father…”
“Seeing me happy is torture to him. I know,” I mutter.
“Carmen!” she gasps, eyes wide.
I shrug. “It’s true, Mum. He’s proven it again and again.” At least that’s what it feels like.
She closes her eyes briefly. “He cares for you. He really does. He’s just… scared.”
“Scared?” I echo bitterly.
“Scared something might happen to you like last time, and that he won’t be able to stop it. He feels so much guilt, sweetheart. So much that he’s determined to not let anything hurt you again.”
He’s hurting me right now. Doesn’t he get that?
“Well, you sent me away for three months to live with a bunch of strangers, all to make sure what happened to me won’t happen again.” My voice stays low, but every word lands like a blow.
Her face softens at the sting of my words but she just clears her throat. “He just doesn’t want anything, or anyone, jeopardising your recovery. He thinks a boy will.”
I look her straight in the eye. “Do you want to know the truth?”
She doesn’t answer, but I tell her anyway.
“Aaron was the only one who didn’t give up on me. The only one who stayed. He was patient. He was kind. He was there. He made me laugh when I thought I never would again. None of you know him. Not like I do. That boy won’t ruin my recovery, he’s the only reason I started it.”
I leave the croissant on the counter and walk out, head held high, pulse pounding in my chest. I don’t look back.
Instead, I slip on my trainers and head outside, slamming the door behind me harder than necessary. The morning air is crisp against my skin, but it’s better than staying in that house for one more second.
I wish I could go see Aaron. I wish I could curl into his arms and forget everything, but he’s at football practice. With my dad.
God, I hope that’s going okay.
Just up the road is JJ’s house. Earlier, she texted the group chat this morning, asking if the girls wanted to come over. I’m sure she meant later, after lunch or something normal like that. But there’s no way I’m staying in my house. I’ll explode. Literally. If my mum tries to defend my dad one more time, or if he even breathes near me, I swear I’ll say something I’ll regret.
As I reach JJ’s house, I spot Mr. Davis by the gate.
Mr. Davis has technically always been JJ’s driver, but anyone who knows her knows he’s more like family. After her mum passed and her dad started spending more time abroad, Mr. Davis stepped in for more than just lifts to school or dance practice. He’s been there for everything. Not just for JJ, but for her friends too.
I can still remember the four of us—me, Valeria, Aly, and JJ—piled into his Range Rover, windows down, One Direction blasting while we forced him to sing along. It’s been so long. Since last summer, I haven’t seen JJ much, and with that came losing the whole world that surrounded her, including him.
“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is that Carmie Castro?” he teases, pulling down his glasses and feigning shock.
Carmie. God, no one calls me that anymore. Just him. And JJ. It was out little thing.
“Your old eyes are working just fine, Mr. Davis.” I grin.
“Old? Old?” He lifts his brows in mock offense, and I can’t help but laugh again—an honest one, the kind that feels like a memory.
“I’ve missed seeing you around,” he says, his tone softening. “God knows JJ needs you back too.”
The warmth in my smile falters just a little. “What do you mean?”
He exhales slowly and shakes his head. “She just misses you, is all.”
I nod, my chest tightening in a way I didn’t expect. “I’ve missed her too. And you. Don’t worry—you weren’t forgotten.”
He chuckles under his breath, then presses the buzzer. “Go on then. She’s inside.”
I give him a small wave as the gate clicks open, and start up the steps to JJ’s house. It’s the biggest one on the street—tall and stately with dark brick and huge black-framed windows. It’s not like the other modern homes in the neighbourhood. Hers feels older, grander, like it holds history.
I climb the wide steps two at a time until I’m finally at her door and ring the bell.
A few seconds later, it opens, and JJ stands there in a silky purple pajama set, eyes still a little tired, like she didn’t expect to see anyone just yet.
“Carmen?” she says, blinking. “Is everything okay?”
I try to play it cool, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry if I came too early—”
“No,” she cuts me off quickly. “Don’t you dare apologise.” Then, she steps aside, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”
I walk in without hesitation—but I don’t say anything. Instead, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a hug.
At first, she stiffens slightly, caught off guard. But after a few seconds, she melts into it, her arms circling me tightly, holding on like she needs it more than she knew. Maybe she did.
“I’m really happy we’re friends again,” I whisper against her shoulder.
Her breath catches a little before she says, just as softly, “Me too, Carmie.”
Not long after, we somehow convinced ourselves that ordering two large pizza’s at eleven in the morning was a good idea.
We sat in her garden, eating the fast food we had just bought, while watching Gossip Girl on her outside TV. Just like how we used to. I loved it.
Things got even better when Valeria and Aly arrived, well, you can say worse, because we practically ate all the ice cream that was in JJ’s massive freezer.
And you know what? It felt good. Spending time with my girls actually made me feel better and forget everything that’s happening at home.
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