Chapter 10: Jean

(Ten years ago)

Staten Island, NY.

I see now why people speak of heartbreak as though it's the most gut wrenching ache one could ever be cursed with.

It is.

I see now, why the poets speak of it with so much blood in their words. But no poem nor advice could have prepared me for this. This pain, it was nothing like I'd ever felt before. Nothing I'd ever imagined. Nothing I could have imagined.

It was swallowing me whole from within, leaving an icy, bottomless pit of disdain in my stomach. It punctured wicked holes into my heart and it appeared in front of me every time I closed my eyes in her image. Her face, reeking of betrayal and shock.

I wished for death. Surely, that would be a lot better than this curse I'd brought upon myself.

Having her look at me like that, her eyes ridden with pain inflicted by me had been my greatest fear, and yet I had called it upon myself with my own lips.

My mouth was still sour with the ugly residues of my lies swirling around my tongue. I wanted to scratch it out. Pull it out of my lungs and be rid of that treacherous organ that had done my bidding without stuttering or even questioning me. But I knew I was only looking for a culprit to blame when I was the singular offender. The mastermind. And I deserved this torture.

But I only hope she realizes that my words had held not an ounce of truth to them. I prayed and begged that she would know, like she always knows. I hope she knows this time too.

The rain kept pouring and I wanted to wrench the gates open and go bring her inside, out of the heavy downpour I was sure she was probably trudging home under. But I remained curled up in the same position, unable to move as I let the rain soak me. I was cold. My teeth had begun to chatter, but that was nothing compared to the agony my heart felt.

I would call her in a few hours and explain everything as soon as I was sure my parents were out of hearing range. That had been the plan from the get-go. I should have texted her beforehand, but I'd been backed into a corner and that stupid plan had been a desperate last resort attempt to thwart my Dad's plans to wreck havoc on my life like he's been doing to this family since the beginning of it.

But I would call her soon. I would call her and explain, and everything would be well again.

I got off the floor, soaked to the bones and trudged inside, and there he was, the devil himself, waiting for me with a grin on his face.

"What a wonderful performance!" Dad was clapping as I closed the front door behind me. Mom was nowhere in sight but I knew she would be within hearing range of us. That's what she does best after-all. Stay close enough to hear and see everything, but far away enough to never intervene or try to stop it. And even when she did intervene, it would be to support her husband, like the picture-perfect little trophy wife she is.

"You should really consider acting!" Dad's mocking voice pulled me from my internal loathsome monologue and I looked him dead in the eye, disgust like I'd never felt before rising in the pits of my stomach.

"I really hate you, you know?" I spoke through clenched teeth, my voice laced with the venom of my rage.

Dad scoffed and looked me up and down disdainfully. "What makes you think I care how you feel about me? I've been the best father anyone could ever wish for. I give you all the money you could ever possibly imagine wanting. I know I've done my best. Your opinions don't matter."

"Your best?" I was appalled at his audacity to proclaim self-righteousness.

"Your best is never being here? Your best, is leaving for months or even years without calling or bothering to mention wherever the fuck you are?!" I laughed.

I couldn't help it. This was all too funny. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, my heart breaking into smithereens, and yet it was all so fucking hilarious. And so I laughed until my insides hurt and the humor got weary. And then I stopped and took a breath before continuing.

"This isn't the fucking war era, Dad. In case you didn't realize it. You don't get to leave as you please and make us worry if you're even still alive! And then you waltz back in whenever you deem fit and try to make decisions about my life for me?!" I scoffed and wiped my cheeks.

"Tell me, dear Father. Tell me! Was sending Ivy off to that horrifying sexuality reform school because she likes girls your best? You ruined her! You've ruined us all. And that, is your best?"

My chest was heaving by the time I was done speaking. I had just let out all the words I'd been harboring in my mind for years, and it felt like I could finally breathe.

Dad had remained silent the entire time, his dark eyes staring daggers into my soul as I seethed.

My rage was still very present, and so was the adrenaline that drove me to let those words off my chest, but I was starting to feel both emotions slipping away very quickly at his cool, uninterrupted stare.

Finally, when things were about to start getting awkward, he spoke.

"It's time for you to join the Order."

•

•

•

Barcelona, Spain.

Spain was hot. Hotter than I expected at least, and considering I hadn't known what to expect at all, nor prepared for anything, it was super uncomfortable for me.

My heart yearned to fall in love with the beauty of the city, it's ancient and intricately constructed buildings, the phenomenal churches and sight-seeing spots. Everything down to the streets. But I wouldn't fall in love with the city...I couldn't.

I had been forced here against my will. The two body guards sitting on both sides of me in the car were enough to remind me that I was neither here on vacation, nor here because I wanted to be.

Scarlett and I had always wanted to come here. With both of us being huge art lovers, and her being a fan of Michealangelo, Sandro Botticelli and so many other iconic artists' works, a tour around Rome, Italy and Spain had been very high up our bucket lists and I'd been teaching her the little bit of Spanish I could speak. Being Spanish-American, you'd think I could speak the language but I'd lived in New York all my life and my parents didn't speak much Spanish at home. They were barely ever even home to begin with.

And now here I was, driving through the city of Barcelona...without her.

I stopped looking out the window and sunk back into the seats. Nothing made sense. Nothing was appealing. We were supposed to be here, together. We had even applied to the University of Barcelona already.

Everything had gone horribly wrong in less than 24 hours and my head was pounding from lack of sleep and being jet lagged.

"You good back there, boy?" My dad's brother, Uncle Santos asked from the seat beside the driver and I nodded sluggishly, wishing to be anywhere but here in this car with these people that were complete strangers. I just wanted to ball up under the covers and cry.

"I'm okay."

I called her the night before, after my dad said that weird shit about joining "the Order" and suddenly left the house, but her phone had been turned off. I still didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about, but Uncle Santos was apparently supposed to do the honors of explaining whatever the fuck was going on to me, and why I had to be threatened with guns to get on the flight down here.

My insides churned. I was thirsty and hungry, but for some weird reason it wasn't a hunger for food.

I was hungry to make things right as soon as I possibly could, and the situation only seemed to slip faster out of control the more I tried to fix it.

I had called Scarlett almost a hundred times the night before and left more than a hundred texts. I'd even tried to sneak out in the middle of the night to go see her but Dad had put the house on security lockdown as if he'd known I would try to sneak out.

I stayed up all night, unable to sleep or do anything else but worry, and then the men had come in the morning with guns and orders from my Dad. And I was forced to leave for the airport immediately.

I bit down hard on my lip till I tasted blood. My legs wouldn't stop shaking and my fingers wouldn't stop picking at one another. The car AC was not cold enough to stop the heat gathering in my chest and soon I was struggling to breathe. My anxiety over the last 24 hours was definitely starting to get to me and there was nothing I could do. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes, threatening to spill, but I couldn't cry. Not here, not now with all these strangers surrounding me.

I took out my phone and checked my messages, hoping with all my heart that she would have replied my over a hundred texts. But no, she hadn't even read them.

It felt unfair, but I knew I deserved worse.

I had a plan. But it was heavily blowing up in my face right now, and I had no idea how to stop things from getting worse. I had thought Dad was sending me to Spain because I refused to break up with Scarlett but I had been wrong. It didn't matter whether we were together or not. This had been his plan all along.

It became increasingly difficult to hold back the tears as we drove through the cornering streets of Barcelona, and I was on the verge of a nervous mental breakdown when the car pulled up in front of a house so huge, it could have easily passed for a castle or a palace.

Huge white boulders held up the building, standing so tall and intimidating like they were built for the sole purpose of keeping out intruders and unwanted guests.

I wished they would bar me from entering, but we all walked in and none of them leaped to attack me.

If I'd thought the outside was extravagant, then the interior was simply magnificent. Almost everything, from the furniture to the cutlery arranged beautifully on a large table in a room to the far left was made of gold. I wondered if it was actual gold—I wouldn't be surprised if it really was. I mean, I knew my family was rich rich, but I'd never really known the extent of our wealth and I had a feeling I was yet to be even more astonished.

"Welcome home, Federico."

I turned to look at my Uncle, surprised he'd called my by my Spanish name that had been passed down from my great grandfather. No one except my mom called me by that name.

Uncle Santos's smile was warm and genuine, and I really wished I could be as happy to be there as he seemed to have me there, but I couldn't even force a smile back.

I had no reason to smile.

At that moment, a girl in a breezy pink dress bubbled down the spiral staircase with a huge smile on her face.

"¡Hola papá!" She leaped at Uncle Santos, plastering kisses on both his cheeks, then she turned to look at me.

I watched her eyes widen slightly as she looked me up and down. She seemed to be around my age or at least slightly older. I remembered her from the family albums mom used to show us while telling stories every Christmas. She was my cousin, Maria.

"¡Guau! Solía ​​ser un poco tonto cuando lo vi por última vez. ¡Ha crecido ahora!" Wow! He was a little twerp last time I saw him. He's so grown now!

Did she just call me a twerp? Yeah, I don't think I'll be getting along with this cousin of mine.