Regret Staying

Carmen stood still in the doorway, her mind filled with thoughts of what could possibly await her this time. After everything that had just happened, the last thing she wanted was another encounter with Romero. But Santiago’s gentle but insistent gaze made it clear there was no escaping this.

“Do you know why he wants to see me?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with anxiety.

Santiago shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. “He didn’t say, Señorita,” he answered.

Carmen inhaled sharply, as she considered her options. She could refuse, walk away from the situation entirely, but deep down, she knew that wouldn’t solve anything. She had a job to do, and despite Romero’s temper, she needed this job desperately, for Diego’s sake.

She nodded. “Alright, I’ll go see him.”

Santiago flashed her a supportive smile. “I’ll be here if you need my help.”

Carmen appreciated his words, but they did little to calm the dread that coiled tighter in her chest. With slow, deliberate steps, she made her way back to Romero’s room.

When Carmen reached the door, she hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle for a moment before she finally turned it and stepped inside.

Romero was still lying down on the bed, facing the window. His rigid posture and the set of his jaw suggested he was brooding over something. He didn’t acknowledge Carmen’s presence right away.

Carmen stood near the door, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She could hear her own breathing, slow and careful, as the silence between them strained, thick and uncomfortable.

“Mister Monteiro, you asked for me,” Carmen said tentatively after a moment, breaking the silence.

Romero didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes were fixed on some distant point outside the window, as though the world beyond the glass held more interest than the person standing in his room.

The silence squelched down on Carmen, deep and unbearable. She shifted her weight uneasily, clearing her throat. “Mister Monteiro?”

Still nothing. The atmosphere grew more tense with each passing second, leaving Carmen looking for escape. She was about to speak again when Romero's head whipped harshly.

“Get me out of this damn bed,” Romero’s voice cut through the stillness, low and stony, without warning.

Carmen blinked, startled by his sudden command. She quickly shuffled to his bedside, her hands steady despite the nervous fluttering in her stomach. “Of course, sir,” Carmen murmured, reaching for him carefully, trying to avoid triggering his temper.

But the moment her hands touched his arm to help lift him, Romero flinched. His face twitched into a scowl. “Do you not know how to do something carefully?” Romero barked.

Carmen froze, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice calm, despite the heaviness of his words. She adjusted her grip, being even more cautious now, guiding him with as much care as she could muster.

Romero huffed, clearly unsatisfied. “You’re so inexperienced at this. I wonder why Pablo hired someone like you,” he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with disdain.

Carmen’s throat tightened, but she gulped some saliva to wet it, and continued her task, refusing to let his bitterness get to her. Once he was in the wheelchair, she exhaled slowly, stepping back to give him space.

“Do you need anything else, Mister Monteiro?” Carmen asked, her voice gentle, as she tried to read his mood.

Romero’s eyes narrowed, glaring at her as if her very presence was an irritation. “Are you trying to be funny? Can’t you see I need a change of clothes? Or are you expecting me to still be in the same clothes as the previous day?” he snapped.

Carmen bit her lip to keep herself from reacting to his tone. Instead, she gave a small nod and moved toward the wardrobe. “I’ll get you something more comfortable, sir,” she said.

As she opened the wardrobe, Carmen was baffled at how neat and spacious his wardrobe was. Each session is filled with neatly folded shirts and slacks. She scanned the wardrobe, trying to pick something appropriate.

“How about this one, Mister Monteiro?” Carmen asked, holding up a wine shirt.

Romero didn’t respond. He just stared at her, his jaw twitching, eyes dark.

The silence was unnerving, but Carmen pressed on, attempting to lighten the mood. “This color would look perfect on you,” she said.

“Don’t act like you know anything about me,” Romero scoffed, his gaze icy.

Carmen paused, the shirt still in her hand. She hesitated, unsure if she should say something or just do as he asked. “Maybe I don’t. But I’m here to learn about you,” she said quietly, folding the shirt neatly and returning it to its place. She picked up a white shirt and placed it on the bed. “This color will brighten up your day. I’ll help you change,” she added.

But as Carmen reached for him again, Romero’s hand shot up, pushing hers away. “Don’t touch me.”

The sharpness of Romero’s voice startled her, and Carmen stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. “I’m sorry, sir. I–”

“Get out,” Romero interrupted harshly, his voice frigid and final.

Carmen remained still, stunned. “I can’t do that, Mister Monteiro. I’m here to help you, and I won’t leave until you’re dressed properly,” she responded softly, her voice firm despite her heart bumping in her chest.

Romero’s eyes flickered with something dreary and perilous. “Are you deaf? I said get out.”

Carmen’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t move. “No, I won’t leave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet unwavering.

Romero’s mouth twisted, his expression closed up as he wheeled his chair back slightly. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” he warned, his tone small and threatening.

Carmen held her ground, her hands quivering. “I know you’re the almighty Mister Romero Monteiro. And I also know you need help at the moment. So, I’m not going to abandon you just because you’re angry,” she replied, her resolve strong.

Romero’s gaze bore into hers. Carmen couldn’t decipher his countenance. Romero shook his head with a wry chuckle. “You really think you can fix me, don’t you?” he asked.

Carmen shrugged. “It all depends on you, sir. I’m not here to fix you, but to help you.”

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Carmen could feel her heart fluttering as she gazed intently at the man in front of her. For some reason she couldn’t quite place, she was nervous just staring into his golden-brown eyes.

Without a word, Romero turned his head away, his shoulders tense.

Carmen quietly approached him again, carefully helping him into the fresh clothes. Romero didn’t resist this time, but his silence was heavy, his anger waiting for when to explode.

When Carmen was done, she stepped back, her hands still shaking slightly. “You’re all set, sir,” she announced, wearing a thin smile, watching him, hoping for some sign of gratitude or acknowledgment.

But Romero just stared out the window, his face masked by indifference.

“Would you love for me to take you for a walk?” Carmen inquired, though she wasn’t sure if he had heard her.

Dissatisfaction plowed on Romero’s brow, and he glanced at her, his eyes clouded with gaiety. “You have high expectations of me, don’t you?”

Carmen opened her mouth, but her tongue stumbled for words. She blinked, squirming on her foot. “What…do you mean…sir?” she stuttered.

“So, just because I allowed you to change my clothes, then you think we’re now friends?” Romero leaned forward in his wheelchair, his eyes narrowing as they drilled into Carmen.

Carmen shook her head hastily. “No, sir. I didn’t–”

“Let me tell you something, I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need your help. You’re here because I allow it. Nothing more. Don’t cross the boundaries,” Romero cut her off, his voice chilled.

Carmen’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words crushing her heart. She nodded, forcing herself to remain calm. “I understand, sir. Although, I’m not here out of pity. I’m just trying to do my job.”

Romero smirked coldly, his lips curling with detest. “Your job? You think I can’t see through you? You’re like everyone else, trying to feel better about yourself by helping people in a condition like mine.”

Carmen’s face flushed, shaking her head. “That’s not true–”

“Save it. You’re just like the rest of them. You think you can come here, smile at me, act all kind, and fix everything. But you can’t. Do you know why? Because you’ll never understand what it’s like to lose your whole family in just one day. So you better get lost,” Romero interrupted, his voice piercing.

Carmen took a step back, her heart drumming in her chest. For a moment, she wanted to leave, to run away from the suffocating darkness that seemed to surround him. But she couldn’t. Something deeper pulled at her, something that kept her standing in that room, even as the brooding silence and resentment almost swallowed her.

“I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through, Mister Monteiro. But I’m not leaving you alone in this. Whether you like it or not, I’m staying,” Carmen said quietly, pushing away the fear gnawing at her insides.

Romero’s eyes flitter, a brief flash of something; pain, but it quickly vanished just as it came. He turned his gaze back to the window, leaning back in his chair, his muscle in his jaw clenched.

“Get out before you regret staying,” Romero muttered, without looking at Carmen.

A chill ran down Carmen’s spine as Romero’s words lingered in the air like a warning.

***

Weeks passed, and Romero remained distant. Carmen tried everything; physical therapy, gentle conversation, and even silence when he needed it. Each time, she was met with the same cold resistance.

Inside a cozy, dimly lit coffee shop, Carmen stirred her tea absently, her thoughts far from the peaceful surroundings. Across from her, Mariana sat, leaning forward slightly, her brows furrowed with concern as she stared at her.

“You don’t understand, Mari,” Carmen sighed, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “It’s been three weeks, and there’s no real progress. Mister Monteiro refuses to cooperate with anyone, let alone me. He’s either too angry to speak or too withdrawn to acknowledge my presence. He’s always in that room, he’ll never come out no matter how hard I try,” she continued.

Carmen rubbed her temples, feeling the frustration settling deeper.

Mariana frowned. “But you said he let you help him a few times? With the clothes? And meals? Maybe that’s something…” she replied.

Carmen her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “That wasn’t help. It was more like tolerance. Every step I take feels like walking on glass. He already warned me I’ll regret staying, and it’s happening. That man is so angry at the world. At himself. I’ve never met someone like him who is so cold.”

Mariana stirred her own drink thoughtfully. “Perhaps he needs more time. It takes some people a while to heal.”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with him. One moment, I think he’s going to let me in, and then the next, it’s like he’s someone different. He’s so hard to understand. I’m getting really frustrated with everything,” Carmen grumbled.

Mariana watched her closely, sympathy in her eyes. “Carmi, you don’t have to keep doing it if it’s overwhelming for you…”

Carmen leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “Right now, it’s not just about the job anymore. It’s about Diego,” she said.

At the mention of her brother, Mariana’s expression shifted from concern to curiosity. “Diego? Did something happen?”

Carmen hesitated, her fingers gripping around the edge of the table. “They found a kidney donor, for Diego,” she said quietly, her voice stretched.