6
1784 Words
Ramirez Gonzales.
Fuck. I can’t stand the noise and chatters. I don’t know if it’s coming from Noah or the girl. I was hoping to have at least another thirty minutes of sleep before leaving to work. Yesterday, I got in at 2am—an early underscore by the way.
Now that thirty minutes has been stolen from me, I am up with a grumble. I never sleep with a shirt, so, the morning air hits my skin as I roll off. I head straight to the bathroom. Last time, I used the one in the hallway because it’s got a better mirror. Habit, I guess.
I quickly strip off what’s left of my clothes and step into the shower. The water’s hot, almost scalding, yet, it’s just the way I like it. After freshening up, I pick out a black shirt—it’s always black with me for it’s easier to wash when stained with blood. I throw it on, paired with tailored pants. The rings go on next, followed by my watch. I’ve got a routine.
Grabbing my keys, I head down the stairs.
Yet, I cannot help but stop for a second, just to take note of the family house. It is expansive, with wide hallways that stretch out like arteries feeding into several rooms. The floors are light marble and sun filters through the arched windows. Along the walls, there are framed paintings—ones that my mother picked out, her taste has always leaned toward subtle, calming designs.
There are warm couches in the sitting room that look as if they’ve been there for decades. They’re a bit too bulky for the space, but they’ve become part of the house, like permanent fixtures. The tables are scratched, nicked from years of Noah and I banging into it, but it still stands sturdy. A few decorative pillows, likely picked out by my mother, softens the otherwise serious look of the room.
The walls are painted a soft beige, but the yellow undertones from the living room seep through, making everything feel a little warmer. Family photos line the corridor—generations of our bloodline captured in stiff poses and forced smiles. There’s an antique grandfather clock in the corner of the main hallway—I could hear its steady and persistent ticking in my bedroom. What can I say, being a mafia made me a light sleeper.
On my way out, I inhale the smell of home cooked sauce. And what is that…waffles? It drifts from the kitchen—calling me. However, after what happened yesterday, its safe to steer away from mom. God knows how long I’ve been dying for a home-cooked meal from her. Decades, maybe.
I spot Patrick’s son, Brody, who is lingering at the exit. He’s the same age as Noah but taller than I remember. He’s a bit on the weighty side like his dad. His dirty blonde hair is cropped short on the sides, messy on top. When he sees me, he straightens his plain white t-shirt and steps forward.
“Can you give me a ride? Your car looks hella sick!” He says and I grin.
I look around, searching for Patricio. “Does your dad know you are asking this?”
“I mean…he is asleep. So?” Brody whispers.
I step out of the house. “How about this? Get me whatever Madre is cooking. And, do not ever, ever, says it’s for me. That’s payment.”
Madre means “mother.”
“You got it!” Brody bolts, marching away to do my bidding.
On the side walk, I press the key to my car and the familiar beep cuts through the neighbourhood. What do we have here? If it isn’t the noisemakers. Noah and his friends are huddled around the hood of his Jeep. He’s leaning into the engine, peering at something.
Ariel is bent over beside him, watching him do whatever it is that he is doing.
I don’t mean to, but I pause. The smoothness of her legs catches my attention, and for a moment, I let myself halt, tracing the soft lines of her skin. Is she wearing such a skirt to school? What kind of—
I shouldn’t even be looking.
I ignore but once I begin to walk past them, a voice—which is high-pitched screams.
"Oh my God! It’s your brother!" The brown-haired girl blurts out. I exhale, recognizing her from the last time. She’s got that same wide-eyed look of curiosity that annoys me.
"You guys need help?" I ask, more out of obligation than any real interest.
"No," Noah snaps briskly, slamming the car door shut before attempting to restart the engine. Fine by me. I glance over at Ariel, but she’s doing everything in her power to look at away. Still, I notice the faint blush creeping over her peach-colored skin, like she knows I’m watching her.
"We’re late for school, and his Jeep just died," the brown-haired girl pipes up again.
"Hannah!" Ariel scolds her.
So, the brown-haired girl’s name is Hannah.
Once again, fine by me.
“Can you give us a ride?” Hannah asks, following me closely.
“Hannah—” Ariel tries to interrupt.
“I can’t be late today. We got detention last time or have you forgotten? This is going on our records” Hannah exchanges.
“Got it!” Brody says, holding a lunch bag.
I grin, “Keep it in the car.”
“Just go.” Noah says…I think he is referring to Ariel.
I walk past their argument and I take my seat inside the car.
“What are we talking about? Is the car not working? Come on, Ramirez can take us!” Brody states the obvious.
As I shut the door, my gaze catches sight of Hannah who tugs Ariel along by her wrist. Ariel’s hair cascades down her shoulders like a waterfall of dark silk.
"We’re coming!" Hannah declares.
They make their way towards me and Hannah shoves Ariel into the passenger seat. The moment she does, a wave of strawberry sweetness envelops me, mixing with the powdery vanilla scent of Ariel’s skin. She’s flustered, a flush of rosy hue that I cannot ignore.
"I was going to enter the passenger’s seat!" Brody protests outside.
Hannah blushes.
"Guess you’re stuck with me!" she quips, settling into the seat beside him while they both claim the back.
"I can’t just leave Noah," Ariel murmurs.
Her voice is barely above a whisper, but I catch it. I see her red lips press together and all of a sudden, I decide to act immature.
I lock the car, and as I glance over, I catch Ariel trying to twist the handle. Quickly, her features halt. A smirk creeps onto my face, a small victory in this game of cat and mouse. I start the engine, relishing the roar as it comes to life, fully aware that I’ve intentionally locked the doors to keep her from stepping out.
"Open it," she demands, and it’s as if she’s asking me with the weight of her eyes. But I don’t reply, instead shifting the gear and swerving out of the parking space.
Nonchalantly, I say "Use your seatbelt.”
I am fully aware that she’s staring at me with incredulity.
“You are such—” Ariel tries to point.
“A scumbag?” I ask.
She fixes her seat belt in and grits. “That and more,”
“I am definitely not an abuser.” I say and she gasps.
“Keep your voice down.” She whispers, looking back at Hannah who has been ranting since I started driving.
By her reaction, her friends have no idea.
“Your friends do not know?” I pique in a whisper too.
“No. And I would like to keep it that way.” Ariel replies.
“I didn’t hear you say please…”
As soon as I say that, my gaze drifts toward her dainty fingers, clasped together on her lap. I am looking at her fingers but I notice how she shifts her skirt, pulling the fabric down as if trying to shield her legs from my eyes.
It’s not even what I was looking at.
Her attempt to cover herself actually draw my attention more.
“Please.” She utters and I take one hand off the wheels.
“I am playing with you Ariel. I won’t tell.” I say and from the corner of my eye, she relaxes her back.
At the backseat, I see Hannah lean toward Brody from rear-view mirror.
“You know, boys really like me in class. They’re always talking about my thunder thighs.” Hannah says.
Brody rolls his eyes “Said no one, ever!”
A loud smack follows, likely a hit from Hannah. Ariel lets out a soft laugh, quickly covering her mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes anyway—cute and genuine.
“You owe rent for three months….” I bring up and her laughter ceases.
“I’ll pay.” She whispers, once again.
Do her friends not even know about this too?
I sniff. “Okay, hand it over.”
She tucks a curl of hair next to her ear. “I just…I just need some time.”
“Three days.”
“Three days!? I—I don’t have a good paying job yet.” Ariel surgeons in a plead.
“Hmm. Then, you should be afraid, Ariel. If you are smart, you should know it is considered a sin to owe Southeast men money.” I say and this time, my words are laced with threat.
I stop the car, in front of the school and I turn my attention to her. Her lips are parted, tempting me to look longer, but with Hannah and Brody in the back, I resist. Her doe eyes are large, golden, like a deep amber glass catching the sun. This morning, her skin has the glow of porcelain like it’s been kissed by the early light. With hair like that, she could stop a thousand men.
Hannah and Brody step out of the car.
Ariel breaths. “And if I don’t have it in three days?”
With all my attention on her face, she pales. “Then, you must prepare to work for it and pay your dues.”
“What, work—”
I take my attention away from her. “Leave my car, Ariel.”
Hannah knocks on the windshield.
Completely pale, Ariel opens the door and I glance back at her, knowing she cannot see my stare as it lingers.
- Writer
