Before You (15 page)

L
ying to Diego feels as though I am unraveling, coming loose at the ends, spinning out of control. I need a semblance of power, of having the upper hand. But I know in truth, I don't. I don't know when I lost it, exactly. Perhaps it was never mine in the first place.

I can't keep lying.

I do want to be with Diego.

Diego has spread through me, seeping into the cracks, infiltrating my mind. School was torture today. My eyes betrayed me, sliding to wherever he was in the room. Even now, I reach for my phone, thinking I'll tell him the truth.

I pull away at the last second.

“Will you be here for dinner?” Dad asks as I open the fridge, searching for a snack.

“No, sorry,” I answer. “Working on book fair posters with Melissa. We're ordering pizza. I'll probably be home late, if that's okay with you.”

I pull out a yogurt and cranberries. Should hold me over until dinner.

“All right,” Dad replies.

As I eat my snack, Dad stands next to me, staring.

I pause. Look at him. “Is everything okay?” I ask.

He rubs the spot above his eyebrows. His allergies are awful this time of year. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dad says.

He looks worn out. I worry about him.

“I'm fine, Dad,” I say.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Like what?

“No.”

“You just seem, well, I don't know what,” he says.

Dad can talk to a congregation of people, but when it comes to his daughter, he's tongue-tied. It's always been this way.

“I'm a little stressed,” I admit. “But it's nothing I can't handle.”

I'm not entirely sure that's true.

“Is it your grades?” he asks.

“No. Grades are fine.”

“Dance?”

“No.” Besides Tracy Ram's ever-present nasty attitude. Nothing new.

“Any relapses?”

“God, no. Dad, I don't want anything to do with that stuff.”

He has to ask. Any good father would.

“I'm assuming that you and Melissa are fine since you're going over there tonight, right?”

“Yes. Melissa and I are okay.” We have the occasional best friend fight. But we duke it out and everything is fine right after. I can't stay mad at her, and vice versa.

“Jason?” he asks.

What's with the twenty questions?

“There is no Jason anymore,” I remind him.

“Another boy, then?”

My face burns. “Dad,” I groan. “Boy talk? Seriously?”

“What?” he asks. “I just want to make sure that my girl is doing okay.”

When he calls me his girl, I freeze. He hasn't done that since Mom left.

“I'm okay,” I reply. “Just normal stress. No biggie.”

“So you're not seeing another guy?”

I laugh. Bury my head in my arms.

“This is so embarrassing,” I say. It comes out muffled.

“Ah, I see. There is another boy.”

I look back up and try not to grimace. Dad is uncomfortable but persistent.

“It's okay for you to like a boy, Faith. It's bound to happen,” he says. “You're eighteen now. I kind of expect it.”

“I'm not seeing anyone.”

Please make this stop.

“Yet,” he amends. “But you clearly want to.”

I don't know when my dad got so good at reading me. “Are you done?” I groan.

He laughs. “Yes, I suppose I am. Just be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply.

“And don't let anyone trick you into anything you're not ready for. I, of course, want you wait until you're married for, um, well, you know. But I'm also aware that things move a lot faster nowadays. Condoms do not protect against everything—”

Oh. My. God. I cut him off. “I have to go.”

Forget the snack. I cannot take another moment of embarrassment. I put my food back in the fridge and race out of the house. I practically break down Melissa's door as I barrel through it.

Melissa is cleaning countertops.

“What's going on?” she asks, dropping the spray and towel.

“You will not believe what just happened!” I look around her house. “Is your mom home?”

“No, she's on call at the hospital all night,” Melissa answers.

Good. I don't want anyone but my best friend to hear this. “My father,
my father
, decided to have a sex talk with me.”

Dad is not the type to mention the word
sex
, much less talk in any detail about it.

“Sex?” Melissa asks. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I say. “It was mortifying.”

“Oh Faith,” she says. “That's good. I never thought the day would come.”

“I wish it hadn't.”

Melissa pats the bar stool next to her and we both sit.

“What made him want to talk to you about that?” she asks.

“Diego,” I confess. “Only, I never actually admitted anything about Diego.”

“What?” Melissa says. “Rewind. What do you mean?”

I grab chocolate chip cookies from Melissa's cupboard and pour a glass of milk.

“My dad thinks I have a crush on someone. But he doesn't know who,” I say.

“Wow. Did he freak out?”

I swallow. Take a sip of milk. “Surprisingly, no. He said he expects me to like boys now that I'm older. It was so weird.”

“Definitely,” my best friend agrees, grabbing a cookie.

“He's been kind of different lately. He let me go to the club. And he didn't freak when I told him about the breakup. Now he's talking to me about boys.”

“Maybe the tides are turning,” Melissa says.

“Maybe. But I'm not banking on it.”

I eat the last cookie. Finish my milk. I raid Melissa's candy stash for a mint. “All right,” I say, changing the subject. “You want to get started?”

“Sure,” Melissa agrees.

I'm about to step on the bottom stair when Melissa stops me.

“Forgot that I have to pick up the pizza,” she says.

I balance awkwardly, resting one foot on the stair, one on the ground.

“I would've paid for delivery,” I offer.

Her mom does the best she can to afford everything. But occasionally Melissa picks up the pizza instead of paying delivery fees when funds are low.

“It's no prob. I'll be back soon,” she says. “Relax in my room. I set out posters and markers. Maybe you can start on them?”

“Sure,” I say.

When Melissa leaves, I lock the door and walk upstairs. Spy someone in Melissa's room.

My heart pounds against my sternum.

“Diego?” I say, confused.

What's Diego doing in Melissa's bedroom?

He flashes a lopsided grin. “Hey,” he says.

“Why are you here?” I ask, suddenly realizing that I'm in casual home clothes, a tiny tank top and shorts.

“Helping,” he says. He points to the markers and posters.

Bull. It hits me.

“Melissa's not going for pizza, is she?” I ask.

Diego grins wickedly. “No.”

I am going to kill my best friend. “I can't do this,” I say.

Diego steps toward me. He's wearing jeans and a black shirt. Simple. Sexy.

“Sure you can,” he says. “Imagine we're in the ocean again.”

I try hard not to reach for him.

“I really can't,” I say.

He shuts the door and leans against it. “Melissa won't be back for a while. It's just you and me. Stay with me. No one knows we're here 'cept your best friend, and she won't tell.”

His cocky stance—arms crossed over his chest, one leg bent so that the bottom of his foot rests on the door—makes me uneasy.

“Did you not understand when I said we could only be friends?” I ask sarcastically.

“Yeah. I understood.” He smiles. “But I don't think you meant it.”

“What do you want?” I cut to the chase.

He shrugs. “Just wonderin' when you're gonna quit living for everybody else.”

Exhale. “Never. So drop it,” I say. “I have to go.”

Diego doesn't back away from the door. “So you don't like me?” he asks, then licks his lips.

Of course I do. Like crazy. I can't tell him, though. It would never work between us. There's too much stacked up against us: the church, Dad, people at school.

“No,” I answer. “I don't like you. Not at all.”

He moves away from the door. I turn, watching each step he takes. Diego positions himself in front of me. My back is to the exit. If I reach behind me, I can grab the handle and leave.

My body won't listen.

Diego shouldn't be looking at me with his mouth twisting upward.

How did he do that?

One minute I was in control, the next I'm pinned in place.

“Tell me again how you don't like me,” Diego whispers.

I swallow. Fidget.

“ 'Cause if you ask me, it's all a lie. Everything. Your clothes. Your standards.”

He's right. On every count.

“Everything. Is. A. Lie,” he whispers.

I try to find my voice. Finally locate it under a pile of nerves.

“I can't be with you, Diego.” My words tumble out in one breath, barely audible.

“Fine,” he says. “Kiss me one time, and if you don't feel anything, I'll back off. For good.”

Kiss him?

“I'm not kissing you,” I say.

He smiles. “That's what I thought. You do like me. Admit it. That's why you can't kiss me.”

“It's not that,” I say. There's so much more. Dad's reputation. My mask. The comfort of knowing that no one is close enough to ever hurt me like my mother did.

Then Diego says something that throws me off balance, an asteroid colliding with my world.

“I'm in a drug cartel.”

F
aith's mouth drops open, hanging like a crooked picture. I back away from the door. Sit on the floor. I can't look at her. If she plans to leave, I don't want to see her go.

“You're in a cartel?” she asks.

I prop myself against Melissa's desk. The edge cuts into my back.

“
Sí
,” I answer. “
El Cartel Habana.
Faith, they are evil like you have never known.”

She'll leave now. The only girl that I've ever really cared about knows my deepest secret. And while I should be worrying about the repercussions of that, I can only think about how I do not want Faith to go.

“You deal drugs?” she asks, appalled.

“No. Never. I don't do, touch, or sell,” I correct. “I'm more of a bodyguard.”

“So you protect people who sell drugs?”

I wince. It sounds awful coming out of Faith's mouth, but I can't deny what I am. What I was.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Why?”

I don't look up from the carpet. I don't want to see the disgust that laces her voice.

“To survive,” I say. “The town I came from is different from Florida, Faith. It's touched by the finger of
el diablo,
I swear. On those streets, you'll be lucky not to die of starvation or violence. You have to pick a side. Live or die. I chose to live. The cartel offered
mi familia
protection in exchange for my services. It meant food on the table and a roof over our heads. But most importantly, it meant
mi madre
could stop livin' in fear every day. I'd do anything to protect her.”

I still remember the times
mi padre
spent with me, teaching me how to fight. He's the one who told me about
El Cartel Habana
.
Mi padre
isn't a member, but he knew the cartel would offer a young, good fighter a position. He only survived the streets as long as he did because he's a good fighter himself, one of the few people who actually lived unprotected. He didn't think our family could be that lucky twice. It pained him to send me to them when I was fifteen, but the alternative was worse.

Today, we both regret the end result of his decision.

“So, it's like a gang?” Faith asks.

“Only worse,” I answer. “It's on a bigger level.
El Cartel Habana
deals in massive amounts. They ship drugs all over the world. The transactions have to be flawless. People will double-cross them as fast as you can blink. That's where I came in.”

“That's why you're always fighting,” Faith says. “The scars came from the cartel.”

I nod.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

I look at her then. Even after hearing about my demons, she hasn't left.

I have to tell her.

“ 'Cause,” I answer. “In the end, the cartel double-crossed me.”

Faith says nothing. I close my eyes, remembering the worst night of my life.

“Four months ago the cartel told me they wanted me to move up in ranking. I was already in it for life. I didn't see why it mattered. But when they said they wanted me dealin' big transactions, I refused. That was always my condition. No drugs. I would do most things, but not that. It sounds odd since I was in a drug cartel, but it had been done before. Fighting was my skill, not drug slingin'.”

Though the desk hurts my spine, I press further into it. I welcome any other pain but this memory.

“Apparently, I got too good with my hands. They wanted me on the forefront. When I said no, they told me I'd regret it. I figured I could talk to the boss the next day when everythin' cooled off. Maybe strike a deal. To be safe, I moved
mi familia
to another location that night.”

I take a deep breath. This is the part that hurts the most. I feel tense. So tense. A billion invisible hands pull at my skin, stretching it tight, squeezing the air out of my lungs, strangling my heart till it hurts too bad to move another inch.

I haven't discussed that night with anyone. Not
mi padre
. Not Javier. No one.

“They found us, anyway. Five of them. Assassins. They stabbed
mi padre
first. He hit the floor. Dead, we thought. They tied me to the leg of the bed and made me watch—” I pause. Swallow. Try to hold it together. “I watched as they killed
mi madre
.”

Faith comes to me then, dropping to my side.

“They slit my throat. That's what the scar is from. It was meant to be my death.”

Faith reaches for my neck; I jerk on instinct. Her hand falls away.

“They left us there, good as dead. With what I thought was my dyin' breath, I called a friend who owed me a favor. His father was a doctor. The next thing I remember was wakin' up a month later in someone's house hooked up to a machine.
Mi padre
told me everythin'. How the doctor kept us at his home so no one would know we survived. The doctor closed my father's wound, but mine took a lot of work. It was too late for
mi madre.
The doctor could only do so much outside a hospital. He drugged me for weeks so I wouldn't feel pain. We hid there, recuperating before coming to the States.”

The memory is caustic. I am swallowing acid. I want to vomit.

“I'm sorry, Diego. I'm so sorry,” Faith says.

It feels good to get it off my chest. But it hurts, too.”

“My mom is gone,” Faith suddenly says. “Not dead, but she might as well be.”

I reach for Faith's hand. It's warm. Her fingers curl around mine and squeeze.

“She left when I was eight. For drugs.”

Faith glances at me, unbearable pain in her eyes. No wonder she looked at me the way she did when I mentioned the cartel. Drugs were probably the last thing she wanted to hear about.

“She couldn't handle it. You know, life, the pressures of life. Everything was too much for her. Having a child young. The church's standards. Marriage. She never came back. Never called. Nothing. She abandoned us because drugs were everything to her.”

I pull Faith close. Wrap an arm around her shoulders. She rests her head on my chest.

Maybe if we lean on one another hard enough, we can support each other.

“That's why I have to be this”—Faith motions to herself—“fake. It's the only option. Mom almost ruined Dad once. I can't do that to him, too.”

“You won't,” I say.

Faith looks defeated. “Yes, I will. If I slip up, I will. It's happened before, Diego.”

She stands. I push myself up and go to her. She presses a hand to my chest.

“Don't,” she says. “You have no idea. I'm sure you've heard wonderful stories about me going abroad last year, studying all over the world.”

I have. What does that have to do with anything?

“I didn't go abroad. I went to rehab.” Her eyes are like nails, sharp and piercing. “I needed to know what was so great about drugs, why my mom traded us for them. Before I knew it, I was in too deep. The numbness . . . I'm over it now, but I still have to be careful. That's why this thing with you will never work. You could hurt me like she did. I might slip up and want the numbness again. That would destroy my dad. And what would people think of you and me together? It's too much, Diego. That's why I can't kiss you. Not because I do or don't like you, but because I can't take the chance.”

I don't judge her for the mistakes she made. Everyone has scars. If anything, I like her more because she's being real.

I push her hand away and draw her to me. Her only protest is a whimper.

“Trust me,” I whisper, and lower my lips to hers.