I woke up to my hip feeling slightly damp. For a split second, panic shot through me—I thought I'd pissed myself—but as I shifted, I realized it was just sweat. The jump from the cold night air to the heavy morning heat was brutal. Mexico really didn't mess around with that shit.

  'I'm definitely asking tia Victoria about the AC,' I thought groggily.

  I swung my legs off the bed and stood, stretching my arms over my head. My joints popped quietly, my muscles stiff from sleep.

  The oversized shirt I'd slept in slipped off one shoulder, hanging awkwardly from my frame. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror pced near—thin, tired, clothes never quite sitting right.

  I frowned. I look like a whore with my shoulder out.

  I walked over to my suitcase in the corner and rummaged through it until I found a normal shirt—one that wasn't stretched out or half-falling off me. I pulled the old one over my head—

  "Hey Miguel, mom wanted to—OH SHIT!"

  I startled, heart jumping straight into my throat. Instinct kicked in and I turned away, clutching the shirt to my chest as best as I could.

  "Jesus Christ—!" I hissed, quickly pulling the new shirt on.

  There was a beat of silence on the other side of the door.

  "...You can come in now," I called out, exhaling slowly.

  The door creaked open again. Julie peeked in, her face bright red, eyes glued firmly to the wall instead of me. "I'm— I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I heard you moving around and didn't think— I mean—I should've knocked. Sorry. Again."

  I waved a hand dismissively, trying to ease the tension. "It's fine. Really. Just bad timing."

  She ughed nervously, still not quite meeting my eyes, and I felt some of the awkwardness drain out of the room.

  Mornings here were already turning out to be... eventful.

  "So... what's up, Julie?" I asked as I stepped out into the hallway, rubbing the back of my neck.

  "Ah—nothing," she said quickly, a little too quickly. "I just... wanted to talk to you."

  I nodded, unsure what else to say, and followed her toward the living room. I half-expected to see my tia sprawled on the couch watching TV or yelling at the news, but the room was empty.

  "Hey, where's my tía?" I asked, peeking toward the kitchen.

  Julie shrugged. I walked over to the back door and gnced out into the small garden. Nothing. No movement. No Victoria.

  My chest tightened.

  Oh god. No. Don't spiral. Don't spiral.

  Before my thoughts could run any darker, a hand nded on my shoulder. I jumped and spun around—

  Victoria stood there, perfectly fine, holding a bag stuffed with groceries.

  I let out a breath, a heavy one that felt like I lifted six hundred pounds off me.

  "What's wrong, Miguel?" she teased, amused. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

  I dropped onto the couch, rubbing my face. "I thought something happened to you."

  She ughed and headed toward the kitchen. "Rex. I just went to the store."

  I shook my head at myself. Get a grip.

  "Wow, Julianna," a loud voice suddenly chimed in from the doorway, "who's that cutie?"

  I looked up and froze.

  A woman I'd never seen before stood there—short, overweight, squeezed into jeans that looked one wrong breath away from splitting. She didn't wait for an invitation. She marched right over and plopped herself down next to me, way too close for comfort.

  She leaned in, grinning, tossing out flirty comments in rapid Spanish—half of which I barely understood, the other half making me deeply regret understanding any of it. "Wanna eat pancakes off my cunt?" Was the worst one.

  I stared straight ahead, stiff as a board, wondering if I could legally melt into the couch.

  "Hey—hey—HEY," Julie snapped, suddenly stepping in. "Rosa, knock it off. Get up. Out. Now."

  She grabbed the woman by the arm and practically dragged her to the door, shoving her outside before smming it shut.

  Silence.

  Julie turned back to me, sighing. "Sorry. That's our neighbor, Rosa. She swears she's irresistible, but turns feral the moment she sees a man."

  I just shook my head slowly, still processing what the hell had just happened.

  "...Mexico's wild," I muttered.

  Julie ughed, and for the first time this morning, so did I.

  -

  (Julie pov)

  God, the second Rosa walked in and started flirting with Miguel, I felt something ugly twist in my chest. Something hot and sharp.

  It was wrong—so wrong—but I hated it. I hated the way she looked at him, the way she leaned too close, the way she acted like she had any right to take up his space. My hands curled into fists before I even realized it.

  And then my mom touched his shoulder.

  That was worse.

  I knew it was ridiculous. I knew it was innocent. But my heart didn't care about logic, and my brain sure as hell wasn't helping. All I could think about was hands on him, eyes on him, people taking pieces of him that weren't theirs.

  I didn't want to feel like this. I really didn't.

  But the feeling was already there—dark, loud, demanding—and it whispered the same thing over and over again:

  Mine.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I sat down next to Miguel and slid my arm around him, pulling him just slightly closer. The moment I did, something inside me settled.

  This felt right. This felt perfect.

  Like I was putting something back where it belonged.

  "What do you want for breakfast?" I asked softly, smiling at him. "We can get you anything... just say it, Miguel."

  I watched his face carefully. He looked a little uncomfortable, a little tense—but I understood. Of course I did. After everything he'd been through, closeness probably scared him. He wasn't used to gentle anymore.

  That was okay. I could teach him.

  I could be patient. I could be safe. I could heal him from all the damage she'd done.

  He thought for a moment, eyes unfocused, then said, "Hmm... I could do some chiquiles."

  Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  My smile widened. "Great pick," I said quickly. "I know someone who makes amazing chiquiles. Like, life-changing."

  I pulled my phone out, already typing. "Let me message them real quick."

  As I did, my arm stayed firmly around him.

  And I didn't let go, I didn't want to, not even for a second. But then...

  "Can you let go a bit? I'm getting a bit uncomfortable..." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, and it cut through me like a knife.

  I looked at his face, the slight frown creasing his brow, the way his eyes avoided mine. My chest ached seeing him like this, so fragile.

  I loosened my grip, my arm still resting lightly on the couch cushion, brushing against his back, a small connection I couldn't bear to break completely.

  "Thanks, Julie..." He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders rexing just a fraction. "I'm gd you understand... especially with all the stuff that's happened." His words hung heavy in the air, and my heart shattered all over again.

  I could still hear his trembling voice from a week ago, the way he'd stumbled through the story of the gang rape he went through, his voice breaking every second through the voicemail.

  The memory of his pain was a physical thing, cwing at my insides. He was so broken, so damaged, but I could see the pieces of him still there, waiting to be put back together.

  And I knew, deep down, I could fix him. I had to. I'd be the one to make him whole again, no matter how long it took.

  Cause I loved him.

  ———

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