I jolted awake like someone had flipped a switch.

  My chest rose sharply as I sucked in air, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs. For a split second I didn't know where I was—the ceiling was unfamiliar, the room too quiet, too still.

  My eyes snapped around, instinctively searching for Aunt Vicky. But nothing...

  Just Julie's room.

  I shifted under the covers and that's when the cold realization hit me all at once. My legs felt wrong—too bare. I looked down slowly, dread crawling up my spine, and saw it.

  No pants.

  Just my underwear.

  My throat tightened, vision blurring as the weight of it crushed down on me. My hands trembled where they rested on the bed, fingers digging into the sheets like I needed something solid to hold onto.

  "It wasn't... a dream..." I whispered to myself, my voice barely there.

  I wanted it to be fake. Wanted to wake up again—back on the couch, back before the milk, back before everything went wrong. But the room didn't change. The feeling in my body didn't fade.

  This was real. My chest burned as emotion surged up fast and ugly, threatening to spill over.

  "What's wrong, Miguel...?" Julie's voice broke through the silence.

  I flinched.

  She pushed herself up on her elbows beside me, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep and confusion, she'd just woken up too. She blinked at me, trying to focus.

  I swallowed hard, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat.

  "N–Nothing..." I said, turning my face slightly away, staring at the wall instead of her. My breath shook as I exhaled.

  What was I supposed to do?

  Victoria was out there somewhere.

  The thought hit me like a fist to the gut.

  My hands started shaking before I even realized why, fingers curling uselessly into the sheets. My pulse roared in my ears, every sound in the room suddenly too loud, too sharp. My skin crawled, like it was bracing for something that hadn't happened yet—but could.

  Was she waiting for me?

  Was she going to—

  Again?

  My breath came out shallow and uneven, chest tight, lungs refusing to fill all the way. A sick, helpless thought kept looping in my head, cruel and relentless.

  Why me?

  I didn't deserve any of this.

  "Hey—hey..." Julie's voice rushed in, soft but urgent. "Calm down, what's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

  Before I could stop her, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.

  I froze.

  Every muscle in my body locked up, panic spiking so fast it made me dizzy. Her touch wasn't violent, wasn't rough—but it didn't matter. My skin screamed anyway, nerves lighting up like arms, my stomach twisting hard.

  I hated it. I hated being touched. I hated how small it made me feel.

  "Please..." My voice cracked as I pulled away, scrambling off the bed. "Don't."

  I didn't wait for her response. I stood too fast, the room tilting slightly, and staggered over to my suitcase. My hands fumbled with the zipper, clumsy and numb, until I grabbed the first thing I could—shorts. I pulled them on quickly, almost desperately, like fabric alone could protect me.

  I sat down on the floor beside the suitcase, back against the bed, knees pulled in. I stared at nothing, eyes unfocused, breathing uneven, my body buzzing with leftover fear.

  "Miguel..." Julie said quietly. She didn't come closer this time, but her voice lingered in the air. "You can tell me anything. Please... let me help you."

  She didn't know.

  She hadn't heard anything.

  Hadn't seen anything.

  Hadn't felt the way my body had gone stiff when Victoria picked me up.

  I swallowed hard. My throat burned, like the words had cws.

  "Y–Your mother..." My voice shook violently now, each sylble fighting its way out. "S–She... she assaulted me st night."

  The moment I said it, everything colpsed.

  Tears spilled over, hot and uncontrolble, dripping down my face and spshing onto the wooden floor beneath me. My shoulders shook as sobs ripped out of my chest, ugly and raw. I pressed my hands into my eyes, but it didn't stop anything.

  Images I didn't want surged back—disjointed, fragmented. The way my body had gone heavy. The confusion. The feeling of being trapped inside myself, unable to stop it, unable to scream.

  Every sensation came rushing back at once.

  "I didn't want it," I cried, words tumbling out between gasps. "I didn't... I couldn't... I froze."

  My chest hurt so badly it felt bruised from the inside. I curled forward, arms wrapping around myself like that was the only way to stay together.

  "I just want it to stop," I whispered. "I just want to feel safe."

  Julie dropped down beside me, the mattress rising as she lifted off it, This time she didn't reach for me.

  Good.

  I stayed curled in on myself, hands pressed over my face like I could block the world out if I tried hard enough. My chest felt tight, like something rotten was sitting inside me, spreading.

  "I feel so dirty..." The words slipped out broken, muffled by my palms. I couldn't stop crying. Every breath felt jagged, like I was breathing through gss. "I don't know what to do anymore."

  My thoughts spiraled fast, cruel and exhausting.

  Where am I supposed to go?

  There's nowhere left.

  Every pce I ran to turned into the same thing eventually. Different faces, same ending. I was so tired of starting over just to be hurt again.

  "I–I..." Julie's voice trembled beside me, like she wanted to say something important. She stopped herself halfway.

  I didn't look at her. I didn't want to hear it.

  Whatever she was going to say—apologies, expnations, disbelief—I couldn't handle any of it right now. My head was already too full, pounding, buzzing like it might split open.

  "I need some space..." I said hoarsely.

  I forced myself to stand, legs weak, knees wobbling like they might give out. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt, smearing tears away without caring how I looked. I just needed out.

  I stepped into the hallway and then the living room.

  Victoria was there.

  Sitting comfortably on the couch. Watching some loud morning show. Laugh track bring, bright colors fshing across the TV like everything was normal. Like nothing had happened.

  She looked up when she noticed me.

  And she smiled.

  My stomach turned violently, nausea rising so fast I had to swallow hard. That smile felt wrong—too calm, too familiar. It made my skin crawl, like ants under my flesh.

  "Come join me—" she began, voice light, casual.

  "I need space," I cut in, my tone ft and cold. I didn't stop walking.

  I didn't look back.

  I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, stepping outside and smming it shut behind me harder than I meant to. The sound echoed sharply through the house, final and ugly.

  The morning heat hit me instantly, thick and unforgiving. The sun was already high, burning down on my skin, sweat prickling at my neck and back. The air smelled like dust and warm concrete and something cooking nearby.

  I stood there for a second, breathing it in.

  At least out here, no one was touching me.

  No one was smiling at me.

  I didn't know where I was going. I didn't have a pn. My chest still hurt, my hands still shook—but my feet started moving anyway, carrying me down the street with no destination in mind.

  Anywhere was better than there right now.

  I spotted a bench a little farther down the road and dragged myself over to it, my legs heavy like they belonged to someone else. I sank onto the cool concrete seat and stared out at the view stretching beyond the pueblo.

  Culiacán sat there quietly in the distance, sunlit and almost gentle-looking, like it didn't carry the kind of reputation people whispered about.

  It was... beautiful.

  That thought surprised me. The colors, the open sky, the way the city seemed to breathe—it all slowed my heartbeat just a little.

  I wasn't the first man to hurt like this. I wasn't the first to run, to break, to survive. Somewhere out there, countless others had sat exactly like I was sitting now, trying to convince themselves they'd make it through another day.

  The calm didn't st.

  The low growl of engines reached me before I saw anything. I lifted my head just in time to see three bck trucks rolling down the main road. Bold white letters were stamped on their sides. CDS.

  My stomach dropped a little.

  Their lights fshed—not frantic, not chaotic—steady and deliberate, like they owned the road. Like they didn't need permission. The sound echoed off the buildings, too loud for a street that had been alive just minutes earlier.

  I watched as the trucks turned.

  Turned directly onto Julie's street.

  A cold, heavy feeling settled in my chest. Every instinct screamed at me to stay put, to keep my head down, to disappear—but another part of me, louder and more desperate, wouldn't let me sit there and do nothing.

  Something's wrong.

  I stood up, my legs moving before my brain fully caught up. I started walking back, then faster, my pulse thudding in my ears.

  By the time I reached the street, it felt wrong in a way I couldn't expin.

  Every door was shut. Windows dark. No kids running around, no neighbors talking, no radios pying. Just silence—thick and unnatural. The kind of quiet that comes before something bad happens.

  The trucks were already there.

  Parked right in front of the house.

  My breath caught.

  Two armed women stood near the entrance, rigid and alert, tactical vests snug against their bodies, hands resting casually—but not zily—on their weapons.

  Another woman stood in the bed of one of the trucks, elevated above everything else, fingers wrapped around the grips of a mounted machine gun. She scanned the street slowly, methodically, like she was counting breaths.

  I froze at the corner.

  Every part of me wanted to turn around. To run. To pretend I'd never seen any of this.

  But Julie's face fshed in my mind.

  Then my aunt.

  Then the house itself.

  I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and forced myself to move forward.

  One slow step at a time.

  I slowed as I neared the armed women, my chest tight, every step feeling like it echoed too loudly against the pavement. I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to say, or if I was even allowed to speak, but standing there frozen felt worse.

  "C-can I..." My voice came out thin. I lifted a hand and pointed toward the door, unsure, almost embarrassed by how small the gesture felt.

  Both women looked me over—quick, efficient scans—then gnced at each other. A silent exchange passed between them. Finally, one of them gave a short nod and stepped aside.

  They didn't see me as a threat. They were right.

  I pushed the door open.

  The living room hit me like a wall of heat and pressure. The air felt thick, electric, charged with anger that hadn't fully dissipated yet.

  Car stood near the center of the room, posture rigid, her voice sharp and cutting as she spoke to Victoria, who looked small in comparison—shoulders hunched, hands trembling at her sides.

  I couldn't understand everything. My Spanish wasn't good enough. But certain words cut through clearly.

  Money. Information.Locations.

  The way Car said it made my stomach twist.

  "?A quién le diste información?" Car demanded. Victoria froze. Her mouth opened, then closed again. Panic flickered across her face, raw and unfiltered.

  "L-Lo olvidé..." she stammered, her voice barely holding together. "No lo sé."

  For a moment, I thought Car was going to explode again.

  Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly, deeply—forcing herself to calm down. When she spoke again, her tone was lower, controlled, far more dangerous than the shouting had been.

  Then she turned.

  Her eyes nded on me.

  And everything changed.

  The tension in her face vanished, repced by something bright—almost like she was in love. Curious. She took a few steps toward me, boots soft against the floor, closing the distance far too easily.

  I couldn't move.

  Her hands rose and gently cupped my face, thumbs resting just below my cheekbones. The touch was firm but not rough, deliberate in a way that made my skin prickle.

  "Miguel..." she murmured, like she'd known me far longer than she should have.

  My throat tightened. How does she know my name?

  "Chico bonito," she added, her lips curling into a faint smile. It sounded like a compliment. I wasn't entirely sure—but my pulse spiked anyway.

  She pulled her hands away as suddenly as she'd touched me and reached into her pocket. A wallet appeared. She opened it, fingers practiced, and slid out a thick stack of bills. She pressed it into my hands before I could react.

  Ten thousand pesos. The weight of it felt unreal. Heavy yet wrong. Forbidden money.

  I stared down at the money, fingers tightening instinctively, my mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

  Her hands returned to my face, gentler this time. She leaned in close, close enough that I could feel her breath against my ear.

  "I'll be back," she whispered.

  My heart smmed violently against my ribs as she pulled away, leaving me standing there—money clutched in my hands, legs stiff, lungs burning—while the room seemed to close in around me.

  "Vámonos chicas, esta cra no tiene nada más que decir..." Car said coolly, already turning away like the situation was finished, like we were finished.

  The armed women inside moved instantly, boots thudding in unison as they followed her out. The door shut behind them, and seconds ter the low growl of engines filled the street. Tires crunched against gravel, then faded into the distance until there was nothing left but silence.

  I finally breathed.

  It came out shaky, uneven, like my lungs had forgotten how to work properly. My hands were still clenched around the money. I looked down at it, the bills slightly crumpled from how tightly I'd been gripping them.

  "I'll be back."

  The words echoed in my head, looping over and over, refusing to fade. That wasn't a threat. It was almost like reassurance.

  I swallowed hard and gnced up.

  Victoria stood frozen where she'd been left, face pale, eyes unfocused, like she'd just watched her own execution get postponed. Julianna was beside her, rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Neither of them said a word.

  I didn't either.

  I turned and walked down the hallway, my legs moving on autopilot, my body acting before my mind could catch up. I went straight into Julianna's room and shut the door behind me—not hard, not softly. Just final.

  The room felt smaller than before. The walls closed in, the air thick and stale. I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, the money still in my hands like it was glued there.

  My heart was still racing. My thoughts were scattered, overpping, crashing into each other.

  Cartel. Money. Information. Car knowing my name. Her touch. Her promise to come back.

  I dragged a hand down my face and finally said it out loud, my voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

  "What the fuck just happened."

  The words hung there, unanswered, heavy as lead.

  ———

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