Page 45 of Love at First Ink

His body gravitated toward hers, lowering himself on the couch next to her. “Princesa.” He pulled her closer.

She whimpered but didn’t argue. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a princess,” she murmured weakly.

Cisco elected to ignore her. “Snowball is home and safe. It’s not your fault she got out.”

“It is, though. I left the window open,” she replied miserably.

“But not with the intent of Snowball getting out. She’s safely back where she belongs,” he assured.

“I can’t take care of her. I can’t keep her safe.”

“Of course you can?—”

Marisol pulled out of his grip and jumped to her feet. “Just stop!” she screamed, giving him pause. “You don’t understand what you are talking about. You don’t get it!”

“Then make me get it!” Cisco was on his feet, closing the distance between them. “What don’t I understand?”

His heart broke at her pained expression. She was wearing her heart on her sleeve, and it was crumbling right in front of them. Her cries were no longer those of anger, but of deep-rooted sorrow. He knew this darkness. Hell, he had been in that darkness and fought his way out. He wasn’t completely free of it, but he held the reins now.

“I’m not a good person?—”

“Bullshit.” His anger flared, but he tamped it down the best he could. Not anger at her, but anger that she couldn’t see shewasa good person.

“It’s not!” she cried, her voice rising, edged with desperation. She was spiraling, sinking fast as the darkness threatened to consume her. But he was there. Steady, unwavering for her. He would catch her, hold on tight, refusing to let go, no matter how many times she tried to shove him away.

“Why aren’t you a good person, Marisol? Huh? Tell me.” Cisco reached out for her, expecting her to pull away. She looked like a frightened caged animal, ready to bolt. When his hand gently wrapped around her wrist, she jerked back.

And came undone.

“Because I can’t take care of anyone! I was meant to take care of her, but I didn’t. I would rather look away and ignore it because it’s easier for me,” Marisol shouted.

He had a feeling they were no longer talking about Snowball. This went deeper. Snowball was just the final straw.

“Who couldn’t you take care of?” he asked.

Marisol was already pacing, no longer looking in his direction. She was lost in her own head, fighting her invisible demons.

“I constantly let my sister go up against my mother alone. I should have been the one to protect her. To stand up for her! It was my job as her older sister to be there for her. But I wasn’t. I chose cruelty because I didn’t want to face the things she was going through with our mom. It was easier being the favorite, molding myself into the person Mom wanted me to be. No matter how much I hated it.

“So, you see why I shouldn’t have ever brought home an innocent animal that relies on me. I can’t take care of people because I’m fucking selfish and entitled. I’m a horrible person, Cisco. You need to get out before you get tangled up with me. You should go.” The last words were barely more than a whisper, but he heard them as if they were shouted.

He didn’t know she had a sister or that her relationship with her mother was troubled. But hearing it now, something inside him just clicked. His understanding of Marisol—the way she acted, spoke, constantly looked uncomfortable in her own joy—it all made sense now. She didn’t think she was deserving of those things.

She was wrong.

Wordlessly, Cisco took her hand and pulled her out of the living room. “Where are we going?” she asked, confused, but didn’t fight him.

Cisco didn’t answer. He brought her into the bathroom and flipped on the light. As expected, her bathroom was pristine. No dirty clothes or wet towels cluttered thefloor. It smelled of lavender, and a small candle burned brightly in the corner. Unlike the rest of the house, this room seemed untouched by the hurricane of emotions from this morning.

“Here.” Cisco brought her in front of the mirror, tilting her chin up with his finger so she was looking at herself in the reflection.

Marisol’s usual perfectly styled hair had been hastily thrown into a bun with strands sticking up everywhere. Her sweats were too big, and her shirt had a coffee stain on it. It was far from her normal put-together look.

And yet she had never been more beautiful. Puffy eyes, runny nose and all. She was gorgeous.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” she asked, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes darted around the room, probably wondering when he’d let her leave. But he wasn’t going to let her leave until she realized how hard she was being on herself and acknowledged how hard she was working on becoming better.

“The woman in the mirror,” he came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, “this is the woman you’re mad at. The woman you claim is an idiot and not worthy of good things because of the mistakes of her past.”

---