Page 40 of Lourdes & the Mafia
“It’s okay if you’re afraid.” She guides me forward and my legs protest, but her forceful grip leaves me no other choice. Our reflections catch my attention. Her malevolent one behind me, her smile widening until the edges of her mouth look like her face will split in half, sharp teeth flashing. Yellow eyes staring down at me.
I’m enraptured, and I can’t move away.
“I’ll help you with that.”
I don’t even get a chance to cry out before she pushes me forward and into the searing heat of the portal.
Then all I know is pain.
Pain and fear.
And the swirling sensation of falling to my doom.
Lourdes
Ihitthegroundwith a thud, landing sprawled on my back with the wind knocked from my lungs and the sensation of fire flickering across my skin.
I roll on the ground to my stomach, pushing myself up by my palms to a standing position. My nails rake across my skin, but there’s no fire. Only the strange, licking burning feel of it.
When it appears I’m unharmed, I sigh with relief then look around.
Dios mio.
It fucking worked.
The portal deposited me in the middle of a recognizable street of the human world. In Santo Domingo, no less.
It’s dark outside, and humans are milling about. They stare at me, giving me a wide berth on the street. I fight the urge to flip them the finger. My heart wouldn’t be in the action anyway because I’m too ecstatic at being fuckingfree.
Finally.
I start walking, all too aware of my disheveled state and lack of shoes. I probably look like the vagos that wander the streets, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll change when I get to my titi’s house.
I head in that direction, determination nipping at my heels.
I’m going to get to the bottom of this and find out who’s trying to fucking kill me.
My titi’s house sits near the beach, clustered between other small houses. I walk up to the entrance and can already hear the voices screaming inside. I listen closely. No, they aren’t fighting. That’s just how they talk. You can always determine anger or happiness based on the tones of screams.
I push open the front door and walk inside. The memories come all at once. I grew up here with my family and cousins. So many people in a small house meant there was a lot of yelling and fighting, and even though we grew up and moved out, there’s still a lot of that going around.
Some things never change.
The moment I step into the house, I’m pelted in the face with a soccer ball. Square in the fucking face.
“No me jodas!” I rub my nose, my eyes watering as the pain splinters through my forehead.
My cousins squeal with laughter, and before I can retaliate by shoving my foot into their asses, they grab the ball and dart away just as my titi walks in, screaming, “Afuera, niños! Don’t play inside! Mis plantas, joder!” She stops when she sees me, looking me up and down.
My titi is tall and robust. She wears fashionably tight jeans and a blouse with an apron over it. A dish towel is twisted up in her hand and I take a cautious step back. I’ve been on one too many tail ends of dish towel swatting with that damn thing.
“¿Tienes hambre?” she asks finally. “Of course, you’re hungry.” She eyes my thick thighs judgmentally. As if her own aren’t the same size as mine. “Vamo pues.”
That’s it.
No, “Hi.”
No, “How are you?”
