Page 22 of The Crowned Garza
Sheer embarrassment is what made me tell him I wanted to leave—without him. For so long, I’ve been in heat like a bitch with a swollen vulva, desperate for cock, yet when the time came, I couldn’t handle it. All my tough talk, thinking I’m ready for the world, thinking I’m “grown”… I’ve never felt like a naive little girl more than I do right now.
Unwelcome tears blur my vision, but I hang my head and try to hold them back. I’d managed to keep a brave face in front of Dom, but I don’t wanthimto see me break down either.
Hell, I don’t even know what possessed me to call him.
Who I really need right now is my person, Sunny. But she’s almost three thousand miles away. I can’t go to her, crawl in bed, curl up beside her, and cry about how pathetic I am. In times like these, I resent her for being so damn far away. Because then I do nonsensical things like callhim.
The people in my life have no concept of boundaries, are meddlesome, pushy, and don’t understand the definition of privacy. Especially with me being the “baby.” Anyone I called would’ve immediately known something’s off with me, assault me with questions, and just not leave me the hell alone.
Excepthim. The mean saint.
He’s uncaring and disregarding of me enough to not give two flying turds about what’s going on with me, inadvertently providing me the same level of warmth-less detachment as Sunny would.
For seven months, I’ve upheld my end of the bargain and only called him when I really needed help. The last time I needed his help was five months ago. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve inhaled this comforting fragrance of lies, deceit, and guile. It envelops me like a warm hug from an old friend.
Why does the mystery of him give me comfort? Why does his duplicity soothe me? Why does my body like being close to him? He’s creeping fire, and I’m a dried twig prostrated in his path, eager to be licked up by his flames and dissolved to ashes on his tongue. And still, all I feel when I’m in his presence is…placidity.
As expected—and appreciated—he doesn’t utter a word the entire drive home. Not even to scold me for breaking the terms of our deal by calling him when there’s no evident problem.
When we’re outside the condo, the lights are on inside. Even though it’s almost two in the morning, Mom’s apparently still up, no doubt binge-watching Turkish dramas again. I can’t face her right now, and there’ll be no getting past her.
“Can I—” My voice is a hoarse, crackly mess. I clear my throat and try again. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Come again?”
The harsh, clipped tone of his voice almost makes me wince.
Since my tears haven’t reverted back into their ducts like I’ve been forcing them to do for the last forty minutes, I keep my head lowered, hiding behind my curtain of curls. “Mom’s up. And I-I just don’t wanna be home right now.”
Toughen up, T. You’re not this person. You’ve never been a whimpering crybaby. Stop it!
“Not my problem.”
He’s so cold.
“Santo—”
“Don’tcall me that.”
“Saint—”
“That either.”
“Please,” I whisper.
After several beats of silence, he says, “Piccola regina…”
When did I get upgraded fromregalitàtoregina?
“Stop hiding. Look at me.”
Stupid, stupid tears. Why won’t they leave? “I’m not hid—”
“You’re Tillie Garza. Lift your head, look me in the eyes, and talk to me like the undaunted rebel you are.”
Must he always be like this? Was he shown no warmth at all as a child?
Clearing my throat again, I dab my fingers under my eyes to dry away the unbidden and unwanted salty liquid, then lift my head and look over at him.
