Chapter 2
1512words
I wiped my eyes with the back of my trembling hand. The tears wouldn’t stop. They never did when I let myself think about them, Mom and Dad. I curled up on the cold floor, back against the side of my bed, surrounded by unfinished paintings.
The air stank of turpentine and damp canvas. My stomach twisted with hunger, but it wasn’t food I craved. It was them.
“I miss you mommy, daddy…” The words left me in a broken whisper.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, they were there. A happy memory flashed in my mind. The sun streamed through our old villa’s kitchen windows, painting everything in warm gold. Mom was laughing as she tried to braid my hair, even though she was terrible at it.
Dad leaned against the counter, holding his coffee, pretending to be the serious critic.
“That braid looks like a bird’s nest,” Dad teased.
“Bryton Escalante, hush!” Mom threw him a glare, but her lips twitched.
“My daughter looks beautiful.”mom said
I giggled. “Dad’s right though, Mom. It’s a nest.”
“Traitor,” Mom gasped dramatically and tickled me until I squealed.
Dad scooped me up and spun me around, his deep laugh rumbling in my ears.
“Tell you what,” he said, kissing my forehead. “When you grow up, you’ll be smarter than both of us combined. No more bird’s nests. You’ll run your own empire.”
“And paint the world,” Mom added, tapping my nose with her paint-stained finger. “Like you always do on every piece of paper in this house.”
“I just… like colors,” I said shyly.
Dad smiled, pride glowing in his eyes. “Then color the whole world, Avaleigh.”
My lips trembled as the memory faded. I could still smell Mom’s perfume, still hear Dad’s laughs. Until darkness completely covered me. The I heard screaming metals crashing into the ground. It feels like a dream.
'It is a dream'
A long, tearing shriek, like the world itself was breaking in half. Then came the crash, a deafening explosion of steel on steel. Headlights shattered. Glass flew through the air like deadly rain. I froze, my breath caught in my throat. Two cars lay twisted in the middle of a deserted highway.
Their hoods were crumpled like paper. Smoke hissed from shattered engines. The sharp stink of gasoline filled the air, mixing with the copper tang of blood.
'I knew that car.'
Even through the wreckage, even through the fire licking its frame, I knew it. My father’s deep blue sedan. The same car I saw when I was only seven. The same night everything in my life changed.
My legs moved on their own. Step by trembling step, I walked closer, heart pounding so hard I could hear it echo in my ears. Tears blurred my vision as I reached the driver’s side window, smashed inward by the impact.
'Daddy… Mommy…'
Both of them were inside. Their faces pale, streaked with blood, motionless, until I saw it. Mom moved. Just barely. Her lips trembled. Her hand twitched weakly against the cracked glass.
“Mom!” My scream ripped from my throat, but no one turned on me, as if they didn't hear me.
“Daddy! Mommy! Please, help them!” But it was as if I was invisible.
The rescuers rushed past me like I wasn’t even there, like I was nothing but air. My sobs grew louder, but no one looked my way. A police officer reached their car, prying the door open with a crowbar. The groan of bending metal sliced through the night.
“Please, save them!” I begged, pounding my fists on the side of the car.
My fingers slid over broken glass. Pain shot up my arm, but I didn’t care. Mom turned her head slightly, blood running from her hairline. Her eyes found me through the shattered window.
“My… baby…” The words were barely a whisper, choked with blood.
“Mom! I’m here! I’m right here!” I sobbed, pressing both palms to the glass, desperate to touch her, desperate to make her see I was alive, that I loved her.
Dad tried to move too, his arm lifting as if to shield her, to protect her even now. But he was pinned under the crushed dashboard.
“My baby…” Mom whispered again. And then her voice broke off.
"I'm here mommy!" I shouted letting her know but as if I'm invisible to all of them.
“No!” My scream tore my throat raw.
I clawed at the door, yanking, hitting it, anything to free them, but my hands passed through like smoke. I couldn’t touch them. I couldn’t stop this. The rescuer leaned into the car, shouting orders, but his voice was muffled, distant, as though I was underwater. He was too slow.
Everything was too slow. And then I saw it. The truck that had slammed into them. The driver’s side door was thrown open, and a man stood there, staring at the wreckage.
His face pale, his hands shaking. Uncle Valerio Montenegro. My heart stopped.
“Uncle Valerio…?” My voice was barely a breath.
He looked at my parents, eyes wide, filled with something between shock and disbelief but not at me. Never at me. Like he couldn’t see me either. And then I heard a laugh from the crowd. High, sharp, and cutting through the chaos like broken glass. I spun around, and there she was. Aunty Anita. Standing on the edge of the crowd, her arms crossed elegantly, her lips curved into a smile that chilled my blood. Her eyes gleamed, not with fear or grief but with amusement.
“No…” My voice cracked as tears ran down my face.
“No, no, no…” She was laughing at them. At me. At everything.
“Stop!” I screamed, running toward her.
“STOP!” Her laugh only grew louder, ringing in my ears, drowning out the sirens and shouts and screeching metal.
“NOOOO!” I bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, lungs burning like I’d been screaming for hours.
My heart pounded against my ribs. My skin was clammy. It was only a nightmare. I sat up in bed, chest heaving. My room was still a mess of paints and canvases, colors splashed across the floor in angry strokes. And then the door opened. My blood froze. Aunty Anita stepped inside, heels clicking against the marble floor. She wore a pearl-gray dress, immaculate as always, her hair twisted into an elegant knot. Her perfume was sharp and expensive, the kind that made it hard to breathe.
“What is this?” Her voice was smooth but laced with venom as her eyes swept over the chaos.
“Your room looks like a pigsty. And these paintings—” she sneered at the unfinished canvases, “—absolutely hideous.” I stayed quiet.
Thou anger is heating up on my chest. “Do you know how much I do for you?” she continued, stalking closer, her voice rising.
“Food. Shelter. A roof over your head. And this is how you repay me? By wasting paint? By embarrassing this family with your… trash?” I stayed silent.
Anita’s gaze sharpened to daggers. “Listen to me, Avaleigh. We will leave for an event. So do not cause any trouble. Do not speak to anyone you shouldn’t. And especially—” her eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a deadly hiss—
“don’t even think about running to your little friend Selene for help. You know what happens if you do.” My blood ran cold.
I knew exactly what she meant. Her threats weren’t empty. I had seen her power, the way she could make people disappear from my life with a single phone call. Anita leaned in closer, her lips curling.
“You’re not a Salazar anymore. You’re only here because I allow it. Try anything, and your precious friend will pay.” I swallowed hard, my fists trembling at my sides.
She straightened and walked out as if nothing had happened, leaving the faint click of her heels echoing behind her. The door slammed.
Funny thing she wasn't like that to me when I was a little.
I can still remember when I was six, sitting on her lap at a garden party, holding a plate of sweets.
Aunty Anita was laughing, tickling me as she whispered.
“You’re my favorite little artist, Avaleigh. I’ll always take care of you.” she said
“You promise?” I asked, wide-eyed.
She kissed my forehead. “I promise. If anything ever happens, I’ll be there for you.” But it was a lie.
When my parents died, I clung to those words.
I thought living with her would feel safe. I thought she’d be the same warm Aunty who used to braid my hair and cheer at my drawings. She braids my hair better than mommy, but I love my mommy so much even if she's trying things she can't just to make me happy.
But now, Aunty Anita wasn't my Aunty Anita I sued to know anymore. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, tears sliding silently down my cheeks. My chest felt hollow.
My once-loving aunt was now my warden.
'But why did I dream about that? What does it mean?'
