A sweet girl who sees the good in everyone.
A grumpy guy who just wants everyone to fuck off.
A chocolate milk accident that's brings them together.
Secrets.
Lies.
A dark past.
What could possibly go wrong? Or right?
Maybe a love story.
Or s...
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Author: This chapter is told like a story. So Enzo is his current age which is 23 and it's told as if he's telling it to Althea not like he's 6 years old and his brother, 10 which is when this chapter took place :)
Italics (slanted letters): Means it's in the past.
♡︎
I remember that day like it was yesterday. It's engraved into my memory. The flames, reaching out to lick my skin. The screams of my mom and my step dad.
Our house was made of stone. Lots of it. We lived in a mansion that sat smack in the middle of acres of land, far from any town or city. It was surrounded by grass and if you walked long enough, trees.
My mom worked in real estate and so did my step dad. They owned a business and were partners, always gone to close deals on houses, leaving me and Declan alone at the house to get up to our mischief.
My mom was from Cuba but moved here when she was really young with her father who I've never met. All I know is that he was hispanic and brought her here when she was two years old.
I've always been a mommas boy, I think. I loved my mom. I loved her so much.
My real dad was a deadbeat and years after him and my moms divorced, my mom got remarried to a guy named Craig.
I never liked him. Not because he did anything wrong but because he just creeped me out and because whoever my brother didn't like, I didn't like either. Declan hated Craig, always making excuses to leave whenever he would come into the room. Walking as slowly as possible whenever we were coming back from town and to the house just so he wouldn't have to see Craig.
The day my childhood home went up in flames, I was with Declan that morning. We were playing a little ways away from the front of the house but close enough so my mom could keep an eye on us through the wide window in the kitchen as she baked those blueberry muffins she adored so much.
The window was so big that we could almost see the entirety of the kitchen and by that I mean, we could see our stepdad sitting at a wooden circle table as he sipped on his coffee, paying close attention to something on the newspaper he was reading.
But what I had notice was that he wasn't really paying attention to whatever the hell was on that newspaper. He wasn't even looking at my mom who softly smiled as she moved around the kitchen as she prepared the muffins.
He kept peaking over his newspaper and through the widow, making direct eye contact with my brother who glared right back as he stomped on a twig in the grass, shoving it deeper and deeper with each stomp.
But I noticed something else in my brother eyes which, if you didn't know him or look up to him as much as I did, you would have never seen it.
