Yo La Luna Y Tu Mi Sol / I The Moon And You, My Sun

The More That You Say The Less I know

This chapter was so much fun to write. I really hope you enjoy it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your head was in your hands and you were sitting on the elevator floor, knees up and back against the wall. Miguel was speaking rapidly in Spanish to someone on the phone, trying desperately to find someone who could fix the elevator for you.

"No me importa lo difícil que sea encontrar a un ingeniero eléctrico Peter, trae a alguien aquí ahora! No, Eso es inútil, jodidamente inútil! Cuatro horas? Bromeas? Que me jodan. Mierda! (I don't care how hard it is to find an electrical engineer Peter, get someone over here now! No, that's useless, fucking useless! Four hours, are you kidding? Fuck me. Fuck!)" Miguel growled in frustration and threw his phone onto the floor.

He turned back towards you. "Four hours. Because of the little stunt you pulled, we're stuck in here for four hours." Frustrated fingers mussed through mahogany hair.

You felt your stomach clench with guilt. "I wouldn't have had to pull anything if you would just sit and listen for once!" You countered. You tugged at your collar. It was so damn hot in here.

"You could have just met me later!"

"And risk the chance of you reporting me? I worked too damn hard to get here!" You yelled at him, angry at yourself, angry at him, angry at the situation. It was cramped and stuffy in the elevator, which only added to your frustration.

"Oh please. I'm sure you can just crawl back to whatever silver spoon feeds you," He scoffed, loosening his tie and slicking back ebony hair.

"You keep saying that," You said through gritted teeth. "And it just shows you know absolutely nothing about me."

"Oh yeah?" He challenged.

"Yes, asshole!" You cried out. "I've never been privileged in my life! Do you want to know where I grew up? In a tiny, one bedroom home, with three other siblings, a single mother, and so many holes in the floorboards that I could see the dirt underneath our house!"

He looked as though you had slapped him. You don't know why you suddenly decided to tell him your tragic life story, but you there was no taking it back now. You continued.

"One of my strongest memories from my childhood was being so hungry that I scoured our pantry for some kind of food. All we had was uncooked beans and sugar filled with ants. I was so hungry, I ate the sugar."

Your lip trembled as you recounted your life of extreme poverty, how it affected you, your family– how it pushed you to strive for success so you could provide for them.

"Tell me again how I was fed by a silver spoon." Your voice was dangerously low, promising a thorough tongue lashing. "I dare you."

He remained silent, staring at his shoes in shame.

"This is why I hate you!" You exploded, and he flinched. "You always say the worst things, then when they actually have an effect on people you just stand there, looking dumb! Do you even know how to be sorry? Do you even know how to be wrong?"

"I-I had no idea. I'm..." He groaned and pinched his nose. "I just can't stop saying the wrong thing when it comes to you. Mierda. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." He walked over to you and slid down the wall so that he was sitting down next to you.

"I'm sorry for everything. For earlier. Not just right now." He said, hands on his knees.

"That's a start," You huffed.