Valentin and Rojo | ✓

twenty-five (2nd draft)

Adriana

I remembered this morning in vivid detail. It was one painful morning.

"Princesa, come on. It's almost Christmas. You love Christmas." My father softly said. He was leaning by the doorway. I had refused to leave my bed. I've been refusing for three weeks. "I'll buy you whatever you want. Just tell me."

"You can't buy what I want." I mumbled against my pillow. I was wearing Xavier's hoodie. Unfortunately, it no longer smelled like him.

"It all comes back to him? Han pasado tres semanas." My father said. He was acting as if three weeks was a sufficient amount of time to suddenly be okay. I needed three years, not three weeks.
[its been three weeks]

"It's going to take a little longer than three weeks for me to be fine." I mumbled. I was resisting the urge to snap. I loved my father, I always will. But, in this moment in time, I couldn't bear to even look at him without feeling angry.

"Princesa... what can I do? I've apologized."

I turned my body to face my father and I sat up. "Yes I know, but you're not sorry," he raised an eyebrow. I elaborated. "You're sorry that I'm heartbroken, but not that he's gone from my life."

He walked over and sat at the foot of my bed. "Can you blame me? You think I was happy to find out that the person I trusted with my daughter's life was..." He didn't even want to say the last words.

"You didn't even take into account my happiness." Oh no, here came the tears. "You were so blinded with your own anger that you didn't even consider how I would feel." I sniffled.

"I know boys like him. He was going to break your heart. Look at you now! You haven't left this room in weeks. I was trying to spare you from this pain." He was on the verge of yelling.

"He was never going to break my heart! He cared about me! He loved me!" I shouted and immediately started sobbing. I had never raised my voice at my father before.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. He roughly ran his hand through his hair. He got up, but to my surprise, he didn't leave. He sat down next to me. He pulled me into his chest. I had no more fight in me. I just had my face buried in my hands. The sleeves were soaking up all my tears.

For the past three weeks, I had only cried the first day. That was all I did. I cried and cried and cried. Then after that, I didn't. I forced myself not to. I sulked around with a blank, emotionless expression plastered on my face. I was bottling up all my emotions.

So today, I just let loose. All my sadness, all my anger, all my rage poured out of me. I was crying, no not even crying, sobbing profusely into my father's chest. There was no doubt in my mind that you could hear it from all parts of the apartment.

"I'm s-sorry. I-I didn't mean to yell. It's just t-that..." I couldn't even finish my sentence as I started to sob even more.

My father rubbed my back and tried to calm me down. His arms were wrapped around me, but I didn't have the strength to hug him back.

"Luciana! Come here please!" My father called, still holding me.

In an instant, my mother was inside my room. "What's going on?"