chapter two
infiltrating the Sanchez household
(but in a good way, he promises)
DONOVAN'S BROKEN UP HIS FAIR SHARE OF RELATIONSHIP SPATS IN THE PAST.
Eight years old. Got sick of listening to the neighbor beat up his wife every night. He gathered a bag of loose bricks, marched upstairs, and broke the man's nose. The wife slapped Donovan right across the face and sent him back down to his dad.
Next time he was careful. Twelve years old, and he called the police from a stolen cellphone. He told them all about the a teenage boy had been dragging his girlfriend's body down the street by the back of his truck. When the officers arrived, the girlfriend denied everything. Even as blood dripped down the right side of her face.
He should have learned his lesson. And yet -
"You're the new babysitter?" She demands.
Fuck.
Instead of an awestruck toddler, a woman with soft curves and brilliant eyes stands in the driveway. Her lips have turned white from the cold. A massive pair of glasses sits on her nose. If you liked the nerdy type - which, clearly, her boyfriend did - she might even be pretty.
Donovan nods. The girl tilts her head to get a better look at him. He shifts into the light. Maybe it'll make him seem less intimidating.
"Aren't you a little young to be a babysitter?" She demands.
So she's got attitude. Cute. Donovan's eyes gleam, the silver dancing off his pupils. "Aren't you a little old to be babysat?"
"Right," She shakes her head, curls flying. Donovan gets the sudden urge to grip onto them and force them to stay in place. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound curt. I'm surprised, that's all and... please, don't disclose anything about what happened to my dad. I don't want to him to panic."
"Sure."
"Thanks," She frowns up at him. Whatever she sees, it isn't enough to make her relax. "My name is Ramona Sanchez."
"Donovan."
"Is that Irish?"
"Do you want it to be?"
"I have no preference," She blows out a puff of air. Clouds of silver come out of her lips. "Come on. I'll introduce to you to my dad and brother. My sister is at soccer practice, so maybe you'll meet her next time."
"How old is your brother?" He asks.
"Stefan? Fourteen years."
Though his expression remains the same, Donovan's mind races. Her brother is fourteen. And she's what - seventeen, eighteen? He was expecting a trio of playful kids and a parent too tired to see two feet past his own nose. Easy to impress. Easy to convince.
He's going to need a new game plan.
Ramona Sanchez leads him across the front patio, across the birdbath and miniature waterfall. A pot of dead carnations rots in front of the door. One of the petals swings loose as she opens the door. It lands on the floor below, a streak of yellow. Donovan crushes it under the heel of his shoe on his way inside the house.
"Dad!" Ramona calls, shutting the door. "The babysitter's here!"
"Were you out on the driveway?" Mr. Sanchez responds, shuffling into the foyer. Broad shoulders. An impressive moustache, growing gray. Bags of black under his eyes. "I told you not to go out alone after seven. What were you doing?"
"Griffin came by," Ramona glares at Donovan, warning him not to say anything. He has to repress a smile. "I'll get us a couple of drinks. Don't start the interview without me."
She slides into the shadows of the left hallway, her footsteps fading. Her dad watches her go with a disapproving shake of his head. So there's tension between the two, Donovan notes.
Interesting.
At the same time, another teenage boy sulks into the room. Slightly overweight, with oversized sweat shirt and an annoyed expression, this must be the brother. Stefan Sanchez comes to full stop at the sight of Donovan standing in the entrance.
"Who's this?" He asks.
"Donovan. Remember I told you the babysitter was coming over today?" Mr. Sanchez gestures to the right, where an archway leads to a set of leather sofas. "We can sit and chat there."
Antique rugs. Heated flooring. Three large windows overlooking the front yard. Pictures of large families with smiling faces. Donovan pauses at the one centered above the wood-sourced fireplace.
There's five people. Ramona Sanchez, Stefan Sanchez, and the dad. His eyes lower to a little girl standing in the corner. One of her front teeth is missing. So, this is the youngest daughter, the one at soccer practice. Finally, Donovan looks at the woman standing in the back, smiling. Her eyes have the same intensity of her daughters.
Donovan rubs one finger on the mantle. When he lifts it, dust coats the tip. Crumbs of food and discarded papers lie all over the floor. Nobody's been cleaning up. The dead mom took care of the house, Donovan guesses.
"This is a joke, right?" Stefan complains. He sags against the couch. "This is probably some aphasic hobo that walked up the driveway and let himself into the house."
"Enough, Stefan," Mr. Sanchez offers Donovan an apologetic look before sitting down next to his son. Donovan chooses the armchair, tilting it so they're directly facing each other. "Let's not make any judgements off the bat."
"Am I wrong?" Stefan demands. "He looks like he's never had a job in his life."
"Let me handle this."
"Fine," A red blush rises on Stefan's cheeks when Donovan looks at him. He looks away, but doesn't stop talking. "You're going to get scammed. I'm warning you."
"Alright, Stefan," Mr. Sanchez grits out. So he's frustrated with his kids. Good. Donovan can use that to his advantage. "How is Mr. Han doing?"
"Good. He says he's looking forward to kicking your ass at basketball."
Stefan's jaw drops, but Mr. Sanchez chuckles. "And what do you think?"
Donovan shrugs. "He could work on his passes."
"Finally, somebody who agrees with me."
Ramona Sanchez reenters the room. Her eyes are bloodshot and there are water stains on her shirt. She was crying. Donovan leans back as Ramona sets a tray down on the coffee table. It has three glasses, each filled with an equal amount of water.
"Do you believe his little act?" Stefan demands.
She shrugs.
"You met him in the driveway, right? What was he like?"
"We didn't talk much."
"He has blood on his shirt. Do you know how?"
The little snitch. Donovan glares at Stefan, who flinches. There goes his fucking chances. He waits for Ramona to respond, probably in some way to clear herself. Instead, she shifts, seeming more troubled. Despite their agreement, she doesn't seem to want to defend her boyfriend.
"I see," Mr. Sanchez's gaze drop to the sleeve of Donovan's shirt. "Is that your blood, Donovan?"
Donovan's on dangerous territory. "No, sir."
"Then, whose?"
Donovan gives Ramona a purposeful look.
"Fine," She snaps. "It was Griffin's blood. He sexually assaulted me in the driveway and then Donovan showed up and rescued me. There, I said it. Are you happy?"
Her tone nearly makes Donovan grin, but he keeps his expression cool.
"Griffin did what?" Mr. Sanchez roars.
"How can Griffin molest you?" Stefan snorts. "He's your boyfriend."
"The same way anybody assaults anybody, hare-brained dipshit," Ramona says through gritted teeth. "And he's my ex-boyfriend. Not that it makes any difference."
"You only broke up a week ago, so what's the problem?"
"The problem is that he keeps coming back when I told him not to and kissing me when -"
"He kissed you?" Stefan raises his voice over his father's protests. "I thought you said he sexually assaulted you!"
Ramona's face lights up a rage that Donovan knows all too well.
He can almost predict what's going to happen next. Ramona Sanchez gets so mad that she gets water and splashes it in her brother's face. Stefan gets pissed and retaliates. Mr. Sanchez is so embarrassed that he ushers Donovan out the door and never calls him back again.
Ramona reaches for the glass of water -
Donovan grabs her wrist. Her skin feels small and fragile, the flutter of her heartbeat hammering against his own calloused fingers. "You should calm down."
"I am calm," Ramona snaps, then closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath and all the anger leaves her shoulders. "Ugh. Whatever."
She wrenches her hand from his grip and walks over to the wall. A pressed silence followers her wake. Stefan Sanchez looks like he's going to be sick. But Mr. Sanchez leans back on the sofa, suddenly awake and reluctantly impressed.
Donovan tilts his head to the kitchen, a small smile on his face. "Maybe we should discuss this alone."
"No," Ramona says at once. "I should be here to observe."
"I'm not letting you alone with him, dad!" Stefan cries.
"Enough. Donovan is right," Mr. Sanchez decides, rising to his feet. "This should be a discussion between us. You two have clearly shown you can't handle yourself before company. Go to your rooms. Now."
"Dad, think about this -"
"You can't -"
"Now," His voice rises to a yell. With sour expression and slow steps, Ramona and Stefan climb their stairs.
Donovan's smile widens.
WATER ERUPTS FROM THE FACUET IN A PAINFUL SQUEAK. The bathroom lights pierce Ramona's brain, digging into each crevice and memory. She smells Griffin's breath, tastes his mouth, feels the pressure of his body on tops of hers. Ugh. Ramona splashes the icy water onto her face.
"You're pathetic," She tells the mirror.
The reflecting stares blankly at her, water dripping down its nose and eyelashes. Ramona turns off the faucet and lights, stands there in the dark, and licks her lips. They still taste like Griffin.
Pathetic.
With a tired sigh, Ramona shuts the door behind and steps into the empty hallway. There's a small light by the staircase. Stefan, her brother, sits at the top. His phone lights up his face, but he's busy listening to the conversation downstairs. After a moment of deliberation, Ramona joins him. She can't hear anything.
"Dad's going to hire him," Stefan whispers. "Isn't he?"
"How would I know?
"He is. I can tell."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Do the math," Stefan draws his legs out, their fight from earlier already forgotten. "Let's see. His dad is friends with our dad, so that's ten points in his favor."
"He has piercing and tattoos," Ramona points out. The light from Stefan's phone shuts off, casting them in the dark. "That's minus two points."
"He's got muscles. Strong. Protective. Plus one point."
"Could be abusive. Minus one."
"Said thank you. Plus one."
"Doesn't smile. Minus two."
"Saved you from getting assaulted. Plus three hundred."
Donovan has a stubborn presence to him, forcing you to pay attention to him even if he's sitting in a chair. She was on edge every time she was in the same room in him. The way he glared at Stefan, the way he grabbed her wrist - so intense and calculated. Like he knew was going to get in, all he had to do is figure out how.
Their father was impressed. He thinks Ramona and Stefan need a steady presence. And Donovan is nothing but steady.
"Yeah," Ramona sighs. "You're right. Dad's going to hire him."
Both of them ponder the new development.
"Shouldn't we do something?" Stefan questions.
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
Both of them fall silent as they hear a roar of laughter. Chuckling, their dad reenters the foyer, clapping Donovan on the shoulder. "...thinking about getting one myself. I'm glad you turned out good, son. And you said were alright coming here next Friday?"
"Yes sir."
"Good, good," He strokes a finger over his moustache. "From the way you took care of them earlier today, I don't think I have to tell you this - but my kids can be a handful. Stefan may be louder, but it's Ramona you got to watch out for."
Stefan snorts quietly.
Donovan's eyes flicker upwards, to the spot where they're sitting, and then back down. Ramona blinks. It happened so fast that she thinks she might have imagined it. But then, she spots a small smirk tugging at the edge of his lips...
"She seems like a handful," Donovan says.
"She's incredibly intelligent. Skipped two grades. Vice president of her school. I'm proud of her," Mr. Sanchez pauses at his own words, then changes the subject. "Let me call the kids to say goodbye. Ramona! Stefan!"
Both of them wait a few seconds, as if they were in the rooms. When the appropriate time has passed, they go downstairs.
"So you hired him," Stefan grumbles, pushing past the two of them on his way to the kitchen. "I guess my opinion doesn't mean anything anymore."
"I'll go talk to them," Their dad sighs. "Ramona, please show Donovan his way out."
Ramona and Donovan walk over to the door. When she swings it open, snowflakes flurry in. They land on crushed petals of carnations beneath them. Donovan steps out into the patio, the dark cloaking him like an old friend, and turns back to her.
"Friday," Ramona says.
"Friday," He agrees and disappears into the night.
coming soon: xtreme character development
have you heard of the academia aesthetic? it's pretty fun. here are the four main types. let me know which one you're drawn to:
( classical academia )
( dark academia )
( light academia )
( romantic academia )
personally, I'm partial to romantic. although I guess that's to be expected lol
thanks for reading!!