Y/N's POV
I could still remember the way I felt back then.
My sweaty skin dripped with despise and envy. Julio stood next to me with his arms wrapped around my torso. We both helplessly watched as our father smiled and kissed my mother, an interaction that almost seemed to never occur in our house. They were both dressed better than they usually were- it was something they would do just before going out to the casino to make a good impression.
My mother held onto my father's arm as he downed one last glass of wine. We watched as the lump of liquid in his throat squeezed down the tube while he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He cleared his throat and then they were out of the door without so much as a glance at us.
I scoffed.
"Hermana," Julio whispered to me. "Where are they going?"
I led my younger brother into the kitchen while I sat him down at the table. The kitchen was a little cleaner because it wasn't ours. It was our Aunt's. We had officially hit rock bottom. We had no money, and no home to call our own. And what were our parents doing?
They out gambling like the selfish addicts they were.
It didn't matter how intense my forgiving nature was, there was nothing my parents could ever do to reverse the damage- to make me forgive them for their wrongdoings.
They could beg and plead and fix up their lives, get sober, find a job- it wouldn't matter.
None of it would be able to save us. Nothing would fix their past mistakes.
And I knew better than anyone that there was nothing they or I could do to help Julio.
I pulled a small teatowel from the hook on the oven and mopped the sweat that had developed on my little brother's forehead. He coughed.
"Don't fix on what they're doing," I told him. "You just focus on getting better, okay?"
Julio nodded once before breaking out into a fit of coughs. He clutched onto the table and shuttered. His knuckles gleamed white from the strain. He coughed for what seemed like forever and I held his head as not to let him fall.
"The- the towel," he managed to say between his fit of coughs and wheezes. I handed him the towel and he coughed into it for a few more moments before it fell to the floor.
I leaned down to pick it up for him, swallowing the lump in my throat at the sight of blood spotting the cloth.
I couldn't help but gaze out of the kitchen window as I held Julio close and thought of my parents. They were no doubt in the south of town right where all of the dirtiest people of the citizens gathered to do dirty things.
They were probably surrounded by hookers and addicts and people who cheated others out of their money. They were probably with their people. They all were unlucky most of the time, but the thing that separated them was that they were probably good people who had to resort to bad things. There was no doubt in my mind that my parents were simply unapologetically evil.
I was jealous of everyone who had a better life than us. My aunt constantly encouraged me to think on the bright side, to think of all of the good fortunes I'd been experiencing. She encouraged me to do so as if my brother wasn't slowly dying beside me. It was as if none of them saw him grow progressively weaker by the day.
"Want some water?" I asked my brother when I turned to look at him. He nodded and swallowed. The boy next to me slumped in his seat. He brushed the back of his hand over his forehead and under his matted curls.
I found a glass in the cupboard and filled it with water. The tap was leaking. I could hear the rhythmic splash of each water drop hitting the base of the sink.
I handed the cup to Julio and watched as he took a small sip, asking him if he felt any better. He gave me another small nod and I wasn't a genius but I knew that he was lying.
+++
I knew jealousy like it was the back of my hand.
I could sense it on Mirabel when we were in a fight, maybe because of my gift, but most likely because I'd felt it so much myself. I could tell that Camilo felt it too, but I couldn't imagine why.
I didn't know why he was upset, and it puzzled me why I was the one who wanted to figure out how to solve the issue. After all, Camilo lied to me.
He promised that he wouldn't pretend to be Mirabel in front of me if he didn't have to. He had no reason to let me apologize to him when I thought he was her. He had no reason to trick me.
I wandered the Casita in search of Camilo, paying no attention to the fact that it was still breakfast time and I could hear my stomach begin to growl. I ignored my hunger for food as I stormed into Camilo's room.
I knew he was there even though he was backstage, I could feel the waves of green jealousy wafting off of him, being amplified by his stage. His bedroom had a theatrical aura, more so than usual. It felt like he was putting on a performance for me with closed curtains.
I couldn't see him, but I knew exactly which play he was putting on and which act he was on.
"Camilo!" I called as I climbed into the stage. I pushed aside the bright red curtains and slipped behind them where I was met with the impact of his emotions.
They hit me like a truck.
I felt my knees weaken. My heart squeezed and it felt like an iron cage was surrounding it and the key was nowhere in sight. I resited it when my eyes teared up and I called out to my friend who was kneeling in front of his costume truck.
He didn't respond and I resisted the urge to march up to him and backhand him across the head for being so damned rude.
"Why are you ignoring me?" I demanded, and it was almost like I was at home again, back in my hometown and pleading to my father.
Camilo gave a little sigh and turned. He was no longer wearing his usual clothes, he was wearing a flowy white shirt with a fluffy collar and leather vest. It was as if he was actually a character in a play. I wondered what character I was playing.
I wanted to yell at him but I didn't know what to say. I wanted to ask him what he was so damned jealous about but the words never came. It had never been so hard to talk to Camilo before, not even when we were practically enemies. At least then, we'd make snippy remarks at each other.
It was silent and I wasn't even sure why I'd followed Camilo in for first place. I should have been back at the breakfast table with the rest of the Madrigals. I should have just minded my business and shoved my face with the tasty-looking mangos that Antonio's bird helped retrieve for us.
But I was there.
I took a little breath before stepping forward.
"You broke your promise," I told him after a while. Camilo gave me a puzzled look like he didn't remember. Like he didn't care.
"What promise?" He asked me. I took another step forward and told him about the one he made on the balcony. The one about never pretending to be anyone, especially Mirabel, around me. It didn't matter who Camilo tried to be, I'd always choose him above anyone else. I liked him above anyone else.
"I didn't mean to do it," he said to me. He stood up then and I felt the strong wall of emotions falter. It cracked.
"Then why did you?" I asked him. He stood there for a while, looking at his feet with furrowed brows. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I knew what he was feeling: longing. I knew because I felt it too.
"You never look at me like that," he finally replied. The answer took me aback.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Like you want me. Like you value me." When I didn't reply, he continued. "You only look at Mirabel like that."
"Of course I wanted her, Camilo," I told him with knitted brows. "But she's not an object. I wanted to make things right."
"And it wasn't your fault in the first place. She treated you like shit and you still wanted to be her friend."
"Camilo!" I gasped. "That's your cousin you're talking about!"
Camilo's face fell and he looked away in shame.
"I don't get what this is all about," I confessed. "I don't get why you feel so jealous. I thought you wanted us to make amends."
"I did," he replied quietly.
"And we did. So what is this?" I asked him. I stepped forward again and tried to relax my body. I tried to show that I wasn't accusing and that I just wanted things to get better. I wanted to understand.
"I've known her all her life," Camilo told me. "We're best friends. She'd do anything for me and I'd do the same, no questions asked." I listened to him when he said, "and then you came."
He sighed and sat down on his trunk, ignoring how a bright silky blue cloth stuck out of it. He ran a hand through the top of his curly hair.
"Mirabel loved you as soon as she met you because you had so much in common. The night you came, she burst into my room and started to gush about you and talk about how cool you were. She talked until my ears practically fell off and all I could think about was, 'wow. I lost her. I lost Mirabel'. "
He sniffed and met my eyes. "I hated you," he said simply. "I hadn't even met you and I hated you because you took Mirabel from me within, like, half an hour." He gave a little laugh and shook his head. I wanted to laugh too. "I was so stupid," he told me. "'Cause I didn't know how great you are and now I don't know what to do," he said.
"About what?" I asked and Camilo shrugged with one shoulder.
"All of it. You see, I managed to get myself in a little bit of a predicament." I urged him to continue and he paused to think over what he was going to say.
I didn't blame him. He was laying himself bare. He was being unusually honest and I couldn't help but appreciate it.
"Now it's not about Mirabel. I know she loves me and will always be my best friend."
"And me?" I asked, to which he replied, "it's all you."
He stood up and said, "all I think of is you." I realized how quietly he was speaking then. Even then, his voice was amplified by the stage, or at least it seemed to be that way. We spoke sternly at first but now our voices were soft and considerate. As if it were really a play. Camilo was certainly poetic with his choice of words.
"What exactly are you thinking?" I finally asked. It was a question I was dying to ask since our conversation started.
At that moment, I hadn't realized how close we were in proximity. He stood only a foot away, and with no hesitation, his hands found their way to the sides of my face. It was a quick motion, but it was gentle and before I could even register what was happening, Camilo leaned close and pressed his lips to mine.