1-
it was pouring rain, and you were lying on the street outside el michoacano. someone was digging their boot into your stomach.
each blow hurt more than the last, and you regretted not just giving the boys the money they wanted in the first place. pain shot up your jaw as a shoe connected with it. was this your fault? god no, it couldn't be, but then again, what if it was? you held your head and prayed that they wouldn't hit your face again. hell, you wanted them to hit nothing again. panic coursed through you like a rogue wave and you kept whimpering, begging for them to leave you alone. you wanted them to stop, but beggars cant be choosers now, can they.
somewhere in the distance, you heard a door jingle open, but only barely. the rain was too loud, and your head ached. the ringing in your ears refused to subside, there was only blood mixed with tears and dirt, and a dull ache that pervaded your entire body. a moment later the boys took off, and you realized someone was screaming at them. you cared so little, just wanting to go to sleep, just wanting to close your eyes, make all of this go away. just make all of the pain stop, if even for a fleeting moment. you shifted so that you were on your back, and let the rain pour down on you. the sidewalk had never felt so comfortable and you allowed yourself to drift off.
you heard someone running over, and perhaps that was a hand on your shoulder, another cradling the back of your head, but none of it mattered now, you were going to sleep and no one could stop you. the dark had never felt more blissful in your life.
-
when you woke no more than an hour later, you found yourself in a booth inside the restaurant you presumed you had been outside of when the boys had mugged you. everything hurt, and it took you a moment to process that there was someone tending to a scrape on your arm.
"well, good morning." a voice said, rather cheery for the circumstances. a man no older than forty-five was cleaning off a scrape on your arm with a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol. the sleeves on his button down were rolled up and he had the nicest bit of facial hair you'd ever seen. his hair was well tended to, and you finally met dark brown eyes looking up at you and a smile you couldnt quite pinpoint with any one intention.
instinctively, you pulled your arm back, sitting up more and standing, defensive and ready to run away.
"what are you doing?" you asked. "where am i?"
there were exactly two other men in the restaurant, both sitting closer to the door than you were, and for a split second you worried they might be guards who wouldn't let you out if you tried.
the man put up a hand to reassure you.
"hey, hey, hey, it's okay, we're cool. i picked you up outside. couldn't just leave you lying out there in the rain now could i?" he explained, carefully taking your arm back so he could finish bandaging the scrape, with the same gentility someone treats a startled puppy. you let him. he continued speaking.
"they weren't very nice to you, those boys, got you pretty good. i'll reimburse you for the money they took."
"what? no, that's- that's okay, you don't have to..."
"oh hey, it's no trouble. no trouble at all. it's only right."
"what's your name?" you asked, maybe a little cautious. he stared at you for a second and you could have sworn fifty different emotions and thoughts flashed across his eyes.
"eduardo," he said eventually. "but you can call me lalo."
2-
you'd kept in touch with lalo. he'd given you his number upon your leaving the restaurant, insisting you call him the following day so he could make sure you were doing alright. you made the painful, painful assumption that he seemed to be quite the morally upright citizen.
you called lalo salamanca the next afternoon like you said you would, and then not for another month.
in all reality, you'd meant to call your friend. you'd gone to a bar for the night and the person you'd gone with ditched you for some hotshot with too many shitty tattoos, and you didn't have a ride home. you'd gone to call them to ask to pick you up, but in your stupor dialed the wrong number. it only hit you when he picked up.
"hey amigo do you have any idea what time it is?"
"hello?" you asked, not recognizing the voice on the other side of the line for a minute.
"h- who is this?"
"(y/n). who's this?"
"oh yeah (y/n)! it's lalo. from el michoacano"
"oh fuck me, lalo, god i'm so sorry, i dialed the wrong number. shit man, god i am so sorry." you slurred.
"it's all cool, are you ok? where are you?" lalo asked, suddenly very interested in the conversation.
"nowhere, it's fine. im sorry."
"no, no, don't hang up. are you good?"
" i'm at a bar," you answered. "my friend ditched me, and i need a ride home."
"well- i could pick you up."
"god no, you've already helped me so much, i would hate to bother you again."
"ah it's no problem, where are you? i'll be there in two seconds."
-
by the time he arrived you'd somehow gotten three more shots under your belt. everything was spinning, too hot, and clouded in a drunken haze. to be frank you felt rather gross.
"oh shit, hey!" you said, laughing when lalo showed up. he smiled and squeezed your shoulders.
"hey! i haven't seen you for a while, how are things?" he asked, leading you to the exit. it was absolutely time for you to leave. one more drink and you looked ready to pass out at the bar. you held on to his arm, finding it difficult to walk in a straight line.
he let you.
you leaned close to him. he smelled good, like palo santo and smoke, like sandalwood and bourbon. it made you feel tired, like you were ready to take a nap for a million years.
"well i mean everything healed up well and good, so thank you again for that. um, i just finished reading a big ol' book and my grandma got a new cat."
"a big ol' book?" lalo chuckled.
"yessir, a big ol' book."
"okay well why don't you tell me all about it on the drive home."
-
lalo helped you up to your apartment, and made sure you were through the door in the right flat before even considering letting you go.
"are you sure you're gonna be okay?"
"yeah, i'll be good."
"listen. tomorrow? advil and sleep. you're gonna need it. and orange juice." he told you, setting you down on the couch.
"sounds like a plan, stan." you yawned.
"call me in the morning so i know you didn't die." lalo told you, squeezing a shoulder and heading out.
"okie dokie." but you were already half asleep when you mumbled the words.
when you woke at the ripe hour of 3pm the next afternoon, there was a blanket draped over you and a jug of orange juice sitting patiently on the kitchen counter.
3-
things got worse. a lot worse.
you didn't know if you considered it a relapse, or just a shitty month, but you began to spend the days cooped up inside. leaving your apartment seemed like a death sentence, and getting off of the couch seemed like climbing mount everest.
a lot of days you would wake up and just start crying, not completely sure why.
for every good day there were five immeasurably worse days that followed. you stopped speaking to your friends, and hadn't called your family in forever.
your plants died, and books remained on their shelves, unread, collecting dust.
a lot of time was spent on the couch, zoning out in a slow spiral, sort of like an ant mill, a vortex, following itself around until its inevitable expiration- a product of its own rampant exhaustion.
the last time you called lalo salamanca, it was almost 3am. this time it was almost 4am and you hadn't slept in far too long.
"hey (y/n), lovely to hear from you." lalo answered. he didn't sound tired, so you assumed you hadn't woken anyone.
"hey." you said softly.
"what's up? it's late, why aren't you asleep?"
you began to laugh, but tears got caught in your throat. you wondered the same thing.
"i just...i wanted to say thank you. you've been so kind and good, and i wish i could repay you. it's been really, really nice knowing you." you said, voice shaky. the other line was silent for a moment that lasted forever.
"(y/n), where are you."
"my apartment." you said quietly.
"doing what." lalo asked, his voice soft but serious.
"nothing. im not doing anything, lalo," you whimpered, staring at the bottles on your coffee table. "i have to go."
"no-" he started, but you'd already hung up on him.
-
there were flashes of memory burned into your head. you remembered falling asleep in the tub, and you remembered the door breaking open.
you remember someone forcing you to throw up, shouting at you in spanish.
"¡¿estas loco!? que mierda, amigo. ¿oh dios que hiciste?"
you remembered someone that smelled a lot like palo santo carrying you to their car, and you remembered the light from street lamps floating over the car seats as lalo drove far too quickly to the nearest hospital.
-
after that, you saw lalo a lot more. he checked in on you frequently, and called you every few days. at first, he would just sit with you and speak. he told you about cooking and travelling, you would talk about the things you were reading and funny people you'd seen at the grocery store. eventually, he would bring coffee, and help you clean your apartment.
"if you do the laundry, i'll do the dishes." he would compromise after learning how much you hated doing dishes and by god, you hated doing the goddamned dishes.
things didn't get better quite yet, but they slowly became more tolerable. you could breathe again. there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel, faint and difficult to see, but certainly visible.
it was safe to say that through it all, as morbid as it was, you'd found a friend. lalo salamanca became your companion, a break from all the craziness.
many a time he would spent nights at your place, watching tv, or some other shitty movie that was playing at 2 in the morning. half the time you woke up sprawled out on the couch with one another.
things were ok. bearable.
4-
there was a farmer's market not far from where you lived, and on a sunny saturday morning, lalo appeared at your front door for his weekly visit, more or less pimped out to go shopping for fresh peppers and tomatoes.
"querido, i think we're gonna be the two snazziest people there." he smiled, giving you his elbow.
the thing was, you were both dressed very nice. decked out in fun patterns and colour, the sun shone down on you both the entire way there.
the market, naturally, was buzzing with people and filled with amazing scents ranging through every food type and group.
"we should make sandwiches for lunch." you suggested, wandering past a deli section.
"oh, good idea." lalo agreed, nodding. "we can get fresh bread and i think there's a lady here who sells her own avocado's."
when it came time to buy the bread, you reached into your pocket to grab your wallet, only to find with abject dread that it wasnt there.
"man, are you serious?" you frowned, groaning. "i think i left my wallet at home. god, that sucks balls. i'm sorry, i think i still have bread in the cupboard?" you told lalo, frowning.
"oh hey it's no big deal. i've still got some change."
"lalo, you don't have to."
"it's okay, really! i'll just take half the loaf for myself, and we'll use the rest for lunch. how does that sound."
it sounded pretty damn good.
you raced home like school children, screaming when you ran through a puddle still hanging out on the sidewalk from the rain the night before.
"fuck you, you got my best shirt dirty!" lalo yelled.
"you can wash it at my place!" you screamed after him, not giving up the race for lalo's poor darling shirt.
he cussed at you relentlessly when you got inside, but the grin on his face as he spoke never wavered in the slightest, and he teased you the entire time you made food for lunch.
they were the best sandwiches you had ever tasted.
5-
it was 3:42 in the morning and you'd only been asleep for an hour when hushed voices at the door woke you.
it had taken you forever to fall asleep in the first place, tossing and turning in bed for hours on end until eventually lalo had come in to lay down with you, hearing the frustrated groan all the way from the living room. only then had you been able to drift off, knowing for sure that you weren't alone.
upon waking up you found yourself alone in the bed, and lalo absent from the bedroom altogether.
rubbing your eyes, confused, you shuffled out into the living room. the stove light in the kitchen was on and in the dim glow you saw lalo's silhouette in the doorway talking to another man.
"i told you never to show your face here," lalo said to the stranger. you paused, frowning at the seriousness in his tone. he never sounded like that with you. with anyone. "so you're gonna leave, and you're gonna leave all this mierda with don hector, bolsa and eladio as far as fucking possible from this place."
"there was a shipment that arrived last night. where were you?" the stranger replied. you didn't recognize his voice. you stayed still around the corner, part of you knowing it was a mistake to be listening in on this at all.
"fuck your shipment. god knows theres enough crack on this earth without the cartel dealing it. and fuck you for telling me what to do. have a little trust, amigo."
"tell that to your boss when he finds out youve been ditching meth drops. you're a wanted man, eduardo. soon it won't just be for fring. don't let this happen again."
in the blink of an eye, the guy was gone. quietly, lalo shut the door.
turning like orpheus to eurydice at the entrance to the overworld he found you standing behind the couch, eyes round and wide with fear.
lalo looked crestfallen.
"¿aye yai yai, mi querido, qué has hecho?"
1-
it had been exactly two weeks since you saw lalo talking to a strange man at your apartment in the middle of the night.
he hadn't mentioned it, and every time you tried bringing it up, he shut you down.
he wasn't the same, and for a while you didn't see or hear from him.
you passed the days like you used to before you'd even met the man. you did your work, cleaned the house, and passed the time as best you could. nobody knocked on your door, or left strange calls, and after a few days you had already forgotten about the odd occurrence to begin with.
lalo showed up, as he so often did, at nighttime. this time though, he had no dvd, no snacks in tow, not even the rare board game. just a smile that even after months of knowing him, you still couldn't quite pinpoint. it was 11pm, and he lent you his elbow.
"let's go on a drive. i wanna show you something." he said gently, softly.
you took his arm and he led you out of the apartment building, sliding his hand down to hold yours as you walked to the car.
"what are you doing? are you ok?" you asked, frowning a bit, taking his hand back.
"i'm fine. im just...grateful, i suppose, to have a friend as wonderful as you. come on, get in the car, i think you're really gonna like this."
the two of you drove for a while, not stopping for gas, coffee, or food.
you drove for two and a half hours straight, without ever slowing down.
you drove far, far out into the new mexico desert, or rather- lalo drove far, far out into the new mexico desert. you had no clue where he was headed. it was quiet, not even the radio played.
quietly, you joked, "lalo, we have to drive back too, yknow that?"
he flashed a smile in the dark, but did not respond.
at some point, he decided that you were far out enough, and stopped the car in the middle of the dead, sandy road.
he sighed, looking over at you.
"alrighty. we're here." he said, coming over to your side of the car to let you out. you stretched, muscles cramped from the drive, glad to finally be able to walk around.
it was almost pitch black.
almost.
you felt someone wrap their arms around you and recognized lalo holding you close.
"hey man, what are you doing?" you laughed, but hugged back, shivering.
it was cold this far out.
lalo salamanca pulled back and pressed a long, affable kiss to your temple.
"thank you for the time you've shared with me." he told you.
"yeah...that's what friends do." you said, never the wiser.
"now look up." he whispered.
the sky was filled with stars and you drowned in them like you'd just fallen into a pool and you didn't know how to swim.
one sip of the universe got you drunker than any alcohol you could have ever dreamed of.
you were breathless, mouth agape, staring up at the night sky, eyes darting a million different ways.
it was ineffable.
there were millions of them, and you could swore you saw blues and purples streak across the galaxy. a comet, thousands of light years away, darted across your vision and you exhaled a laugh.
too many stars to count had always been a reality, but too many stars to see? that was something new all together.
you were speechless and silent, absolutely tripping on the sky, so much so that you didn't notice lalo drifting further and further away from you.
his face was cold and plain, as if he didn't even know who you were. as if the gun in his hand, and his finger on the trigger didn't matter at all.
because really, it didn't. at the end of the day, in the grand scheme of things you were just a risk.
a risk that didn't work out.
and even in the near pitch black lalo salamanca was still a perfect shot.