twenty-seven
PLEASE DONT BE A GHOST READER!
COMMENT AND VOTE. IT HELPS US WRITERS STAY MOTIVATED:)
MILA SAT ON THE BUS ANNOYED. Amidst the persistent pressure from her father about her grades, each day seems to unfold as a delicate balancing act on a tightrope of stress. The overarching narrative of her life in the past few months reads like a novel with interwoven threads of tribulations.
Her sister Marisol's frequent hospital visits cast a somber shadow, each occurrence amplifying the emotional toll. Meanwhile, Natasha's uphill battle in the legal field adds a layer of professional turmoil to the mix, forcing her to grapple with the juxtaposition of personal and familial challenges.
Robby's arrival into her world brings not just the logistical challenges of adapting to a new living arrangement but also an additional dimension of emotional complexity. Unearthing bottles of alcohol concealed in her father's closet feels like stumbling upon a hidden chapter of betrayal. The trust she had invested, believing in his commitment to recovery through support meetings, now lies shattered.
The revelation that those meetings were a facade intensifies the emotional tempest within her. As if navigating these turbulent waters wasn't enough, the dissolution of her friendship with Anthony leaves her feeling adrift in a sea of isolation. The absence of a confidant in the face of this intricately woven tapestry of challenges heightens the sense of vulnerability, making each step forward a precarious endeavor.
As the bus made a stop, her eyes caught the captivating sight of a kid swaying to an unseen rhythm, lost in the melodies streaming through his headphones. A gentle giggle escaped her lips, appreciating the uninhibited dance unfolding before her. It wasn't mockery; she found his moves genuinely cool.
However, the ambiance shifted abruptly when Anthony and his clique unleashed laughter at the dancing kid. In response, she rolled her eyes, casting a disapproving glare in their direction. Amidst this social discord, she witnessed the dancing kid reluctantly taking off his headphones, his face clouded with a mixture of frowning disappointment and evident embarrassment.
A wave of empathy swept over her as she foresaw the potential bullying he might endure from Anthony and his friends. Determined to counteract this injustice, she felt a burgeoning sense of responsibility. Recognizing that she was destined to become his ally, she steeled herself for the impending challenges, ready to extend a hand of friendship in the face of adversity.
Stepping onto the bus, he became an unwitting target for Zack's ridicule. "Nice moves, new kid. What do you call that? The loser limbo?" Zack's laughter, accompanied by the chorus of his friends, created an unwelcome soundtrack. Mila's gaze, filled with disapproval, bore into Zack, Marcus, and Anthony.
Her longstanding discomfort with Anthony's association with Zack and Marcus intensified during winter break. What was once a friendship soured when Anthony elevated his connection with them to best friends status. The gradual shift from mere camaraderie to an inseparable bond marked a turning point, ultimately leading to the dissolution of their own friendship. Winter break became a bitter season, witnessing the fracture of what once seemed unbreakable.
Anthony couldn't resist joining in, adding, "No, no, no, no. I think it's called the 'I'm trying not to shit my pants' dance," as laughter echoed among his friends. Mila, fueled by a growing irritation, abruptly stood up, her eyes shooting a laser-sharp glare at Anthony and Zack.
"Shut the hell up, Anthony and Zack! No one finds it funny or cool. Leave the new kid alone before I spill another one of your secrets," she spat out her words, a palpable tension hanging in the air. Mila, determined to shield the new kid from further humiliation, drew a line in the sand, ready to retaliate with information that could turn the tables on Anthony and Zack's mockery.
Anthony's gaze turned menacing as he locked eyes with her. "Don't you dare," he gritted out, a palpable threat in his tone. Undeterred, her lips curled into a taunting smirk, the defiance in her expression evident.
Zack, ever the instigator, smacked Anthony's arm in a playful manner. "You should let her, LaRusso!" he encouraged, relishing in the escalating tension. Anthony, however, responded with a knowing look, silently acknowledging the risky game being played. The bus atmosphere crackled with unspoken challenges and a brewing confrontation, the dynamics between them shifting beneath the surface.
Sharing a revealing anecdote, she disclosed, "He used to wet the bed until last year. There was this time he slept over at my place, and he had an accident. My big sister, Marisol Cervantes, had to help clean the sheets for him." As the words hung in the air, his expression shifted to one of disbelief, prompting a ripple of laughter from Zack and Marcus.
Caught off guard by the unexpected revelation, Anthony, now the center of amusement, rolled his eyes in response. "Thanks a lot, Cervantes," he muttered, sinking back into his seat, a visible flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. The bus momentarily transformed into an arena of shared amusement, with Anthony reluctantly at the center of the spotlight.
A decisive slap echoed through the air as she directed her attention to the new kid in the green sweater. "New kid, green sweater, come sit with me," she declared, her gaze unwavering. In response, he cracked a grin, captivated by her bold invitation. With a sense of intrigue, he walked down the aisle, finally taking his place beside her in the very last back seat of the bus.
As he settled in, a genuine smile played on his lips. "Thanks," he expressed his gratitude, appreciating both the gesture and the company. The bus ride, once marked by discomfort, now carried a newfound camaraderie sparked by a simple invitation and a shared backseat.
Her laughter echoed, breaking the tension. "No problem. If he causes you any problems," she declared, pointing a direct accusatory finger at Anthony before turning back to Kenny, "come find me. I'll kick his ass for you. My sister taught me some effective ways to throw a punch," she disclosed with a sly smile, hinting at a reservoir of untapped strength.
Kenny, registering the offer with a nod, replied, "Sure," a sense of newfound assurance in his response. The camaraderie solidified in that brief exchange, promising a shield against potential troubles on the bus journey ahead.
She lended her hand out. "Mila Cervantes."
He grinned, shaking her hand. "Kenny Payne."
Exiting the bus, Mila nonchalantly leaned against the wall outside the middle school, her eyes fixed on Anthony as he walked past. Without hesitation, she reached out, firmly grabbing him by the arm, and decisively pulled him away from the chatter of his friends. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard, prompting her to release her grip, ensuring he regained his balance.
Cornering him against the wall, Mila's expression turned serious as she confronted him, "What do you want, Cervantes?" The outdoor scene crackled with a charged atmosphere, and Mila's assertive stance hinted at a conversation that was far from casual.
She stood with arms folded, a plea in her eyes. "Don't bully the kid, please. Leave him alone," she urged, hoping her words would strike a chord with Anthony. His gaze met hers reluctantly, a momentary pause suggesting a potential consideration.
The fragile pause shattered as Zack, ever the provocateur, called out, "LaRusso! Come on. Stop making out with your girlfriend." Marcus and Snake joined the chorus of laughter, diverting attention from her earnest appeal. The plea for compassion drowned amidst the jeers, leaving an air of frustration in its wake.
Exasperation flickered in Mila's eyes as she rolled them in response to the absurd accusation. "You think I'm gonna make out with some kid at twelve and a half years old? You're crazy," she shot back, the disbelief evident in her voice. Glancing at Anthony, a mixture of frustration and concern colored her expression.
"What has gotten into you?" she added, her tone a blend of reproach and genuine confusion. Giving Anthony one last withering look that conveyed a sense of disappointment, Mila turned on her heels and walked into the building. The encounter left a lingering sense of bewilderment, and her departure marked the end of the exchange, leaving behind a perplexed atmosphere.
As the day progressed, she found herself on the bleachers during gym class, channeling her frustration into furious scribbles about her distaste for Anthony LaRusso. Skillfully orchestrating her exit from the unwanted activity, she executed a plan to be excused for the day.
Seated with determination, she discreetly approached her gym teacher, weaving a tale about being in the midst of her period. Despite her disinterest in basketball, she used this clever excuse, and the gym teacher, somewhat flustered, granted her a pass for the day. With a subtle triumphant grin, she made her escape, leaving behind the basketball court and the object of her frustration.
Lifting her eyes, she noticed Anthony's gaze lingering on Lia. A quick eye roll conveyed her exasperation. Emitting a subtle 'psst' sound, she successfully redirected his attention her way. Anthony turned, shooting her a puzzled look. "What do you want?" he asked, clearly caught off guard.
With a sly smirk, she offered a piece of unsolicited advice, "Stop admiring Lia. Just walk over to her and make the move. Girls like it when guys take the initiative." Anthony, unimpressed, rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving behind her playful attempt to intervene in matters of the heart.
She shifted her focus back to her notebook, extracting her history book to immerse herself in homework. While engrossed in her studies, she looked up just in time to witness Kenny successfully making a basket. Impressed by his skill, she couldn't contain her excitement, releasing a whistle and a genuine "Woah!"
"YEAH, KENNY!" she enthusiastically hollered, her support ringing out with a spirited hand clap. However, the atmosphere shifted abruptly as Anthony directed a piercing glare at both Kenny and Mila, his nostrils flaring in evident irritation. Zack, passing by Anthony, seized the opportunity to intervene, issuing a stern command, "Come on, LaRusso, you gotta stop that!" His authoritative voice resonated, emphasizing the simmering tension on the basketball court.
Anthony's grip tightened on the ball, but Kenny surged forward, forcefully hitting it straight into Anthony's head. The impact left Mila wide-eyed, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and her mouth agape in disbelief. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed, her unfiltered reaction echoing across the court, while Coach Wilder's whistle pierced through the commotion.
"Hey, new kid! Break it up. Grab the ball," Coach Wilder barked, attempting to rein in the unexpected chaos. As Anthony regained his composure, rising from the impact, he stole a glance at Mila. Her response was a mix of sympathy and nerves, conveyed through a look that spoke volumes, acknowledging the unanticipated turn of events on the basketball court.
Kenny's gaze held a reluctant apology as he walked forward, ball in hand. "Sorry, man, it was an accident," he offered, extending the ball as a peace offering. Anthony's reaction was harsh, snatching the ball violently and dismissing Kenny's apology with a gritted-out "Bullshit."
Mila, sensing trouble, furrowed her eyebrows in concern. Slowly rising from her seat, she watched as terror washed over Kenny's face. With a determined resolve, she dropped her books and descended the bleachers, her steps deliberate and purposeful. Stepping onto the court, she positioned herself between the two, pushing them apart.
"Hey, you two, stop fighting. Give Kenny a break, Ant. You have a game to finish," she asserted, her voice cutting through the tension with unwavering authority. Mila's intervention was aimed not just at diffusing the immediate conflict but also at redirecting their focus to the task at hand—the basketball game they needed to complete.
Anthony's gaze met Mila's reluctantly, and in response to her raised eyebrows, he grudgingly acquiesced, "Yeah. Yeah, all right, Mil," his tone carrying a hint of nonchalance as he walked away. Mila shifted her focus to Kenny, her expression softening into an apologetic look.
"Just ignore him. He's a fucking dick. Like I said on the bus, I got your back," she affirmed, her tone carrying sincerity. She reinforced the promise with a determined gaze, ensuring Kenny understood that despite Anthony's behavior, he had an ally in her.
A pang of hurt reflected in his eyes, revealing the weight of a bad day on his shoulders. Noticing this, she glanced down at his shirt and emitted a small gasp. "Dope shirt! I love that game," she exclaimed, injecting a genuine compliment into the interaction. With a playful wink, she jogged back to her spot, her upbeat demeanor momentarily eclipsed by the awareness of Coach Wilder's disapproving look.
As Mila stepped into her home that evening, post-soccer practice, a sense of anticipation mingled with a touch of weariness. To her dismay, Marisol and Robby were both absent, and the disheartening scene that unfolded before her was her father, sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty beer bottles. Hurt washed over her, an all-too-familiar emotion that accompanied the sight of his struggle.
Natasha, upon witnessing the scene, couldn't hide her disappointment. Her lips curled into a frown at both the mess and her husband's state. Mila, looking at Natasha, found a mixture of understanding and sorrow in her eyes. "You knew he's been drinking again?" Mila questioned, her voice carrying a crack of vulnerability. The revelation hung in the air, exposing a painful truth, and the atmosphere in the room became thick with the weight of disappointment and unspoken emotions.
Natasha met Mila's gaze with a heavy sadness. "Yes. I confronted him a few weeks ago, and... it got out of hand. I can't stop him, Mila. Please don't tell Marisol or Robby about this, okay? Help me clean this up before they both get home," she pleaded, her eyebrows furrowed in a frown of desperation. The weight of the situation hung in the air, and Natasha's plea carried the burden of a shared secret and the vulnerability of a family in turmoil.
A gap widened between Mila's lips as she looked back and forth between Natasha and the motionless figure on the couch. The weight of the situation settled on her shoulders, knowing that Marisol would be deeply hurt if she found out about their dad's return to drinking. "Why is he drinking again? Do you know?" she inquired, her voice tinged with concern and a touch of frustration.
Natasha, offering a helpless shrug, replied, "I don't know," her words laced with a thick Russian accent, emphasizing the uncertainty shrouding their family's struggle. The air hung heavy with unspoken worry and the weight of the unknown.
The door emitted a slow creak, drawing their attention to Marisol's entrance. Mila's throat tightened, and she nervously gulped, sensing the impending weight of Marisol's reaction. As Marisol laid eyes on the disheartening scene, the hurt etched across her face became palpable.
"Oh my god. We—We need to get him help—" Marisol's voice wavered with concern, her instinct to intervene and assist evident in her determined step forward. Yet, Natasha, recognizing the delicate situation, swiftly grabbed Marisol's arm, halting her in her tracks. The unspoken plea in Natasha's touch resonated with the urgency of the moment, signaling the need for caution and a careful approach to navigate the complexities of their family's struggle.
"We can't, Mars. He doesn't want help right now. I tried to get him to go back to rehab, but he wouldn't budge. We just have to wait this out," Natasha explained with a heavy sigh, the weight of the situation evident in her words. Marisol, seeking answers, turned her gaze toward Mila, eyes searching for reassurance or understanding.
Mila, however, stood frozen, words eluding her in the face of her sister's pain. Marisol let out a small, heartbreaking sob and rushed to her room. Mila's expression contorted into a deep frown, her own emotions mirroring the turmoil within their family. Feeling the lump in her throat, she followed Marisol to their shared space.
Collapsed onto her bed, Mila buried her face in the pillow, allowing the tears to flow freely. The room echoed with the weight of unspoken emotions and the harsh reality they were forced to confront.
—
ash speaks!
...currently watch ep 9 of the last of us.
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