Page 40 of Before the Storm

I took a breath and looked around, trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe I needed to go back to the city, if only temporarily. Talk to someone, anyone. But the moment I stepped foot anywhere close to my home, my father would know that I was there. Because that man had eyes everywhere.

“¡Eugenio!” my mother had screamed that night when I was in my early teens. There was a loud bang—the front door, I assumed. I was perched on the edge of the couch, a game console beeping in my hands. The sound startled me, and the game flashedGame Overon the screen. I heard her footsteps go up the stairs, and then a door opened with force.

“What thefuckdid you do?” she yelled. She wasn’t a screamer at all. She was a stern talker, her words cutting like a knife. It was a big difference to how my father operated both in and out of the house, where screaming was his norm. Indiscriminately. Another bang that made me jump on my seat.

I stood, walking over to the staircase to see if I could make out what they were talking about, but all I could hear were faint mumblings behind closed doors. I tiptoed my way to the second floor, standing close enough to their bedroom door so that I could hear but far away enough so that I could scurry into my room quickly in case they came out.

“She ispregnant!” my mother roared. I heard a noise, followed by what sounded like the back of a chair hitting the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?”

“Graciela,” he said, the name coming tersely out of his mouth. His voice was raspy, like he had just lit one of those disgusting cigarettes and taken a drag, the smoke leaving with his words.

“I can’t believe you.” Another bang, something crashingagainst the floor. Maybe one of those chinoiserie vases they collected that were probably worth more than a month’s salary for any of the help. I flinched at the violence behind the door. “She’s the fucking help.”

Who were they talking about? What was happening?

I knew my parents weren’t happy. It was so obvious to me. I didn’t have a point of comparison because I was hardly allowed to go to any of my classmates’ houses. It was to and from school exclusively. And the breaks were long and lonely.

“The fucking help!” she shrieked. “You couldn’t fucking keep your dick in your pants.”

My eyes widened.Oh no.I wasn’t supposed to be listening in on this conversation. This was exclusively an adult conversation; I knew as much.

I turned on my heel to head towards my room, but the floorboard creaked under my foot, making a loud, echoey noise in the big upstairs hallway. I froze, hoping my hasty movements hadn’t elicited any of their attention. Instead I heard another vase crashing to the floor, and one of the tiny pieces slid under the door and into the hallway where I was standing.

This fight was much more violent than any of the other ones they’d had. I usually stayed in my room, far away enough from their room that I couldn’t work out any of what they were fighting about. Usually it had something to do with my father’s antics or behavior, but never like this.

I panicked, not knowing where to go. “¡Graciela!”myfather roared, and a small whimper came from my mother in response.

“No me toques,”she cried. I could hear a faint grunt coming from their room. “Stop it,” she said. I blinked, trying to think what to do.

There were footsteps coming from behind the door, but my body wasn’t reacting. The knob moved slowly, the door opening in slow motion in front of me. I spun on my heel and went inside the hallway closet, shoving my body against the old coats that were hanging there. It was stuffy, and it smelled faintly of mothballs.

“Eugenio, come back here,” my mother yelled in return, steps retreating into the room. The door remained open by the sounds of it because I could hear much more clearly than before.

“What the fuck is your problem, Graciela?” he drawled, his voice loud and commanding. “You don’t even give a fuck about this.”

What wasthis?I squinted, trying to rack my brain and figure out what was happening. Then there was a loud bang that made me flinch in the dark.

“You don’t even care about your son. Why would you care about someone else’s baby?”

Me?Oh no.

“Biggest mistake of our lives,” he spouted. His jaw was clenched. It was obvious to me, even without being able to see him, because his voice sounded different, strained. Buthe said it with conviction. Like this was a conversation they’d had hundreds of times before.

As the weight of his words hung in the air, I felt a sudden tightness in my chest, like an invisible fist was constricting my lungs. The familiar cadence of his voice now carried an ominous tone, a warning sign of the impending storm that was about to engulf me. The walls of the closet started caving in, my breathing erratic and heat rushing up my body. I knew they didn’t care much about me, their political careers their priority. But the biggest mistake?

My pulse quickened, a rapid drumbeat echoing in my ears, drowning out the sounds from outside the closet. It was a visceral response, my body’s reaction to the sudden shift in the conversation—the confession hitting me like a train straight through my chest. The air around me felt thick, sticky around the edges and unable to get into my body, laden with unspoken truths and the burden of this—apparently—well-known secret.

I started breathing erratically, a desperate attempt to draw in air that seemed to elude me. The temperature in the closet soared, a surge of heat coursing through my veins like molten lava mixed with frozen icicles. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and my vision blurred, the boundaries of the small space distorting and warping before my eyes.

The room was swallowing me whole.

“Oh no,” I whispered, the words escaping my trembling lips and darkness finallyengulfing me.

“Fran?” A soft voice made me jump. Lucía was standing in front of me, one of her hands squeezing my bicep in that intimate way. “What’s going on?”

I stumbled into her, my arms wrapping around her body instantly. She relaxed, one of her hands rubbing up and down my back in soothing motions. I could feel tears forming in my eyes, so I closed them to keep them there, hoping, praying she wouldn’t see me panicking. She had seen it before, but nothing like what had just happened in broad daylight in the middle of the town square.

“Let’s go home,” she whispered in my ear, her body moving me slightly, pushing me towards the house. I let her go, undoing my hold on her. She took a step back, linking her fingers through mine. She crouched and grabbed my phone from the ground, tucking it in the back pocket of her jeans.

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