Page 19 of Storm

My patience is about to snap, and if this little fucker thinksnowis the time to mess with me, he’s got another thing coming. One step forward, and I freeze when Lucifer’s back arches slowly, his fur rising on end. A low warning growl falls from deep within his chest. Eye contact. That’s what I’ve always felt was important when two creatures are trying to establish dominance, so I unblinkingly lock eyes with his dilated yellow orbs.

“Today is not the day, Satan,” I warn, reaching out to set the pot on the counter next to him. As soon as I release it, this motherfucker bares his teeth and hisses.

We both jerk when the kitchen door slams open and my brother comes barreling in, sprinting straight for the refrigerator. Whipping the door open, I run toward him to catch the bottles about to topple out, Lucifer swiping at me as I pass him.

“Goddamnit, you little shit!” I shout, wincing from the slice he left across the top of my forearm.

“Miri, don’t shout at Tito!” Damián scolds me, fisting his juice box as he moves closer to Lucifer to comfort him. I swear, this cat starts purring and rubbing against him.

Dragging my finger across the blood beading up from my scratch, I shoo them away. “Just take him out of here, please. I’m going to finish up in here and I’d like to do it without worrying about my safety.”

“You just gotta scratch him behind his ears. He loves that.” My brother demonstrates as if I haven’t been fending for my life for years with this cat. Lucifer dips his head and leans into his hand, his purrs growing louder. “See? He loves it!”

ThrowingTitoover his shoulder, the cat narrows his eyes as the two of them leave the room, my shout following them. “Don’t forget to save me some pizza!”

The door shuts without a response. Ignoring my growling stomach, I hurry through the remaining dishes and am wiping down the counters when Ale and Cristián arrive, carrying a pile of empty boxes.

“Oh, thank God. What’s left?” I ask, try to peek into the top box as Alejandro passes by me. “Please tell me you at least saved a few pieces of pepperoni.”

“I thought you already grabbed your slices.”

I drop the lid from the top box and look between the two of them. “Are you kidding me? I askedtwicefor you save me something so I could clean upyourmess in here! There’s nothing left?”

With a shrug, he continues past me to set the empty boxes on the counter next to the overflowing trash can. “My bad. I didn’t hear you. Should have come in when it we got back.”

“Hey!I just cleaned right there! Don’t start stacking garbage back up.”

Groaning, he picks them back up. Cristián hurries to set his empty boxes on top. As soon as my second youngest brother slips from the kitchen to run it outside, Cristián clears his throat.

“Sorry,hermana. We really thought you ate. I would have saved some.”

Waving him off, I bite my tongue to lash out, but we both know they’re dicks when my stomach growls loudly.

After another throat clearing, he adds, “I’ll take out the trash. Sorry again. Kitchen looks real nice.”

I open the fridge and only manage to find a few string cheeses in one of the drawers. It’ll have to do. Deciding to say fuck this day, I pick my way through the living room, refusing to pay any mind to the mess they’ve left in here after devouring the dinner I paid for.

Papá is passed out in his chair with his mouth hanging open, so I cover him with a throw blanket, then find the futon couch in my old bedroom. It was very quickly turned into a storage space when I moved out, but at least they’ve kept this here so I have a place to sleep.

In the dark, I lay on my back and stare blankly at the ceiling. The last four days run through my head, and I force myself to roll over onto my side and shut my eyes when I feel them well with tears.

I love my family, but I can’t stay here. I need to go home.

CHAPTER 9

MIRIAM

Rolling out of bed, I scrub the tiredness from my eyes and stretch. I never sleep well at home, especially now when my only place to lie down is on a twenty-year-old lumpy mattress.

There’s no holding back my groan when I hear some of my brothers arguing loudly downstairs while sounds of slamming cupboards and dishes being dropped in the sink echo through the floorboards.

Dragging myself from the bed, I toss the threadbare blanket to the side and stand. I’m still dressed in my clothes from yesterday since all my energy was drained last night. Missing dinner minus a few cheese sticks will do that to a girl who’s normally capable of eating half a large pizza herself.

I adore my family, I truly do. They mean the world to me, and I’d take a bullet for each and every one of them, butfuckdo they make it hard to come over here. If I could just visit and hang out, I’d be much happier to take the time off to travel here. But since my mom skipped town and papá handed the figurative keys to the house to me — the dishtowel — I’ve been the “woman” of the house ever since.

Taking care of my brothers was a full-time job. From the moment I woke until I went to bed, I was busy completing highschool, driving them to practices, appointments, helping with homework, and doing diaper changes… God, the diaper changes were never ending.

Another crash followed by a scream of outrage, Damián by the sounds of it, has my shoulders hunching up to my shoulders instantaneously.

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