Page 76 of Guarded

“Ari!” he calls after me, and I ignore him.

“Really, you’re mad at me? I’m not the one buying you a dress that looks like it escaped a Mormon cult,” he continues while following me into the kitchen.

I let out a sigh while I open Guapo’s cat food and set it in the bowl.

“And what would you prefer I wear Nero? Leather chaps? You want me to dye my hair black? That’s your type, right?” I exclaim.

I knew better than to let Shawny’s words get to me, but I couldn’t help it. My insecurities were pulling me in every direction. I was always made to feel like being myself was either too much or not enough.

Why does it have to be so complicated? I just wanted people to accept me as I was, for my future husband to love me for me. But love was a rarity in my world. So, right now, I need to focuson performing whatever duties are expected of me, even if it means wearing this hideous dress.

Nero doesn’t say another word to me as he walks out the door. I feel this heavy weight emerging in the center of my chest. I am doing my best to push down the feelings and be an adult. Constantly remind myself that this is nothing more than sex.

I’m out here fighting feelings while he’s persistent about putting up walls. He constantly lets me know where we stand, that this is temporary, and he can’t love me.Blah, blah, blah.

Nero doesn’t have the right to be mad at me because I have duties to fulfill. He also doesn’t have the right to be jealous of Preston Cuevas for being a decent gentleman when I am a distraction.

I’m proud of myself for standing on big girl business, but I won’t lie. There’s this anticipation I feel when I hear the doorbell. I look out the peephole, and any excitement from thinking Nero has returned is washed away when I see Genesis standing outside the door.

My best friend stands there in baby blue plaid pants rolled above her van sneakers, a black tube top, and her short black nails clenched around her peace offering.

“I brought you some pan dulce,” she says with an awkward smile when I open the door.

“Are they vegan?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the bag in her hands playfully.

“No, Flaca, they were made with the tears of tortured animals, just like you like.”

I smile at her sarcasm and jump to embrace her. Genesis hates hugs, but that has never stopped me. She stands frozen while I squeeze her tightly before leading her back into the penthouse. I place the pan on the counter and move to make her green tea.

“Hola Hermoso. ¿Cómo estás?” Genesis coos into Guapo, picking him up and snuggling him against her.

I lost focus on the task at hand, watching her like it had been years since the last time I saw her. Only it wasn’t years. The heaviness from our last encounter just made it feel like that. I set the cup of tea in front of her and her eyes soften.

“I missed you,” she says.

“I missed you too,” I reply.

Have you ever loved a broken person? I have loved Genesis through our collective trauma, through her silence, and her withdrawal. This wasn’t the first time she did this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Loving someone who struggles with mental health requires seeing them as a whole person, not just for tiny moments when they are overwhelmed by their problems. I have always enjoyed putting puzzles together because it requires a person to see small pieces as essential to the larger picture.

Genesis was a complicated puzzle for many people. But I saw the broken and fragmented parts of her. I never let those behaviors separate who I believed she was at her core.

The girl who lived to be in the sun, surrounded by flowers, with a sketchbook in one hand and an iced green matcha in the other. The girl who made me head bang to screamo music and made funny cartoon pictures to cheer me up when I was sad. I was not going to let those parts of her fade behind the shadows of her mental struggles.

“It’s happening again. I’m starting to see things.” She whispers.

I don’t need to ask who because we see the same person. The same ghost haunts both our dreams.

“I thought I saw him too, the other day,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

“I was in the restaurant when they started shooting. Nero grabbed me, and we ran through the lobby. I swear I saw him.” I push back the emotions threatening to come up my throat.

I had never told Genesis about my psychosis. Before Nero, I had never told anyone. Afraid they would lock me up like they did to her.

“What did he look like?” she asks.

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