Page 7 of Nocturnal Sins
“Sorry, no refunds. I guess I’m just a late bloomer,” I reasoned.
“Clearly.”
“Oh, I was supposed to make brownies. Shit.” I rushed over to the pantry and started to pull out ingredients.
“You have a horrible mouth,” Santana laughed.
“I learned it from you, okay?” It was the truth too.
“Me? You’re blaming me for your foul language?” He shook his head disapprovingly and I flipped him off.
If there was anyone I could be myself around, it was Santana. He understood me better than anybody else in the world. Our bond was crazy.
“Yes, and you know why.” I measured out flour, sugar and cocoa powder before turning to him with a smile that I could barely contain. “When I was five and I had that cute teddy bear that recorded what I said then played it back, you took it and recorded yourself cursing. When I told you I was going to tell Mama and Papa you told me to go ahead because you didn’t give a fuck.” I paused at the memory and smiled a little before pouring oil into my measuring cup.
“It was the first time I’d seen you be rebellious and dark,” I remembered with a thick knot in my throat. That moment was when I realized I liked taking a walk on the wild side.
Well, I was five so I didn’t even know a wild side existed. Hearing my big brother curse like that made me tingle with something I couldn’t identify. “I wouldn’t say it was dark. I was just bad as fuck.” Santana laughed and it lit up his handsome face.
“It was dark for me as a five-year-old,” I laughed too. I stirred together the ingredients and inhaled the sweet smell of cocoa.
“There’s nothing wrong with being dark though. If that’s who you are, what’s wrong with embracing it? Fighting it will only get you in trouble. Don’t ever fight who you really are inside, Sammie.” His words held more weight than I expected. I paused in my stirring and let the sound of the whisk scraping the sides of the mixing bowl fall away.
Something pushed the air from my chest. I turned to look at my brother, my lips parted with the plan of speaking but nothing came out.
“That’s why I got kicked out of school. I ignored who I was. Don’t make that mistake, Samira.”
“What happened?” I asked him. My voice was a hair above a whisper.
“I was being reckless on campus,” he said vaguely.
“What the fuck happened, Santana? I don’t want the PG-13 version. Cut the shit.”
“I was selling weed and molly,” he admitted. I don’t know what I was expecting butthatwasn’t it. I blinked at him as if it would force his words to elucidate themselves. It didn’t.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I chuckled, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You? My brother?” It wasn’t totally outside of the realm of possibility. Santana had never been the straight and narrow type of kid growing up. That was my job.
Or at least it was on the outside.
Inside, I was jealous that my brother had the freedom to be a problem child. Meanwhile, I always went with what was status quo so I didn’t make waves in our calm family ocean.
Still, I never pictured Santana Alvarez selling drugs and on campus no less. After the band-aid was ripped off, the thought made me break into a fit of giggles that had my brother glaring at me. I clapped a hand over my smiling mouth and looked at him.
“Wow, I can’t believe it. More than that, I can’t believe Papa didn’t knock your fucking head off. All he did was yell at you a little then give you a job as grill cook in the restaurant? Like…what the fuck?” Now, that part did leave me scratching my head. It was totally out of character for my father to let anything of that proportion go without some serious consequences.
Santana rolled his shoulders and looked past me, pivoting his body away from mine. “Santana,” I snapped my fingers in front of his face and he blinked back to life.
“Yeah, sorry…Pops is taking it easy on me right now, that’s all.”
“Why though? You got kicked out of school for selling drugs. Do you know how goddamn huge that is? Did he have to get you from jail or…” I stared at him for an answer but all I saw was a cloud of agitation surround him.
“Yeah. He got me from jail.” Every word was clipped and landed heavy on the floor at my feet like birds with broken wings.
“I’m surprised he didn’t leave you in there for a while,” I mused.
“Let’s not talk about Pop, okay?” He huffed and stood up, his tense body inches from mine. I could feel his warmth and smell his familiar scent. He was freshly washed denim and deodorant with the yummy smells of Papa’s restaurant clinging to his white t-shirt.
“What else did you cook? Let me taste.” He made a beeline to the stove and began taking tops off pots and sticking his nose inside. I slapped at him and he shoved me out of the way, making me laugh like when I was a little girl.
