🤔🤔

Dakota sat with a blank expression on her face.

The rain was still pouring outside, a clap of thunder shaking the room every once in a while.

Alessandro was sound asleep beside her as she sat up in his bed.

Her heart drummed in her chest, her mind wandering back to the previous weekend.

Flashback

"Mom!"

"Kota Bear? Oh thank God you made it back. I've called all his friends, no one knows where he went. He told them the same story, that he's going to the race."

"Fuck, I can't find anything on his social media either. Did he say anything about going out?"

"No, not at all. Oh God, I can't believe this is happening. Maybe I said something to upset him?" my mom panicked.

"No, no. He wouldn't just vanish like that," I said, trying to calm her down.

It had been almost 4 days since we had last heard from him.

"I'm going to check my old apartment," I muttered, grabbing the old set of keys hanging on the wall.

"Ok, call us as soon as you find something."

I nodded, rushing out of the house.

My old apartment was about a 15 minute drive down the coast. The ocean glittered as the sun shined down on the water.

It was Monday morning, but there was still several people out on the beach enjoying the warm weather.

My hands were clammy as I put my car in park, heading up the set of stairs to my apartment.

I held my breath, turning the key and unlocking the door.

It was eerily silent in the empty apartment. The walls were bare, most of my artwork and decor now set up in my Woking residence.

The echo of my keys jingling bounced off the walls. Sunlight streamed in through the far window which revealed the tiny dust particles floating in the air.

Suddenly, a loud bang caught my attention.

"Emil! I know you're in there! What the fuck is going on with you?" I shouted, my voice echoing loudly.

No response.

Anger filled me as I thought of how much stress and worry he had put my parents through. I stormed over to the door of my room and tried to open it. It was locked from the inside.

"Open up, pendejo! (stupid)"

I rattled the doorknob and suddenly felt the urge to just smash it open. I took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the anger burning in my chest.

"Emiliano!"

"Fuck off!"

"Open. The. Fucking. Door."

"Get out!"

"You can't kick me out of my own goddamn house, asshole! Open the door!"

No response.

"Emiliano, open it. Or I'm calling the police," I warned in a calmer tone.

I could hear shuffling from the other side of the door. the floorboards creaked as my brother moved about. I recognized the familiar thumping sounds of things being shoved into the drawers of my dresser.

I undid the zip of my purse, fumbling to get my phone out. I hadn't even realized my hands were trembling until I tried to unlock my phone.

Suddenly, the door flew open.

"Are you happy now?"

It's safe to say I wasn't prepared for what I was about to see.

My brother stood there. But he didn't look like my brother at all.

His eyes were sunken in, dark bags forming under his eyes. His hair was a mess, it seemed almost matted.

The blue shirt he wore- one that I had bought him for his 17th birthday- hung loosely off his frame.

I had seen him just last month, but he had easily lost 15 pounds since then.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Nothing, Dakota. Just drop it."

I flinched at his cold tone. He never called me Dakota.

"Dakota? Really?"

"That's your name, isn't it? Dakota Marie Sanchez."

"Emil, please for the love of God tell me what's go-"

"And my name is Emiliano Sanders," he interrupted, his voice raising. He emphasized his last name, making my brows furrow in confusion.

"What the fuck does that have anything to do with this?" I huffed, looking around the room.

I turned my attention back to him, only to find him glancing at the dresser drawer.

I glanced between him and the drawer before moving to open it.

"No!" he exclaimed, grabbing my wrist.

I let out a yelp of pain as his nails dig into my skin.

"Emil! Let go!"

"Why can't you just mind your own damn business?"

"Because you're my brother!"

His grip got even tighter, my fingers starting to tingle from the lack of blood circulation.

"Stop it!"

"I'm not your brother, Dakota. I never was and never will be," he spat, a look of hatred in his eyes.

I couldn't help but whimper, tears blurring my vision.

This was not my brother.

"Please, you're hurting me."

That did it. It flipped a switch in him. He dropped my hand as if it was on fire and took a step back.

My brother blinked rapidly and glanced around the room.

I turned swiftly, yanking the drawer open.

Then, my heart stopped.

"What is this, Emiliano?" I asked quietly, my hands shaking violently.

"What?

"This!" I exclaimed, the pills rattling as I held up the bottle.

"Pills! What else?"

"Why do you have these? Emiliano stop fucking around because I'm dead serious right now."

"That's none of your business Dakota. Fuck off," he hissed, snatching the bottle from ny hands and shoving it into his jacket.

I felt bile rise in the back of ny throat.

"Emil, you were clean. For 2 years."

"People change," was all he said before disappearing out of the room.

I stared at the empty space where my brother once stood. Moments later, I heard the front door open.

I rushed out of the room because I knew once he disappeared out the door, he wasn't coming back.

"Emil, wait! Please!"

"I'll be fine, Dakota. Go live your life. You seem to be doing okay. And I'm doing just fine without you," he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the street.

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt the coolness of my damp shirt touch my skin.

It was happening again.

The numbers of the alarm clock on the table glowed red.

03:42

My hands were shaking again. My mind was spinning. My heart was racing.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

Bile rose in the back of my throat as I threw off the bed covers, rushing for the bathroom.

My ears were ringing as I emptied my stomach into the toilet. My hands and skin felt clammy, but I was burning on the inside.

I felt like screaming, crying, like breaking something.

The coolness of the tiled bathroom wall was welcoming as I leaned my head against it.

The lights were off, the only light coming from the lamp outside in the hotels' parking lot.

Emiliano was my lifeline.

My mother died when I was three.

No matter how hard I tried to remember her- even just to picture her face- I couldn't. I couldn't remember a single thing. And it killed me.

I wanted to know what she looked like, smelled like, felt like. What her laugh sounded like. Did she laugh loudly? Or was it a quiet giggle? Did her embrace feel warm and cozy? Or was it safe and peaceful?

Then there was my dad.

My knight in shining armor. My superhero.

I remembered him clear as day.

But it was only one specific day that I could remember him vividly.

A memory that would haunt me forever.

His hands holding mine as we walked along the dirt road. It was hot.

So hot.

The sun had set ages ago, but it was humid and dry. We had run out of water the day before. Food was out of the question.

My shoes were scuffed and covered with dirt. My legs ached in a way I had never felt before.

"Papa, cuánto más lejos (how much father)?"

"Ya casi estamos allí, princesa (we're almost there, princess)."

"But I'm tired!" I complained.

"Papa is tired too, but look do you see that?"

I looked up past the dirt road.

Lights twinkled in the distance. I could make out a body of water, reflecting the shimmering lights.

"Papa, America?" I asked, pointing to the lights.

"Sí," he replied, stopping for a moment.

He bent over, resting his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.

He was exhausted.

Everything after that was a blur.

My next memory of that day was crossing a river.

My shoes that had turned brown from dirt, returned to their original pink color. The water was cold and my socks squished as my father set me back on my feet.

I remember complaining to him. He didn't reply and told me to be quiet. He was listening for something and glanced around wearily.

I remember hearing the sounds of a car and my father pulling me to hide behind a bush.

A large truck drove by, it's headlights illuminated the dirt road in a yellow glow.

Once it was gone and the crickets could be heart chirping again, we hurried across the road.

I remember looking up and seeing it looming over me.

A tall fence made of steel.

My father urged me on, almost shoving me through the tiny space in the fence. He struggled to get through, but managed to squeeze into the small space.

Then it happened.

There was a lot of shouting.

Men came and grabbed my father. Bright lights shined down on us. I was crying and screaming as they tied my fathers hands with a zip tie.

"Papa! Papa! Ayúdame!"

"Te amo, mi princessa!" he called

There was static sounds mingled with words coming from the truck.

The men took me towards the car, but my focus was solely on my dad. He was being dragged back to the other side of the fence.

"Te quiero mucho!" he called, tears streaming down his face.

I was screaming "papa" over and over again.

And that was the last time I ever saw my father before he was deported back to Mexico.

I was thrown into the back of the Border Patrol car. I remember staring out the back window at the US-Mexico border as it grew smaller and smaller until it became a spec in the distance.

The further we drove into California, the father we got from my father and my home.

And suddenly, America didn't seem so glamorous anymore.