A/N: Just a quick and unplanned short story. Probably (3-5 chapters).
And excuse any horrible Spanish. Blame my Puerto Rican-ness. English is my first language and my Spanish ain't that great. If Spanish is your first language or you're really good at Spanish grammar, feel free to help me out a little. I'd really appreciate it. Accent marks are all over the place or not all there. My bad.
"I HATE YOU!" a ten-year-old Mariana yelled at an eleven-year-old Brandon, right before her tears began to well up in her eyes and she stormed up the stairs and into her room, making sure to slam the door behind her. She jumped onto her bed and buried her face into her hands as she cried for a few minutes until she decided to stop.
The little girl saw her book bag lying on the ground and she immediately ran over to pick it up. She opened the zipper and threw all of the books to the other side of the room, one by one, not caring if she made any noise or ripped them in the process. She didn't care if the whole world heard her at this point.
As soon as she saw it was empty, she placed it on top of her bed and began grabbing some clothes from her dresser and throwing it in. But she froze when she heard the door creak open and lifted her head up from the fear. Quickly, she released a huge sigh of relief when she saw it was only her twin.
"Mariana, what are you doing in here?" he asked worriedly. "¿Porque está llorando? ¿Qué paso? "(Why are you crying? What happened?) Jesus asked as he ran over to his sister's side and lifted her chin up so that she'd look at him.
"Me voy. Ya no quiero estar aquí. Lo odió." (I'm leaving. I don't want to be here anymore. I hate him.)
"¿Quien?" (Who?)
"¿Quien vas hacer? El unico estupido que esta aquí!" (Who else would it be? The only stupid one here!)
"¿Qué te hizo?" (What did he do to you?) Jesus asked angrily.
"Nada. No importa." (Nothing. It doesn't matter.)
"Me importa a mi. ¿Te golpeó?" (It matters to me. Did he hit you?)
"No," Mariana sighed and she could feel more and more tears coming down her face. "Me dijo que yo no era su hermana…que esta no es mi familia y debo buscar la mia. Y es la verdad… Nunca voy a ser su hermana y Stef y Lena nunca van a ser mis madres. Quiero ir adónde de mami. Vamos a encontrar la Jesús. Por favor." (No. He told me that I wasn't his sister…that this wasn't my family and I should go find my own. And it's the truth… I'll never be his sister and Stef and Lena will never be my moms. I want to go where mommy is. Let's go find her Jesus. Please.) Mariana begged.
"¿Estás segura?" (Are you sure?)
"Sí,"(Yes.) Mariana answered.
"Si nos vamos… no puedemos volver. ¿Está segura?" (If we go…we can't come back. Are you sure?) he asked again, hoping that she'd say no. The truth was that he wanted to stay. He loved Stef and Lena and even sometimes Brandon, but he'd never leave his sister's side. If she was leaving, so was he.
"A quién le vas a importar?" (Who's going to care?) Mariana mumbled sadly as she closed the zipper of her book bag and threw it over her shoulder.
