*"Guess Who's Back" plays faintly from the next room*
(some previous chapters have been edited; not enough to change anything major. Most of it is sentence level stuff and little details, but you might wanna check out ch6, bc that has the only change worth noting)
"Whatever happened with Deaton last night?" I ask, dropping down onto the bleachers and setting my water bottle on the bench by my side. After breakfast, my leg no longer felt like it was going fall off because of that stupid coffee table, so I told Derek I was going to run. He was welcome to join, but he tried to stop me, I'd punch him in the face again. Because honestly, if I'm not going to be able to use work as a distraction to the shitfest that happened last night, then I need something else. And barring learning that your werewolf bro was almost killed by your little cousin's girlfriend's homicidal aunt, running is a great way to clear your head.
And a clear head is exactly what you need to remember that said werewolf bro had been hellbent the previous night on killing your boss, which, as you might have gathered, is not a fantastic way to get a raise.
Derek, who has changed out of his clearly slept in clothes into his usual running attire before we came to the track, huffs in annoyance and snatches the water bottle away, popping it open with his teeth and downing, like, half of it, the asshole.
"Finishing off my water isn't going to get you out of answering my question," I tell him. "It's just gonna make me more annoyed at you." He narrows his eyes at me, as if thinking over whether it's worth risking my wrath. "Dude, you said you wouldn't hurt him." I make my tone accusing, despite knowing that Deaton is very much alive and well and unaware of how close to death he came, if his voice message from earlier this morning is anything to go by.
"I didn't," he mutters, handing the bottle back out to me - it's much lighter than it had been five seconds ago, but not so much that I would die of dehydration.
"And I am ever so proud of you, Lobito," I tell him. He doesn't seem to know what to make of the name, and so says nothing. "But did you figure anything out? You were so sure Deaton was up to something."
"I'm still not entirely sure he isn't," he says, and I take a drink as he goes on. "But he isn't the Alpha."
I inhale the water, and Derek's eyes go wide in concern as I cough it up, gasping and sputtering. "The Alpha? Deaton?" I shake my head and look up at him dubiously. "Dude, he can't be the Alpha."
"I know that now," he shoots back, frowning. "He never left the clinic yesterday and then you called."
"Not to mention the cats love him," I say before I can stop myself. Derek's expression is one of pure confusion, and it's adorable. It's all I can do to not take my phone out and take a picture of him and send it to Sonya. "When Scott got bit, the cats started hating him. He can't even go into their room without them all yelling at him." I shrug, try to play it off cool. Judging by the look on Derek's face, I have failed spectacularly. "I kinda just figured all werewolves were cat repellent."
"Ares. No." He shakes his head. And wow. Derek Hale's judgement eyebrow game is strong today. "That's not how that works."
"It was a logical guess!" I exclaim, throwing an arm out. He arches a brow.
"Try harder next time."
I throw my bottle at him, and he catches it easily. "Where did you even find that article?" I ask as he drops next to me. "Was it even a reliable source? Was it peer reviewed?" He shoots me an annoyed look and I throw my hands up at him. "Dude, you were, like, ten seconds away from killing my boss last night. I don't even want to know what you would have done it I wasn't there," I tell him, and judging by the way his glaring at the track, the night would have been a whole lot worse. Derek probably would have gone back to jail, and if he had hurt Deaton, his ass could stay there for all I care. "Like, I know finding the alpha is a thing we're trying to do and all, you know," I gesture vaguely. "For the children, but you can't accuse everyone who comments in The Daily Prophet."
He clenches his jaw. "I'm… sorry I went after your boss," he says through his teeth, and I can't help but grin.
"And next time you get a sketchy lead, bring it to your local Mexican to double check, okie doke?" He doesn't see me looking at him expectantly, so I poke his arm to get his attention.
"What?"
I tilt my head to the side. "Okie doke?"
His eyes go wide in realization. "Ares. I'm not saying-"
"Okie. Doke."
He inhales deeply. "Okie doke," he mutters, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "If you tell Scott I said that, I'm going to kill you, I swear to god," he snaps, but there's hardly any truth behind his threat. I nod and stand, raising my arms up over my head and bending back a bit to stretch. My sweatshirt - a relic from my days as a chubby child, and honestly, I should just cut my losses and turn it into a crop top for the summer - rises a bit too much, but you know, the stretch feels too good for me to care.
"Derek Hale," I say suddenly, and he looks up from where he was staring the track intently. I frown, following where he had been staring and seeing nothing of interest. "Weirdo," I accuse, and he doesn't answer. "What're you doing today?"
He looks at me suspiciously. "Why?"
"Wanna learn how to make sugar tortillas?"
He arches a brow.
When Derek gets back to Melissa's house after stopping by his room to clean up, he looks nothing like a person who was brainjacked, got less than three hours of sleep, and went running. He's even dressed like a normal member of society, even if it is just jeans, a Henley and his jacket, which I sadly decided should probably go back to him.
I, meanwhile, no doubt look like a sleep deprived hobo. My hair, frizzed from the hair dryer because Scott is horrible and lost my diffuser, ended up swept up into a bun with more strayaways than bun. Throw in a sweatshirt that I had stolen from Warren last semester and a pair of universe print leggings I forgot existed, and I look like I'm about to show up to an eight am class fifteen minutes late with Starbucks. Still, looking like a sleep deprived hobo isn't going to stop me from enjoying some Gloria Trevi.
It had been decided that Derek Hale was not allowed to choose the music this time around.
"Why are we making these?" Derek asks. Note the we. Because I'm totally making him help. His jacket has been abandoned on a chair, and he stands next to me at the table, tearing at the masa and rolling it into balls just like I had shown him earlier. I'm sure there are more productive things we can be doing, like figuring out what to do about the Alpha, but let me tell you: Derek Hale making tortillas looks as ridiculous as it sounds, but in an utterly adorable kinda way, and it's doing things to my heart right now. And I'm not ready to give that up to go look for a serial killing werewolf.
Meanwhile, Scott and Stiles are sulking in the living room, not allowed to leave the house but refusing to go upstairs, using Melissa's sleep as an excuse.
"Sonya and Warren require that I pay them tribute for leaving them in Texas," I tell him. "So I send them food." I pause. "Also, I feel like Melissa deserves some "sorry for chasing a serial killer" gifts."
"I feel like you making people food to get in their good graces is something that happens a lot," he says dryly.
"My dude, you have no idea," I tell him, rolling the last of the dough into a ball and dancing away from table to turn on the stove and pull out two rolling pins from a drawer. "My food is all I really have going for me in terms of my worth. Even the evil step mother I'm running away from couldn't say anything bad about it, other than it'd make me fat." It all tumbles out before I can stop myself, and I glance at Derek, checking his reaction as I hold out a pin to him. He frowns, opens his mouth, then closes it again as he takes the pin.
"How many times have you gone charging into dangerous situation in the past month to protect Scott?" he asks. "You're practically his Alpha at this point, and human Alphas are unheard of." He shakes his head, as if he can't believe he has to say it aloud. "You're worth more than your food. Anyone who says otherwise obviously hasn't seen you walk into a building knowing there's a rogue alpha in there to save your cousin."
I blink up at him, processing his words, and when they hit, I'm going to absolutely blame the lack of sleep for my reaction.
"That's the nicest thing…" He looks down at me, brow arched before his expression warps in alarm.
"Christ, are you crying?"
"No!" I snap, wiping at my eyes with my sleeve. "Dog allergies, you stupid werewolf." I clear my throat, taking a breath and making a point to not look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him smile and shake his head.
"Are you going to show me how to do this so I don't ruin your tribute?" he asks, changing the subject, and I nod, sniffling one more time before refocusing on the project at hand.
"Okay. So. The thing about sugar tortillas is their diameter is smaller, but they're thicker than normal tortillas," I tell him, sprinkling flour on the table and grabbing two balls and placing them in front of us. "Now watch." I demonstrate for him, flattening the dough with practiced ease. I look up at him and can't help but grin at his lost expression, which turns into a glare at me when he realizes I'm laughing at him.
"You try," I tell him. He huffs, and I watch as he rolls out an awkward oval thing that's a tiny bit too thin. However, it isn't so bad that it'll fall apart, and they all go the same place anyway. "That certainly was a good first try," I tell him, taking it out from under his pin before he can try to fix his mistakes. He scowls.
"This is ridiculous."
"This is fantastic," I tell him, I setting the tortilla away with my own and plopping another ball in front of him. "We'll make a Mexican housewife out of you yet."
He laughs, a real laugh that crinkles his eyes and shakes his shoulders. A full, unguarded laugh, and it's as if the heaven have opened and the sunshine is literally coming out of this asshole werewolf and my heart.
My heart cannot take this abuse.
But because apparently I'm the masochist, I go on.
"Now you just gotta turn up the music and do the cumbia as you make sure you don't burn the tortillas."
"Cumbia?"
I look at him. "Um. Yes? Derek Hale, if you're gonna be spending the day cooking for your man and making him think that he's actually the one in charge, and raising your kids right with the chancla, you need to know how to cumbia."
He snorts, turning his head to hide his reddening face. And I truly feel blessed to be around to witness it. Once he's calmed, he asks, "What's a chancla?"
I gasp, absolutely scandalized. He frowns, likely wondering what he did wrong. "The source of many a latino child's nightmares," I tell him solemnly, dropping my head and giving it a little shake.
"Um…"
I smile up at him and crinkle my nose at him to let him know I was - mostly - just kidding. "It's a sandal," I tell him. "All in one disciplinary tool. There's a video on youtube I saw a while ago about it, I'll send it to you," I tell him, and he nods slowly, as if he's wondering if it's too late to jump out of this partnership.
"You're hard to figure out sometimes," he accuses, and I blink in surprise.
"I was just kidding. Kinda." I frown, wondering if I spoiled his mood. He looks down at me, and suddenly I'm at the end of a very intense werewolf stare. "Sorry?"
"It's not bad," he says, and the intensity of his gaze doesn't waver. "Just…" he struggles to find a word, and ultimately gives up when it doesn't come to him. His expression softens, and before my poor sleep deprived self can fully understand what he's doing, he raises a hand. My breath catches in my throat, and he'd have to be a very deaf werewolf to not hear my heart pick up the pace as he rests his hand on my cheek.
"Derek Hale." It comes out a very unattractive croak. "What are you doing?"
The corner of his mouth quirks up and he moves his hand to brush his thumb over the side of my nose.
"You have flour on your face."
"Jeesuhs!" I jerk away and bring my hands to my face, scrubbing at it with my sleeves. In front of me, Derek laughs. "How long has it been there?"
"At least two songs," he says.
"You ass!" I grab the rolling pin and raise it at him, and he flinches away, still grinning. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?" I demand.
He shrugs, pushing the pin out of his way as he returns to his place at the table. "It was cute," he says, and then goes very still upon realizing what he just said. I blink at him and hope I'm brown enough that the warmth spreading across my face doesn't turn me red. He clears his throat and makes a point to not look at me, and honestly.
"I'm always cute, I'll have you know," I tell him, breaking the silence before it can get heavy and weird. He looks at me, but doesn't say anything. "I am adorable," I go on, pointing at my face. "Look at this. Angelic." I pause. "I mean. Not right now, because I'm running on adrenaline and, like, less than three hours of sleep," I say. "But usually." I shake my head. "We can't all be on the cover of paranormal romance novels, Derek Hale."
He groans. "Oh god, not this again."
I grin at him. "So I'm thinking for a subplot, Fenrir is gonna have to battle a nomadic fairy troupe when they stake claim on his territory."
"Stop talking," he all but begs, but I can totally tell he's loving this.
"And Celine is actually a fallen star."
"Why. Why do I hang out with you?"
"It's because I'm utterly adorable and cute," I tell him, smiling up at him sweetly, bumping his hip with mine. "You said so yourself. No takesies backsies."
"Takesies backsies," he parrots in disbelief.
"Also because I take none of your shit. I'm, like, perfect courtier material according to Castiglione," I tell him, and he just stares at me.
"How do you even know that?"
"Stiles isn't the only one who falls into the Wikipedia rabbit hole," I tell him. "Now. The tortillas."
I should have known better than to think I would go the day without being cornered by Melissa.
"So," she starts, and I pause mid-throw, Scott's jeans balled in my hands above the washer. I glance up at her. She looks tired, but the kinda tired you get when your nap goes on way longer than you mean it to and you wake up not quite knowing what year it is. Her hair is swept up in a ponytail and there are smudges under her eyes, but she's changed out of her scrubs and into comfy stay home clothes.
Derek had left less than twenty minutes ago - after staying for a late lunch and being forced to take leftovers with him so he has something to eat later, because werewolves cannot exist on diner food. The sheriff had come to get Stiles less than five minutes after, and I feel like we dodged a silver, monkshood laced bullet.
Still, I'm pretty sure Stiles is gonna tell and I'm gonna get all sorts of shit about it at work Monday night. But that's besides the point, because Melissa is standing at the doorway of the laundry room looking like she wants to interrogate me.
"Heey, tia," I say, dropping the jeans. She arches a brow, and for a split second I feel like I'm staring at Alicia. I'm reminded that while she doesn't often tap into it, this woman is very much a Delgado, and our clan tends to pop out some… intense women. "Estás enojada?"
She regards me for a second. "I'm a little confused," she says finally, then shakes her head. "Actually, no. I'm really confused." She doesn't raise her voice, but her tone shifts, and it's pretty obvious that she isn't pleased with me. I can't really blame her. "You didn't think calling the cops would be a good idea?"
I drop my gaze and press my hands to my stomach. "Not really?"
"Not really?" She steps in, and I have to physically stop myself from stepping back.
"I was looking for Scott." I pause. Try to collect my thoughts and form a believable lie. "I didn't know anything was actually wrong, and I didn't wanna bother-"
"Ares." Her voice has softened some, and when I look up, there isn't the anger I've grown so used to seeing from Elisa. "Ay, mija," she says, and I can't help but be surprised at the Spanish - it isn't a language she uses often, unless translating at work. "I love how you look out for Scott, I do. But you need to let us look out for you too." I'm not entirely sure to say to that, so I don't say anything at all. She sighs and holds her arms out. "Come on. Scott says you haven't cried or anything yet."
I drop my head back. Narc. "Tia, I don't need-"
"Ares Delgado, come hug me," she orders, waving her hands at me.
"Are we really gonna hug it out in the laundry room?" I ask.
"This is my house, we're hugging wherever I say we're hugging." Unable to argue with that logic, I step around the laundry basket at my feet and walk into her arms. She pulls me close and I drop my chin on her shoulder. "If anything like this ever happens again, you either call me or the sheriff."
"What if you're at work?" My voice cracks, and I inhale deeply to try and reel in the sudden emotions.
"You still call us first." She pulls back, keeping her hands on my shoulders. "Ares, you're not alone here, mija." I open my mouth to argue, but she raises a hand to stop me. "And I know. I know you had Aaron and Alicia back home. But you and I both know Elisa kept them away from you." I can't help the sudden intake of breath at the mention of my dad's wife. "And I know you're still getting used to being away from her. But I'm here for you, and the Sheriff and the boys are here for you too, alright?"
I nod, fighting the lump in my throat. "Alright."
She smiles, dropping her hands. "And apparently your drug dealer is here for you."
The lump disappears as quickly as it had formed. "Drug deal- Oh." I scowl. "Did Scott say something?"
She nods. "He did, but honey." She drops her head to the side. "I saw you guys when I came home." Oh.
Oh shit.
"You - you did?"
"It was adorable," she goes on, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone, and my stomach drops. "I couldn't help it. I took a picture."
"Tia, noo - Ope." I blink in surprise at the picture as she holds her phone out for me to see. The picture in question has Derek and I absolutely dead to the world on the couch. The blanket has fallen into our laps, and I'm practically lying on Derek. He's got his head dropped on mine, getting a faceful of curls.
"If Aaron ever sees this, Derek is going to die," I say finally. I look up at Melissa. "This can never leave this phone. In fact, you should just delete it."
Melissa pulls her phone away and cradles it to her chest, looking offended. "What, no! It's cute. I'm saving it forever," she says, putting her phone away. "What's his name again?"
Knowing I'm not going to get out of this, I decide to just answer. "Derek Hale."
Her eyes light up in recognition. "Oh, I remember that family. Horrible about the fire." She pauses. "He's older than you by a few years, I think."
I frown. "I. I literally have no idea how old he is," I admit, thinking over our time hanging out. From our less than conventional meeting, to the diner and our runs, it never occurred to me to ask. "It's never come up." I shrug. "I'll ask him later."
Melissa arches a brow at me, and while it isn't completely displeased, there's a hint of something. "Uh-huh."
"It's fine," I assure her.
"I'm sure it is," she says, sounding very much like she isn't convinced it is. But she shakes her head and waves me off. "Go take a nap or something."
I frown and gesture to the washer and drier. "I'm doing laundry though."
"I'll finish. Let me feel useful in my own house. You're my niece, not my maid." She leads me out of the room by the arm. "And I don't want you cooking anymore today. Or cleaning." She stops at the door and looks at me. "You need to relax, Ares. Last night is going to catch up to you and I don't want you passing out in the kitchen. Now get, or I'm grounding you." I blink in surprise as she steps back in the room and closes the door in my face.
Alrighty then.
I stare at the door for a second, collecting my thoughts and trying to process what just happened when a thought occurs to me. Alicia and Aaron both called. Alicia said she hadn't heard from Dad, and Aaron didn't mention him at all, but if Melissa had called them…
"Tia," I call out, slowly opening the door and poking my head in, trying to beat down the panic that has been bubbling just below the surface all day. She looks up from the machines, her initial scowl immediately melting away when she sees my expression.
"Ares, what's wrong?"
I clear my throat - not trusting my voice for a moment - as she crosses the room again. "Did… did you call my dad?" I ask. Does Elisa know? is what I mean.
"Oh, honey," and once again I find myself wrapped in her arms. "No, Ares, I didn't call him," she assures me, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. She pulls away. "I'm not going to lie, I considered it, I really did," she says. "He might be an idiot sometimes, but Manny is my brother, and he's your father, and he still loves you." There isn't a lie in her voice, and I know what she says is true. Just because he happened to marry a horrible human, and then spent all his time at work…
I have long since come to the conclusion that I will make a therapist very rich one day.
"But," Melissa goes on, "I know that he'll just tell Elisa, and nothing good can come from that." I nod. "You alright now?" she asks.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I just…"
"I know." And there's really no way she actually does know, because she doesn't have to deal with teenage werewolves and serial killers, but I need comfort where I can get it. She pats my arm. "Now go take a nap."
A nap is the last thing I need. Being alone is the last thing I need, and I have half a mind to run away to Derek's motel and bother him, but I know that if Scott's being put under house arrest, then so am I.
But if he's under house arrest…
His door is open, and when I knock on the doorframe to announce my presence, he looks up with a scowl. He lays sprawled on his stomach on his bed, his phone in his hands in front of his face.
"I know you were mind controlled last night, and that's plenty reason to be annoyed but what's with the face?" I ask, walking in and shooing him over. He mutters under his breath, rolling over completely once, and I flop down on my back next to him. I close my eyes, inhale deeply and try to let the tension out when I exhale. It doesn't work as well as I wish it would, but well enough that I can push down the emotions Melissa had unleashed with the whole "you are not alone" and "Don't worry about your evil stepmother" speeches.
When I open my eyes and look over to Scott, he's staring at me with something between awe and horror in his eyes. "What?"
"I literally smelled you repression," he states. I draw back and stare at him incredulously, and he shakes his head. "I know it sounds weird, but your scent changed and-" he must see how lowkey creeped out I am, because he stops, for which I am eternally grateful.
"My scent changed?"
"It was a little change, it's hard to explain," he says before burying his face in his crossed arms. "Nevermind," he grumbles, and then his head shoots back up. "And you shouldn't be doing that," he says, narrowing his eyes at me. "It's not healthy."
I can't help but laugh. "Is worrying over people's mental health something all werewolves do?" I ask. "You sound like Derek."
Scott groan. "Don't say that." He shakes his head. "Jesus, what's with you two, anyway?" he demands, and I frown, not entirely sure what it is he's talking about. "He was here, like, all day."
"I was teaching him out to make tortillas." I shrug and extend my arms, reaching my hands up. "I dunno, dude, we were just hanging out."
"But why?"
I drop my arms on my stomach and turn my head to look at Scott. He's glaring at his phone, despite the screen being off. "Why do you hang out with Stiles all the time?"
He makes a disgusted noise. "That's not the same. Stiles is my best friend. Derek's, like-" he struggles to find a suitable word and shakes his head. "And you aren't helping."
I let out a confused laugh. "I'm sorry?"
He mutters something into his arms. "Whatever. Just. Don't bring him around so much anymore. I'm not comfortable around him."
I sigh. Scott's probably never going to be comfortable around Derek, and I can't entirely blame him. Derek did screw up his first impression pretty badly. "We'll do our hanging out somewhere else, then," I offer.
"I'd rather you didn't at all," he grumbles, and before I can remind him who I hang out with isn't any of his business, my phone goes off from where I have it tucked in my waistband. Grumbling about werewolves and their issues with other werewolves, I pull my phone out and unlock the screen to reveal a message from Sonya. I roll on my stomach to avoid dropping my phone on my face, and the bed dips as Scott doesn't even try to hide that he's looking over my shoulder.
BFF5L (1 new message)
your bro texted.
it was weird.
but also kinda exciting.
your brother is hot
(B)
Can you not?
(A)
"Ew, she thinks Aaron is hot?" Scott asks, and while I agree with his sentiment, I don't like the whole reading over my shoulder thing. I glare him. He scoots away, but is close enough to still look over my shoulder, the jerk.
What did Aaron want?
(A)
he wants to know who you were with last night
does this have to do with why you had to hang up last night?
(B)
Scott grins. "Oh, man, Aaron will murder Derek if he finds out he went with you." His brow furrows in thought, and he reaches for his phone.
"I will feed you to the cucuy if you so much as think about telling him," I threaten, and it surprises a laugh out of him and he drops his phone.
"The cucuy? I haven't heard that threat in years."
"The cucuy is serious stuff," I tell him, turning back to my phone. "Always ready to steal naughty children, even if they happen to be werewolves."
I went to go get Scott from the school
(A)
but you went with another human
WAS IT YOUR SERIAL KILLER
DID YOUR CRIMINAL BOYFRIEND KILL SOMEONE
(B)
He isn't a criminal
And he isn't my boyfriend
And it wasn't him
(A)
It was him
And you denied boyfriend second, you like him
(B)
He's my FRIEND
(A)
I already told Elliot you had a badass criminal boyfriend
He got really mad
(B)
"Isn't Elliot the guy you tased?" Scott asks. For a second, I consider not answering him; I don't particularly like talking about Elliot. But it's an entertaining story in retrospect.
"Yeah. He was a loser, and honestly, I dunno what I ever saw in him."
"Did he have money?" Scott asks, and I choke out a laugh. Then pause, and think back to when I first went out with him. He had been charming-as charming as a freshman frat wannabe could be-and he paid for most of our dates, even when we were supposed to split the bill.
"You know, actually, yeah. Yeah, he did," I admit, and Scott laughs, shaking his head. "But a girl's gotta draw the line, and he started acting all cringey."
"And you tased him?"
"After we broke up, Sonya, Warren, and I went to a party and he was there." Scott grins, noting that this is where the fun starts. "This asshole starts talking shit, and Warren-have you met Warren?" I ask. He shakes his head.
"I've heard you talking to him though." He pauses. "He kinda reminds me of Stiles."
I frown and do a quick mental comparison. Shrugging it off, I go on. "Well, Warren can't hold his alcohol at all, and Elliot decides he's gonna try to start a fight with my poor drunk Asian brother."
"And you tased him?" he asks.
"He pissed himself. It was fantastic." I sigh, basking in the memory of the days that followed. Everyone knew Elliot was being an asshole and had it coming, and so the shitty subtweets he directed at us after was well worth it, honestly.
"That's so gross!" Scott says with a laugh. I nod.
"Right? At least you didn't pee yourself," I say, and he nods, grateful for that.
Stop telling people I have a boyfriend, it's gonna get back to my family
(A)
I've only told him
(B)
And he'll tell everyone. And tell Aaron to chill.
(A)
I drop my phone to the side and look to Scott. "Do you think she'll stop spreading these lies?"
He looks to the distance, pretending to be deep in thoguht. "Absolutely not," he decides, and I drop my face into the pillow. "Hey, bright side, maybe if Aaron and Alicia find out, they'll come visit!" The and murder Derek is unsaid but heard.
Demon child. I should have used a stronger taser.
My dudes. I would like to apologize for taking so long in getting this out to you. It was going to be two chapters, but I decided since it takes place on the same day (Thursday, the day after "Night School") I would just mush it together, and so I present to you this monster. I didn't mean to take this long, but I just got hit with some serious block. I've slowly but surely chipped it away, and I have an idea of where everything is gonna fall from here out, but it's still gonna take a minute to get out.
A serious thank you to everyone who's stuck out with this story while on this hiatus and to those who have faved/followed and left reviews. You're the bestest. Welcome to the new followers too, you're also the bestest. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, and as always, point out any spelling/grammatical errors you might catch.
Catch ya on the flip side, y'all
Translations
Chancla - sandal, flipflop, slipper, disciplinary tool
Estás enojada? - Are you mad?
cucuy - the boogieman