A/N: I didn't realize how short the last chapter was until I read it... Sorry about that, guys!
Rosalinda was quite intrusive and didn't take no for an answer. Her hands were all over me, and I didn't want her to stop, but logic was putting up a good fight. Guilt and pleasure mixed together to give you this situation right here: a beautiful disaster waiting to be uncovered. We were finally able to pause and her eyes looked glassed over.
She saw my emotions written all over my face. "Am I not to your liking?" She asked in near panic.
I imagined a loud crash of lightening spread through my whole body. I would deserve it. Just kill me! "Rosie, you're perfect."
She let out a quick huff and crossed her arms. "Then, why don't you wish to be with me?"
I sat up on my own and searched my brain to reword my predicament. "Because, I'm not perfect."
"You're perfect for me, Carter Mason." she whispered next to my lips before she connected them once more.
Figures. The one time I meet an amazing girl that is in love with me has to be a hip gyrating, moaning, groaning and ready to go after parts that're gonna be M.I.A.
"Rosie, we..."
"Rosalinda Maria Montoya Fioré!" Her mother appeared in the doorway like some raging demon. She bolted towards both of us, and Rosalinda quickly stood. I fumbled to my feet as graceful as a penguin in the dessert sand. She looked like she was about to explode from lesbian hatred... understandable since her only daughter was straddling a cross dresser. "You!" she pointed her finger at me, and did her best to conceal her spanish from flowing out. If she yelled at me in spanish, I would just stand there confused and she would grow to be a lot more angry.
"Momma, it was me." she did her best to stand between us. "I'm the one who..."
"Enough! I want you out of my country!"
Yes, Ma am!
"This is going to be my country, and once it is I will get Carter back!"
"Go to your father!" she spat, and didn't have to do so twice. Before exiting the room, I saw a strange combination of sadness and determination on her face. I gave her an optimistic smile and ran off to find my dad.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
I left the following morning with a note... We weren't able to even be in the same room. I felt it was the right thing to do. I hope it was the right thing to do. No matter how strong she appeared, I knew she was sensitive, and going through a lot... and I'm just a spoiled American girl who wanted more...
The plane ride was long and boring... and lonely. I would doze off from time to time and imagine her laying with me, or me simply waking up to see her face... My dreams were a lot more PG than my thoughts...
When I was finally home, everything went back to normal... Except I had an entire week on my own. My dad checked in from time to time, and I would ask him how Rosalinda is... apparently, she wasn't doing too well. She misses me, and is quite upset that I'm gone...
The bait shop had the regular customers... same requests, and they would all ask me: why would you cut your pretty long hair, little missy? Ugh. Ever since I was 13, I had these dirty old (and some younger) men hit on me. The only thing that ever stopped them is the sights of my dad. He's a bait shop owner who can take down an evil dictator and bench press a horse! ...a mini horse, but still a horse!
My situation is more simple now: I miss her. I'm depressed. We'll never speak again. I'm content in my depression.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
My hair no longer looked like a Beiber disaster. I mean, my hair is still pretty short, but at least I look like a girl... or a slightly emo boy. Either way, I was still ignored aside from the occasional jokes about my hair... I wonder what they would say if they knew I hooked up with a princess. The story it self is quite unbelievable. Saying it out loud, I still wouldn't believe it. As the days go by, it all just seems like a vivid dream.
This past month, I've gotten so much better with burring my memories and feelings about my vacation fling, but it's still there. Festering. My dreams usually make it difficult. The dreams would just seem so real. I'd be angry for the most part, but that anger just turns to sadness then regret then self loathing then I make myself a sandwich...
My dad hasn't called in the past two days. It's not like him to forget, so it must be business. He would call at least once a day to tell me he's not dead. Day two with no word from him. I'm a tad worried. But that's my dad. He's always all right no matter what trouble he finds himself in. I'll play a game on the computer to get my mind off of it.
Ten p.m. Still no word from him.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Donny dropped by to pick up some bait for him and his dad. They go fishing once a month for bonding time, since the divorce was kind of rough. He got a convertible out of the whole deal, and his very own room in two separate houses. ...He barely knows my name after I was announced "bait girl" in the fifth grade.
I'm not sure what I saw in that boy. He was cute, but how a puppy would be cute. But behind the adorable eyes is still a slobbering animal. I'm not a dog person.
Mr. Johansen sat at the counter and told me his leg is getting worse. It was a little sad to watch him hobble over to the counter and ask for a fresh cup of coffee, then complain about how his diabetes has gotten the best of him... He wallows in his own self pity as he sips his coffee at the counter. I'd give him my pity but why should I give him anything more to wallow in? Mr. Johansen asks for another cup of coffee, and I have to make a fresh pot. I wish he only asked for a fishing pole and just leave. I force a smile to spread across my face before I walked into the dark empty house.
I checked my phone. Still no call from my dad.
The pot of fresh coffee was nauseating. Usually when it has a vanilla smell I can tolerate it, but being around it so often...
"Rosie..." The pot of coffee crashed at my feet, and the searing pain of hot liquid made my brain start working.
"Carter..." I looked over towards Mr. Johansen who craned his neck to see what the loud crash was.
"W-what do you mean? I'm not Carter... Carter is my brother, who is away right now."
Rosie stood, stone faced. Obviously, I wasn't going to win an Oscar any time soon. "I know it's you, Carter."
"I'm not Carter." I gulped.
"Are you all right there, Carter?" I winced. Thanks, Mr. Johansen. You're as helpful as you are happy.
Rosie stared me down. I was caught, and my feet are sticky. "I have to finish my shift, and we'll talk. Okay?" She nodded. "I-I have to grab another pot... I'll be right back. Y-you can wait behind the counter over there." My eyes never left my coffee filled shoes as I grabbed another pot and did my best to try to think of something to say.
She was angry. She has every right to be. I'm pretty sure she's disgusted. Not only by me, but I don't remember seeing a swamp in her country. I don't remember seeing a bayou there either. My clothes were wrinkled, and my breasts weren't wrapped down. I wonder if she could behead me for violating her... well, she violated me, but she was the one who was honest with me.
The next two hours passed by incredibly slow. She sat quietly behind me with one ankle crossed over the other. When regulars would come by and ask me who that is, I would tell them she was my cousin from Iowa. She would politely smile and appear to be very friendly, but I know that she's more focused on me.
Six o'clock. End of my shift. I need to vomit.