Her face is softly lit by the moonlight flooding in through the cracks of the wooden shed. Her expression is easy, relaxed. A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips in her sleep and he thinks for a moment that maybe this is the most beautiful he's ever seen her. The frowning face that has so long been a landmark on her features disappeared the moment they left the compound, replaced by a wide smile that only faded as she drifted off to sleep. Freedom is a good look on her, he thinks.
Her entire life has been a series of traumatic events. From the tragic death of her mother and abuse from her father to the imprisonment by her older brother and the betrayal of her trust by none other than himself, the poor woman has had it rough. Johnny grimaces at the thought of just how much strain he must have put on her.
She stirs lightly before settling, sighing and drifting. Her eyelids flutter, showcasing her long, dark, lashes. To say Lucia is beautiful would not even begin to describe her. She is fascinating, gorgeous, bewitching. But that isn't all she is. Lucia is intelligent, brave, and funny; her smile lights up a room like the sun does the sky. She is trustworthy and honest, caring and sweet, loyal and true. There's nothing he could offer that would even come close to measuring up.
Johnny can't help but think that he doesn't deserve her. After all, she has a pedigree. She's a Solano. She is the daughter of the leader of one of the biggest drug cartels in all of Mexico. He's just a should-have-been gang banger from the wrong side of town. Lucia is a Capulet, locked up by her last name, and he is a Montague, working his way into their home under a mask.
The screen door makes a harsh noise against the doorframe and Lucia startles awake.
"Shh, shh," Johnny immediately soothes. "It's the wind, baby. We're safe." The Latina relaxes back onto the pile of blankets piled on the wooden floor. "Nobody's coming for us."
"Right," Lucia deadpans with a derisive snort. She knows as well as he does that they won't be safe until they leave the country, and maybe not even then. But they have a solid exit strategy and if they can make it another few days, they'll finally be sleeping beneath the Southern Cross. And that gives them something more powerful than their fear – hope.
Johnny doesn't really have anything to say, so he just sinks down beside Lucia on the ground. He runs his fingers through her hair, distracting himself as she stares at the ceiling.
"Do you ever think we'll make it?" She asks abruptly but not jarringly.
"Maybe," he speaks softly after a long pause, his hands wrapped around her waist and his head buried in her neck. And that's really all Lucia needs— a chance. Lucia is the daughter of a dead man and the heir to his burdens, but with Johnny they all seem a little lighter.
They'll be gone in a matter of hours, leaving no trace. It will be as if they never even existed. After all, if no one is left to miss you, who's to say you're missing?