“Are you using my Wi-Fi?”
“Yes.”
“Without my permission?”
“Yes.”
Idiot.
A sad smile crosses my lips. I sit down in front of my computer, and the memory of Ares kneeling in front of me, fixing the router, comes to mind. I glance at the window, and I can almost see him. I shake my head.
What’s wrong with me?
Stop seeing him everywhere, it’s not healthy.
With nothing to do, I go on Facebook. Well, not my personal Facebook. It’s a fake one that I created to check on Ares. I know, I’m a hopeless case. In my defense, I created that account a long time ago and haven’t used it since. But now that I’ve blocked Ares from my personal Facebook, I have to use the fake one again.
It won’t hurt me to check his page, will it? There’s nothing to lose. His profile has no new posts, only photos where other people have tagged him. The most recent one is from Samy’s account, as you might expect. In the photo they’re at the movies, and she’s laughing with her mouth full of popcorn while his hand is raised as if he was feeding her. In the post she wrote: Movies with this guy who brightens my days.
Ouch.
My heart gives a pang, but I keep scrolling down. All I see are posts of people tagging him with pictures of the soccer game two weeks ago and congratulating him, telling him how great he is. I roll my eyes. Keep feeding his ego, as if he’s not arrogant enough already.
Taking one last look at the picture with Samy, because obviously I’m a masochist, I close Facebook and go to sleep.
I don’t want to think anymore.
My cell phone wakes me up. I half open one eye and my eyelid trembles with the effort. It’s still dark, what time is it? The phone keeps ringing and I stretch out my hand toward my nightstand, knocking everything over in the process.
I answer without even looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Good morning,” my mother’s voice replies. “Get up.”
“Mom, it’s Sunday. Did I also lose the right to sleep in?”
“I’m not off shift today until after noon, please finish cleaning the house, and get the laundry started.”
“Understood.”
Hanging up, I brush my teeth and go downstairs. The doorbell rings, startling me. Is Joshua back? If he thinks coming to see me every day will get him anywhere, he’s wrong.
The doorbell rings again and, growling, I shout, “I’m coming!”
I really don’t have the energy to deal with Yoshi right now. The doorbell rings again, and I rush to open the door. What hits me first is the chilly air, and then surprise at the person in front of me. It’s the last person I expected to see.
Ares Hidalgo.
My heart skips a beat and starts pounding like crazy. Ares is standing in front of me, looking as if he didn’t sleep a second last night. His hair is messy, and there are big dark circles under his pretty eyes. He’s wearing a white shirt that looks wrinkled and the first few buttons are undone.
A goofy smile forms on his lips.
“Hello, Witch.”
THIRTY-TWO
The Unstable Boy
Controlling your emotions is so easy when the person affecting them isn’t right in front of you. You feel strong, able to go on with your life. It’s as if your self-control and self-esteem are recharged. It takes days, weeks, to get that feeling of strength. But it only takes a second to destroy it. The moment that person appears, your stomach churns, your hands sweat, your breathing quickens, your strength falters, and it’s so unfair after you’ve worked so hard.
“What are you doing here?” I’m surprised by the coldness in my voice, and so is he.
He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not going to let me in?”
“Why should I?”
“I-I just. . . . Can I come in, please?”
“What are you doing here, Ares?” I repeat my question, my muscles tensing.
“I needed to see you.”
My heart is racing, but I ignore it. “Well, you saw me.”
He sets a foot in the door. “Just . . . let me come in for a second.”
“No, Ares.” I try to close the door, but I’m not fast enough and he enters, forcing me to take two steps back. He closes the door, and in a panic, I blurt out something that I think will scare him away. “Mom is upstairs, I just have to call her to come and get you out.”
He laughs, sits down on the couch, and puts his cell phone on the small table in front of him to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Your mother is at work.”