Trouble

“Stay still,” Alejo mumbled through the needle hanging out of his mouth, his eyes narrowed as he examined the wound. A while had passed, and he figured that it would be okay to take out the stitches, but he wanted to make sure that the wound was healed first. “Alright, I’m going to cut them out. But if you move, and I open this thing up again, I’m going to be pissed.”

“So will I,” I muttered, shaking out my hair, which was caught in the collar of my t-shirt. “So just get this over with.”

He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t fucking rush me,” before taking the threaded end of the needle out of his mouth and throwing it on the table.

Without missing a beat, he picked up the tiny pair of scissors and started snipping. There was an uncomfortable tugging sensation that made me want to squirm, but the pain had subsided. Sometimes, it itched, but I knew that scratching it would be the worst thing to do.

“Alright, you’re done,” Alejo declared proudly, throwing the scissors back down on the table. “Keep being careful, though, since it’s not completely healed.”

I swallowed and shuddered a little as I put my sleeve back down. “It better not open up. Esperanza got a glimpse at the bandage the other day and asked what happened, but I refused to tell her.”

“Smart,” he replied smoothly. “But I’m sure she already knows that you’re in a gang and that you got shot. You can’t protect her from everything, you know?”

I glared at him and shook my head. “I can try.”

He disappeared for a few minutes to re-hide the Just Got Shot kit, and when he came back, he was grinning like a fool. “You know, that’s going to be a sick scar.”

“Sick as in disgusting, or sick as in awesome?”

Alejo pursed his lips, moving them to one side of his face in that weird way of his before answering, “Both, probably.”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. “Just what I need. A nasty scar.”

“Speaking of nasty,” my best friend transitioned as he sat in front of me at his kitchen table, wiping a couple stray crumbs off the top, “Liam told me what you did to him the other night.”

“Alejo,” I sighed, rubbing my temples, “can you not? And why the hell does Liam tell you everything?”

“Because I ask?” He shook his head. “Most friends are open with each other. You’re just the exception.”

“I’m more open with you than I am with other people,” I defended. “Who did I come to when I was freaking out because Liam kissed me? That was you, asshole.”

“I know you are. And that’s just kind of sad.” There was a long pause before Alejo continued what he was saying. “But anyway, I asked him if he’d made any progress with you, and he told me that he tried to get through to you the other night, and you pushed him away. What’s wrong with you, Soledad?”

I swallowed loudly and shook my head. “Alejo, this isn’t your business. Why are you on my case all the time?”

“I’m not on your case all the time. Please, Sol.” I looked up to find a pleading, vulnerable look on his face that I hadn’t seen in all the years I’d known him. “Will you just talk to me? Tell me the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“Why you won’t let Liam in. He just wanted to kiss you. He wants to be with you, to love you, and he wants to show you that just because you’re in a gang doesn’t mean you can’t be in a stable, beautiful relationship.”

“You sound fucking ridiculous, you cheesy-ass shit,” I snapped at him. “And I’m not turning Liam away because I’m in a gang. I mean, I guess it’s a small part of it, since I don’t want him to get pulled into this life, but-”

“I know, Sol.” He took a long, deep breath, and when he brought his eyes back to mine, they were brimming with tears. “Soledad, eres mi hermana. I love you so much, and I want nothing more than to see you happy. And it’s been frustrating me that there’s this attractive, sweet guy who is absolutely crazy about you, and yet you’re not giving him the time of day.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I know you don’t, but I’m begging you, just hear me out. You don’t even have to talk. You can nod or shake your head.”

I just stared at him, waiting for his story to continue.

“As I was saying, it’s irritating me that you won’t let him in, since he’s clearly in love with you, despite how insane you are, and it’s making me think. I don’t claim to be the smartest guy, and I do a lot of dumb things, but I still have some brains. I’ve spent more than a month now trying to figure this out, and I think I finally did.”

My stomach started to churn at the thought of Alejo discovering my innermost secret, but I refused to give anything away in my expression.

“Everything makes sense,” he continued without taking a second to evaluate my expression. His eyes were locked on the table, as if he were massively embarrassed about what he was about to say, which shocked me. Alejo was the one who always said what was on his mind without discretion. He was real, true, genuine. It was one of the reasons I’d kept him in my life. “Why you don’t allow your sisters out of your sight, why you’re so protective of them and guarded of yourself.”

“Spit it out, Alejo,” I demanded, my voice cracking like a puberty-stricken teenage boy in the middle.

If he noticed the interruption in my statement, he didn’t point it out or look up at me to see what was going on with my emotions. “I kind of traced it back to when we were kids, in that day care center that we used to go to after school. Before that, you had always been really vibrant and sociable, and one day it just all…stopped. Did something…happen?”

I said nothing, made no gesture, nothing. It was like I was frozen.

“You were always being punished,” Alejo pressed on, a couple of tears falling down his cheeks, which he wiped away with irritation. “It was like you couldn’t do anything right…what did they do to you?”

Memories came flooding back to me, filling my brain, impossible to shove away. And although I didn’t cry, I came close for the first time since I was seven years old. My heart was pounding in my chest, echoing in my ears, and I felt like I was going to pass out.

“They didn’t do anything,” I responded stonily, standing up. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’ve always been fine.”

“Soledad, dime la verdad ahora. What did they do to you?!”

“Nothing!” I screeched, backing up, shaking my head. “They didn’t do anything. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

I turned to run out the door, but Alejo shot out of his chair and grabbed my good arm before I could get away. “Sol, I know you’re lying! If I’m right, then you need help.”

“I don’t need help!” I ripped my wrist from his grasp, turning my hand in the direction of his thumb, the weakest part of the grip. “I’m fine. I’ve always been fine, and I always will be fine. Now stop worrying about me and focus on your own life. Why don’t you figure out why you don’t have a girlfriend? Why you’re not happy? This goes both ways, you know!”

“I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m gay!” he screamed at me, his face bright red.

It was like the entire world stopped spinning, the center of gravity focused on just the two of us, standing there in the living room where we’d played together so many times. A weight had been put on my chest, and I was having trouble breathing, the sounds of my hyperventilating and gasping the only sound between us.

“You’re gay?” I repeated in a shocked whisper. No wonder he’d never told me. And at almost eighteen years old, there was no doubt that he had known for a while. It was why he’d only had one-night stands, why he was so focused on flirting with me. Everything fell into place, just like my back story had for him.

And there was no way anyone else could ever find out about it. Mexican machismo ran so thickly, so deeply, in our culture that gay men were wholly ignored, exiled, if not beaten or murdered.

Alejo looked like a little kid, standing there, his shoulders shaking up and down with his tears. What he’d figured out about me was enough to cause him distress, but it was obvious that he hadn’t meant to share his news with me. He thought I would push him away, turn my nose up at him, pretend we’d never known each other.

But he had been right earlier when he called me his sister. For all intents and purposes, we were family, closer with each other than with anyone else in the gang. And I knew that so much shit could stem from this reveal.

So without another word, I pulled the boy into my arms and squeezed him as tightly as he could, rubbing his back soothingly as he bent his head and cried into my shoulder, creating an ever-growing warm, wet spot on my t-shirt.