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Unzipping the bag, I grab my phone quickly and answer without glancing at the caller ID.
“Bueno,” I say into the phone.
“Is that how you respond to your best friend’s calls?” she says in Spanish.
I still at the sound of Ale’s voice on the other side of the line. I don’t know how I feel about Ale and me at the moment. A few days ago, I found out that she didn’t tell me about her brother’s wedding or, as most would classify him my first love. Finding out hurt, and the ache in my chest hasn’t gone away yet.
“Sorry, I didn’t see the caller ID before picking up,” I tell her with uncertainty in my voice.
“Well, I just wanted to see how you’re settling into your old house in Aca,” she tells me with a pep a best friend would give someone she would call a sister.
In many ways, Ale is my sister. I grew up with her by my side. We always supported each other in every way, telling each other everything, getting her out of a toxic relationship and, most importantly, being there for each other.
When someone you love doesn’t tell you something that you don’t know if you’d want to know or not, it’s hard to differentiate anger from resentment.
“I’m doing well. Cleo and Chanel seem to be adapting to the house happily.”
“Well, I’m glad they’re doing better. What’s it like with Xavier there?”
“He’s great. The twins love him,” I tell her truthfully.
“I was a little nervous about him just showing up, but he really needed a vacation, so I didn’t think you’d mind him being there,” she tells me.
“I don’t mind. I think Cleo really needs some new people in her life. You know how she gets bored,” I say, trying to get the conversation moving.
“You seem a little sad. What’s wrong, Vio?”
I don’t know what to say to her if I’m being honest. I’m not confrontational, even when I’m mad, sad, or angry at someone. But this someone is my best friend, my sister.
“Nothing, just tired.”
“Oh okay, well, I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll call tomorrow.” Her tone is something I can’t quite recognize.
“Sounds good. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Bye.”
Then she hangs up.
I stare at my phone for a bit with a hole in my chest. The sad part of it all is that I can’t even tell my best friend what I’m feeling. The aching part of me doesn’t feel whole. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough, even for those I know who love me.
Why can’t I love myself enough to tell people they’ve hurt me?
When will I care about myself enough to potentially hurt someone’s feelings to prevent myself from damaging my own?
Chapter16
Violetta
Idon’t know why I’m staring.
Maybe it’s because I’m fascinated or weirded out by what’s happening in front of me. I decided to walk through the gym after my morning training session to see Xavier’s head being pulled by this black elastic thing.
He looks like he’s in pain, but apparently, it’s a part of his sessions. It’s called a GS harness; it’s a band he puts around his forehead and pulls with almost all of his strength. His face is bright red as he groans with the movement. Slowly, he turns his head to the side and returns to a position that doesn’t strain his neck.
“I think that’s all for today, Jeff.” He removes the bands from the side of his head while sweat falls down his forehead.
“Sounds good, but remember that tomorrow is weight day,” Jeff responds sternly.
