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The memory of being held in his arms, the warmth of his embrace as he slowly kissed me, spread through my limbs in a rush of pleasant tingles.
A pungent, but familiar scent made my nose twitch and I looked up from catching up on social media to find a man that looked like a strung-out version of Diego staring at me. He was disheveled, his soft blue dress shirt sloppily buttoned and stained, and instead of long hair, his was cut almost painfully short. A thick and scraggly beard covered his square jaw, and his dark eyes were ringed with the black circles of exhaustion as he squinted, then stared at me. A half full bottle of tequila was gripped in his right hand, and a burning joint in his left.
Fernando. My heart gave a hard thump as I realized this was the brother who’d lost both his son and wife in a horrible car accident. Ramón had said something about how Fernando was staying with his parents while he grieved. Empathy filled me and it took all my willpower to hold myself in check. He didn’t need my tears, even if my whole chest ached for him.
“I know you,” he slurred.
Trying to act as normal as possible, I stood and gave a small wave. “Hi, I’m Joy. Hannah’s friend. You must be Fernando.”
When I said Hannah’s name, he winced then took a hit off the joint. As he blew the smoke out, he said, “No, I know you. You’re Ramón’s girl.”
“Something like that.”
“No.” He stabbed the joint in my direction, his arm shaking. “You’re his. He watches you. You belong to him now. God fucking help you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gonna be a sheep.” His voice wavered, and I stared at him, stunned when tears filled his eyes. “Hannah’s a sheep, and her shepherd did a piss poor job protecting her.”
When I called Ramón and Diego crazy, I was half-kidding.
When I called Fernando crazy, I meant it one hundred percent. The death of his family had broken him, it was as clear as day to me. When I was younger, my favorite cousin killed herself after she was viciously bullied by some girls at her school. I’d known she was going through some stuff with them, but I was dealing with my older sister at the time—and like most kids, I was more worried about myself. I’ve wished a billion times I could somehow turn back the clock and do things differently, but that isn’t how the world works. The only thing I could do was make sure that if I ever saw someone that looked the way my cousin had in the last few days before she took her life, this time I would step in. Not just for her, but for the scared kid I’d been who prayed someone would help her.
That promise gave me the strength to close the distance between myself and Fernando. He stumbled back, but before he could fight me off, I took the bottle from his limp fingers and grabbed the joint. Unsure what to do with it, I spied a vase of fresh tulips and shoved it down inside, putting the ember out with the water. Fernando was making some kind of protesting mumble behind me, but I ignored him.
I set the bottle down on the table next to the vase, then faced Fernando.
Whoa boy, was he mad I’d taken his toys away.
Lean, wiry muscle flexed in his arms as he fought to focus on me. He took a step in my direction, a low growl spilling out of his throat. I might have been scared, if he didn’t trip over his own feet and fallen face first into the rug.
Thankfully, some primitive part of his brain made him put his arms out so he didn’t smash his face, but he still fell with an undignified grunt.
Making sure I didn’t flash him, I tucked my skirt beneath my legs and crouched down next to him. “Wow, nice landing. You okay?”
“Shut up, Queen of the Sheeple,” he muttered then rolled over, throwing his arm over his eyes with a dramatic groan. “I’m gonna puke.”
I moved back quickly, trying not to laugh at his pathetic groans. “Dude, I wouldn’t. I have a feeling your mom would be pissed if you did.”
“Cut my nuts off,” he muttered. “S’okay. Don’t need ‘em anyways.”
“Right. I bet when you’re sober, you might feel a little differently.” I sighed as I stared at him lying there.
“Fuck you, sheep girl. Too stupid to see that you’re wandering into the slaughterhouse.”
“What?”
He muttered something in Spanish, then growled, “Run, stupid sheep, before my brother leads you to the slaughter.”
Wondering what his obsession with sheep was, I grabbed his hand then tugged with a grunt. “Get up.”
“Fuck off.”
Despite his gaunt appearance, he weighed a ton. “I’m trying to help you get to the bathroom.”
