Page 56 of Loving the Wicked

“Please go away.” I could barely hear my own voice.

“But you wanted me here.”

“Mamá, por favor, déjame en paz.” I breathed. “Por favor.”

“You called me here; I am the only one who answered.”

I was being tortured; her voice was torture; her presence was torture. This was so unfair.

“Elio, I am here.”

I pressed my eyelids tightly together. “I’m not crazy. It’s just in my head. I’m not crazy,” I chanted.

“Elio.”

“I’m not cra—”

I felt a shadow over me, her hand on my cheek, so soft, so cold, so tender.

“My love, open your eyes.”

When I did, I flinched sharply with a gasp at the melting face above me. Her face was burning; her smile was slipping, her skin was falling, eyes drooping. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t—

My eyes snapped open, my breathing hard, my phone gripped against my chest.

I had dozed off after trying to call Gemma… That was a dream.

I slowly looked around me. The living room was empty. Too empty. Too quiet. Too eerie. Too lonely.

For a sliver of a moment, I felt… scared.

Sinking farther into the couch, I brought my phone to my view again, and without thinking, I clicked Elia’s name, the last one on the list. It started ringing.

I knew he wouldn’t answer; he didn’t know the number after all, and it was careless to accept calls from unknown numbers; he should be—

“Hola.”

His voice filled my ear… It was carefree, like he had been laughing and picked it up while distracted. He sounded familiar and unfamiliar. There was a bit of noise in the background: water, music, laughter.

“Hello, who is this?” his voice came in again.

I swallowed, trying to clear my throat, but it felt like a brick was on my chest, stopping my airflow.

“Hey! Make your fucking shot!” a male voice yelled at him.

“Who’s that?” A female voice that sounded much like the one who’d rejected me hours ago came through.

“Don’t know, wrong number, I think, where were—” The line disconnected.

I drew in a breath, fighting to keep my eyes open as I dialed the number again.

It rang three times, and he picked up.

“Yes?” he drawled. Irritated.

I opened my mouth to speak, but his voice cut me off.

“Breathing at the end of the line is not on trend anymore, so whoever you are—”