I couldn't return

When my Uber rolls into my complex, it's like a slap in the face. The sight of the crumbling structure has a hysterical laugh bubbling to the surface. I am Cinderella hobbling out of her pumpkin carriage to mingle with the rats--if the shoe fits, I guess!

I dip my hand in my purse, unable to rifle through it for change what with the heavy ass bundle sitting squarely within. With no other option, I draw out a hundred dollar bill from the wad, handing it to the cab driver. An involuntary smile pulls my lips when his eyes widen a tad at the amount. That's right! This June is loaded till December--and right back around!

"Here you go, miss," he says.

I take my change, making it out of the car. The distant rumble of thunder fills the air, the weather dropping to several degrees. I wrap my purse around my body like it would make a difference, hurrying down to the awning out front while mentally cursing the New Orleans weather.

Shivering, I take the stairs three at a time. When I get to my floor, I make a beeline for I and Tina's door. Laughter sounds from the door down the hall. Someone strums a guitar and the smell of cigarettes dampens the air. I fit a key in, freezing when it doesn't turn. It's already been open.

Throwing a look at either end of the hall, I push the door open, dimly scanning the cramped space for Fuzkins. "Tina?" I call tentatively, stepping into the room. Silence greets me. I meow, expecting Fuzkins to traipse into the living room radiating feline exasperation.

When I shut the door behind me, I freeze when slow footsteps sound around the corner. My keys slip from my fingers, clattering down the scratched floorboards.

"Welcome," he says.

"Mathew!" I snap. "What the f*ck are you doing here!?"

"Now, is that anyway to greet your fiancé?"

"In your fucking dreams, pendajo de put--"

He's in front of me in seconds. Once he grips my chin tight, I sputter, an icy chill sliding down my spine.

"Het ghow," I push past his punishing grip, clawing at his beefy hands. "Hyuw sanah fobish."

His grip tightens. When he scowls, his bushy brows pinch together. His black hair is cropped closely to his head, the countless piercings on his face giving him a sinister look. "You haven't picked my calls or replied any of my text messages. You think you can ignore me? You forget I have something of yours you don't want getting out."

Dread clamps around my stomach. Raw hate fills me, hot and sudden. With an enraged cry, I claw at his face, ripping an eyebrow ring clean from his flesh. He roars in pain, shoving me away forcefully. Pain radiates through my side when I land. Frantic, I start to scramble away in a desperate crawl, mussing the threadbare carpet.

"Get back here!" He booms. When a rough hand clamps around my ankle, I scream, kicking at him wildly. Once he pulls me to a stand harshly, I hitch my knee up. He evades the attack, a cruel grin splitting his face. "Careful now, you do want children in the future, don't you?"

Panting, I gripe, "Ni muerta." Over my dead body.

His grin only widens. My breath hitches when the grips my hair painfully. "You see, I've always liked you. Feisty. Slutty. When I finally fuck you--"

I laugh. "Carajo. I turn my head away from your kisses, never could stomach you. Now I know why." Meeting his gaze, I say lowly, "Knew there was something wrong with you. Desgraciado."

His eyes darken. When his gaze touches on my fat purse, I feel my stomach drop.

"Out partying again, I see."

He snags the strap, wrenching it from my shoulder.

"No!"

He yanks the zipper open, then stills.

I watch in horror as he lets out a slow whistle, taking out the cash. He holds it up to his ear, gangster-esque. "What's that?" he says to no one in particular. "My b*tch just made me rich?"

"Not your bitch!" I shriek in anger, swiping at him. He catches my hand, pulling me to him. Shame courses through me when my breath hitches, a tiny flame of attraction reigniting. I'd dated him after all, was already caught in a string of wedding fittings before I was caught in a scandal that would cost me everything...

"Give me back my money," I grit.

That slippery smirk. "Ah ah. My money. Remember that." His eyes fall to my lips. "How did you get this amount of money, June? Did you whore yourself, like the little slut you are?"

Tears of anger burn like a brand behind my eyes. How did it get to this? Why did it feel like just when I've started to gain footing in the world, the rug would be pulled out from beneath me again and again and again. "Give me," I say slowly. "Back my money."

His jaw locks. He says just as low, "Or else what?"

When silence presides over the room, he chuckles. "Nothing."

He shoves me away so suddenly I stumble. "Remember." He holds up his phone with an ugly smile. "One click and it's all over."

He marches out of my apartment, banging the door shut.

I stare at the scuffed wood for long seconds before a sob rips out of me.

My knees lock and I drop to the floor, bitterness and raw hatred rolling through me. "FUUCKKKK!" Tears blind my eyes.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" The cries are punctuated by my fist striking the floorboards loudly. Someone below yells for the noise to stop. This only causes my pace to intensify. By the time I'm done, my knuckles are busted, my energy drained.

I curl in a fetal position, a hollow ache opening up in my chest. The sound of water dripping from the faucet pierces through the muddle in my brain.

Unable to sink lower into the murky spiral of my thoughts, I let my mind travel to fonder memories. The tinkering of pots and pans, the smell of tamales and stewed lentils my mama prepared on Saturdays, right before my papa and brothers returned from the bar.

Those rowdy fiestas de pueblo that would have them stumbling back home with barks of laughter. On seeing me and mama, they would struggle to pick themselves up from their stupor in a way that was always comical. Even now I smile, swiping the tears away from my face.

But I couldn't return.

Being the last child of eight children, I'd grown up with the need for distinction, an urge to set myself apart from siblings who'd seemingly done it all, siblings I looked up to--and who looked down on me even when they didn't mean to. What has June gotten herself into again? Then they would laugh.

The day June stops being clumsy is the day I stop trying to get Marcela to lift up her skirts for me.

Lying on the frayed carpet, I can't stop an eye roll. Looks like Dmitri would be chasing Marcela and her skirts forever.

The brief surge of humor dies a slow death. Soon the hollow ache returns.

What do I do now?