“Please, Adam,” I said, trying to speak, my throat pressing into his palm as I did so. What the hell drugs was he on? “I’m sorry if it seems like I led you—”

“You’re such a liar,” he said, then kissed me again, trying to yank down my jeans. “Fucking whore thinks she’s suddenly too good for me.”

“You’re drunk. You’re fucked up.”

“You’re mine.”

I couldn’t move, his grip on my throat like iron. I opened my mouth to yell but he quickly put his other hand over it, leaving my jeans alone for the moment. His pupils were crazy big, darting back and forth, his face red, mouth curled in a sneer. I’d never seen anything uglier.

“You’re going to shut up and take it,” he said. “I know you want it. You’re suddenly too much of a prude to say so. A slut doesn’t change her spots.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I heard Josh bellow from behind Adam. I looked over his shoulder to see Josh running toward us. In seconds he had his hand on Adam’s shoulder, ripping him off of me.

I gasped for air, sliding down along the sticky wall until I was on the ground, and watched as Josh punched Adam right in the face.

“The fuck is your problem?” Adam cried out, holding his nose.

“That’s my fucking sister, you fuckhead!” Josh yelled, decking him in the side of the head. I had never seen my brother fight anyone before, I didn’t think he had it in him. But now, he was so livid he looked like he was about to beat Adam into oblivion.

“She’s been after me from day one,” Adam cried out, his arm out, trying to get Josh to stop. “She wanted it.”

“No,” Josh said, pointing at me, a shivering, quaking mess on the ground. “She did not fucking want it.”

“Whatever, you know she’s a big slut.”

And Josh punched him one more time, this one bringing Adam to the ground with a thump. Then he came over to me and grabbed me gently by my hands, pulling me to my feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked, peering at me.

I shook my head, a lump in my raw throat, unable to speak.

He put his arm around me. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

I nodded feebly and he led me to the road, hailing a cab.

Once inside, he took off his leather jacket and placed it around my shoulders.

We were silent for a few blocks, the neon glow of the cold city lights flashing across our laps.

“Vera,” he said quietly, “I’m just your brother. I’m not Mercy or Mom. I’m not going to tell you how to live your life. But you can’t keeping doing this either.”

I gave him a look, shadows rising and falling on his face. “Doing what?” I asked testily. “You think I asked for that?”

“No,” he said quickly. “I know you didn’t. No one does ask for that, no matter who you are, no matter who spins it. But…I feel like you’re on a path that you don’t want to be on. Drinking away your sorrows and putting yourself into these kind of situations where you’re acting out of loneliness. You need to treat yourself better.”

You should treat yourself better than that, Mateo’s words came ringing into my head.

I let out a sob, caught unaware by the pain of that memory, the memory of him after he caught me with Dave. Mateo. He’d been right, always so right about me. And I was pushing him away because it was too hard. He deserved to be treated better than that.

Josh brought me to him in a hug. I stayed that way for the whole ride.

Once I got home, I staggered to my room, locked the door, and called Mateo. I needed him right then, more than anything.

It rang for a long time before he answered. “Hola, es Mateo,” he said slowly, almost questioningly. I knew I had called him at a bad time; he would have seen my phone number and now he was pretending.

“Mateo,” I choked out, the tears rising up, my chest tight.

“Si,” he said.

“I am so sorry. I’m so sorry and I’m so sorry I’m calling you right now like this, but I just needed to speak to you…” I trailed off and started sobbing.

I heard a female voice in the background. “Quien es?” I couldn’t breathe.

“Si,” Mateo said to me, his voice strained. “Te llamaré de Nuevo, estoy teniendo el desayuno.”

And then he hung up. I had no idea what he said. I felt the cold grip of dread, wondering if I had made a mistake by calling him. I lay back in bed, then rolled over onto my side, curling into a ball. I tried to imagine his arms around me, his lips on my forehead, the kindness and complete understanding in his eyes, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. He was right. It would never be enough.

I was half-asleep, my face coated with tears, the blanket soaked beneath me, when the phone rang. It was Mateo. I gripped it in my hands, afraid to let go.

“Mateo?” I cried softly.

“Vera, Vera,” he said, his voice shaking. “Oh, Vera, my Estrella, what happened?”

I couldn’t speak for some time. Finally I was able to say, “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. Oh, Estrella, my star. You have no idea. No idea. I have been so worried about you, you haven’t answered my calls or my emails. I think you don’t love me anymore. My heart has been breaking.”

I made a fist at my chest. “Mine too. This is just so hard. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Please, please, Vera, don’t say that. There is always a way.”

There wasn’t. There was only one way, and every time I entertained the notion, it made me feel sick with guilt.

“I need you,” I told him. “I need you too much, miss you too much. I thought if I ignored the problem, it would go away.”

“The problem?”

I licked my dry lips. “Yes. The problem of us.”

“There can be good problems to have,” he said quietly. “I would rather have this problem than not have you at all. Don’t you feel the same?”

I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that I hurt, constantly, and his voice was the only thing that could make it go away. Even his voice sounded like home. “I think I feel too much,” I told him. I took in a deep breath, trying to concentrate on my breathing. What a fucking night.

“I’m glad you feel so much.”

I laughed caustically. “I don’t. My heart is a whore.”

I heard the changing gears of the engine in the background. “Where are you right now? I’m so sorry I called you like that. I know it’s…risky.”

“It is fine, I am glad you did,” he said. “I was just having breakfast. Heading to work now.”

I didn’t dare ask who he was with, I knew it had been his wife. “What did you have?”

“Lots of mam and chess,” he said.

A grin spread across my face and I giggled. “My favorite.”

The next day I woke up hung over but still feeling better than the morning before. That was a good start.

Exactly seven weeks after Mateo and I parted on that tear-soaked street in Madrid, I got a phone call that would change my life.

It was 3:30 a.m. when my phone rang, jolting me out of a dreamless sleep. I grabbed my phone and peered at the screen. It was Mateo.

My heart lurched, my thoughts immediately thinking that something had to be terribly wrong for him to call me in the middle of the night. I had no idea what time it was in Spain, but he had to have known I’d be sleeping.

“Hello, Mateo?” I whispered frantically into the phone, not wanting to wake the house.

“Vera,” he said thickly. My skin prickled with the familiar sound of his voice. Because of one thing or another, I hadn’t spoken to him on the phone for a few days, with only a few texts passing between us.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I…I think so.”

I sat up and swallowed hard. “You don’t sound okay.”

“It’s just that…” he trailed off. The silence felt miles wide.

“What?”

“I filed for divorce today.”

I put my hand to my chest, to make sure my heart was still there. “What?” I cried softly. I was floored, stunned, my brain was short-circuiting. “I don’t understand.”