Celeste's POV:
I never knew there are children without parents. I never knew the meaning of the word ‘alone’. I never knew the experience of emotion like sadness. I never knew what it meant to miss someone.
That was until my family was together and my daddy was alive.
I only cried when Mom wouldn’t listen to me and I would cry until daddy met my foolish demands. I was eight when Kathy was born. I remember seeing daddy smile through tears. I didn’t even know those two could coexist. I felt jealous of Kathy at first but gradually she found a spot in my heart and eventually became the heart itself.
One evening, at the age of thirteen, I was lying on my stomach on the rug in our living room, back in New Jers
Plinio's POV: “Merry Christmas, Nio!” For the past four years, the first buoyant wish is always from Aunt Mary. Only she talks to me like that and I can never reach her level of enthusiasm when wishing her back. “Christmas to you too, Mary,” I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder. With my free hand, I break open an egg in the bowl. “Cheer up, love. It’smerryChristmas, the season of happiness.” She must have listened to carols and called me right away. Last year she made me listen to them on her phone. I hung up before my ears bled to deafness. “Yep,” I drop the chopped onions in the bowl with some salt, black pepper, and green chili.
Plinio's POV:“Loraine?”I utter with confusion. Her midnight black eyes stare at me with an amusement that I don’t get. Perhaps she likes to see me uncomfortable in a difficult situation such as this.“Surprise?” She smirks, putting her hand on her hips over the lilac-colored satin mini-dress. That color would undoubtedly look better on Celeste if she does not cry.“You have met each other before?” Aunt Mary asks, pointing between Loraine and I. My confusion returns and God knows what her relationship is with this family.“I –”“Yes,naked.&rdquo
Celeste's POV: “But Sheba loves your room and wants to cuddle with me, Kev.” Sheba, the seal point Siamese cat of his Aunt Cassie, has recently discovered some unknown fondness for me and Kevin’s room. Despite my great insistence and soft purrs of Sheba, Kevin is being incredibly childish. He has even shouted at Sheba to get out of his room. The poor cat meowed and snuggled into my arms. “Are you that scared of Sheba?” I ask Kevin with a pout and he gives me a look of disbelief. He doesn’t reply and looks down at the magazine in his hand. “Kevin, are you ignoring me now?” I gasp, dramatically, stepping closer to the edge of the bed he’s sitting on. “Angel, don’t take one
Plinio's POV: “What?” I groan into the pillow, bringing the phone near my ear. Christmas dinner at the Thompsons was chaos. I haven’t heard from any of them for the last six nights. I called Aunt Mary but she didn’t talk about it and said she was busy with something. After that particular announcement, Logan had stomped out of the dining room, with his fists clenched at his sides after hearing of his stepdad’s insane decision. Mr. Steve could have asked me before telling everyone. I felt like a criminal seeing the reaction of Logan. We may not be friends but I have lived with him and I don’t want to snatch his rights if that is what he thinks of me now. Mrs. Sofia went af
Plinio's POV:“Celeste?”My eyes open as wide as the door. I think the alcohol has finally kicked in. Celeste is standing in front of me in a denim straight skirt, white cross stitch sweater, black leg warmers, and black Chelsea boots.A dark blue bandana is on the top of her head tied in a small bow and her ever-black hair is tumbling down to her waist. There is a mix of expressions on her face; joy, sadness, confusion but discomfort stands out in that contorted smile on her glossy lips.“Pizarro or Coronado?”Her abrupt question makes me lift my eyebrow. Then it clicks in my head what she’s talking about. About that history test, of course.
Plinio's POV: Christmas break is over and Celeste is breaking her own rule of not being seen together with me. When she said that we should be friends, I thought that we won't be rude to each other anymore and just get along for the sake of our study sessions. But Celeste has been sitting across from me in literature's class, comes to my locker and hands me the algebra exercises she has solved, and even walks to the library with me, side by side. "Why is Angel talking to him?" "Why is Nio not shoving her away?" These are the kind of whispers with the wide-eyed stares I have been hearing for the last few days. At first, I ignored them, like I always do, b
Plinio's POV: Today is the day of the week I rarely talk; Sunday because I have no one to talk to. I clean the mess in my apartment and put the coat Aunt Mary gave me in a bag to return the next time I visit her. While changing the bed sheet, I even find my hands-free that had disappeared a month ago. To my sheer luck, they are working just fine. Coming out of the kitchen, my eyes fall on the painting Celeste brought for me. These shades really suit the white aura of this whole room. I wonder if she painted it specifically for me or if she just painted it randomly. Of course, I wasn't the one in her mind. It would be surreal then. At the bottom right corner, her initials are written in blue paint. I didn't notice it before
Plinio's POV: "This library isn't helping me concentrate at all," this is what Celeste had said half an hour ago and I thought maybe agreeing with her and studying atSips and Dipswould help her study better. But boy, was I wrong. "The sculptures of debris at the museum were dope." She comments. It's been ten minutes since she's trying to solve that five-minute test. "I wanted to fetch my canvas and paint it then and there." "Celeste," I put my hand over the test in front of her. "Plinio, you're not letting me study," she tries to pull out the sheet of paper. "Look at me for a second," I tell her but she does not listen. There's something off about her
Plinio's POV: “Today marks our last therapy session, Mr. Murray,” my prison psychologist, Dr. Sean Evans, says with a hint of honor masked by his usual placid tone. “And you still can’t call me Plinio or Nio as I have asked you a hundred times already,” I smile, shaking my head. The first session was in the first week of my three-year sentence. I was handcuffed, and my legs were chained to the hooks on the floor. Two officers were standing outside, and one was behind my psychologist. In this very room, I was asked several questions to be diagnosed with any kind of mental illness. But, I was neither suicidal nor dangerous nor depressed; in fact, I was quite content, I still am. I have had the lowest number of sessions among all the inmates. And, now, no metal is holding me in place, and only one
Plinio's POV: Getting my battered face cleaned and bandaged has never been as painful as it is today. It is not only my swollen jaw and smashed lips that hurt; the heartbreak in Celeste’s eyes is more painful. Watching the raw emotions swimming in her moist blue eyes and seeing her shaky hands with which she puts a bandage across the cut on my forehead, I can’t fathom her answer to what I’ve told her about the upcoming situation. “Say something,” I hold her hand and make her sit on the bed beside me. She releases a wobbling breath, and her chest heaves as she places the cotton and the ointment on the bedside table. “Mary will hire a lawyer for you. She’ll bail you out too.” She gives my face a brief look, her eyes falling back to her lap two seconds earlier. “I don’t s
Plinio's POV: As I expected, gym Grandé is open, and Logan is sitting in his room. He is looking out the window with his phone pressed to his ear and his back facing me. He is completely unaware of my presence at the threshold of his room. I am making no sound to grab his attention either. His words to the person on the phone somewhat pique my interest. “Yes, you got that right. That’s exactly why he asked you not to send your son here anymore.” There’s silence, and Logan is nodding with his cheeks raised, giving space to one of his menacing smirks. There’s an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I choose to ignore it. “I am sorry for everything that happened,” Logan lies. The Logan I have seen is never sorry. “Of course, I will send the video. Yes, see you soon.”
Plinio's POV: "You knew it, didn't you?" Hayley shouts, letting herself inside the apartment. Her hands are above her hips and her nose is constantly flaring. "You knew Logan's plan." Confusion takes over me and other than the sudden flip in the atmosphere, I hate the thing she's accusing me of. I don't even know what she's talking about and yet, here she is, barging at my apartment and shouting at me. "What's wrong, Hayley?" Celeste steps beside me, putting her hand on my shoulder. "This guy you're standing next to is wrong and his a***ole of a friend is the worst." She's better when shy, what's gotten into her today? "Can you please elaborate?" I maintain my cool despite my raging nerves.
Celeste's POV: "Kathy, meet Plinio." Her brows meet in the middle and her brown orbs flutter between me and Plinio. Her small warm hand is holding my hand and she blinks rapidly. I have no idea what is going on in her head. "She doesn't like me," Plinio states with dread beside us. He heaves a deep sigh and looks around the playground, shaking his left leg like he does when he's anxious. "Wait for a second, will you?" I crane my neck back at my sister. Though, it feels good to know that he wants my sister to like him. "What is he to you and why did you not c
His touch is intoxicating. Whenever his breath traces my skin, I feel like drowning. He's so full of love and care for me. And I still can't get enough. He has a way with words that play with the strings of my heart and then there's his cooking. That morning when he baked the cake for me reminded him of his mother a lot, I could see it in his eyes. But, he didn't let it stop him from doing what he loves. There's no reason why I can't love him because I do. Kevin's parents, Max and Rachel, have called me to their home. Plinio was adamant about going with me but there are some challenges I have to face alone. Now here I am, sitting in the lounge of my ex-boyfriend where Kevin and I talked about our dream college. I haven't heard from him for two weeks now. Our brea
It feels like some weight has lifted off my chest. I can talk about my mother and she can talk about her family. There is no more hiding between us. About our relationship, we are taking things slow. She says that she doesn't want me to think that I'm some rebound or anything. I doubt that I'm any of that. Our relationship is built on friendship and trust and even if I were a rebound, we would have had sex till now then. Kevin has called on Celeste's phone many times. But she switched it off. I'll probably land a lunch on his face if he comes in front of me. "Can I come inside today?" I ask Celeste, standing outside her house. We've come to take a few things that she'll need. Till her wounds heal, she's staying at my apartment, or even longer if she wants to.
Thanks to the king-sized bed, we lie next to each other. My eyes are facing the ceiling with my hands behind my head and Celeste is probably awake too. The lights are off and only the moonlight seeping through the white curtains is dimly illuminating the room. Her rhythmic breathing and the chirping of crickets outside are in harmony with each other. "I was going to break up with Kevin even before Trevor told me about Kevin and Stella," she owns up in a hushed tone. "Even before Kevin did what he did." Yes, I wanted her to break up with Kevin for my selfish reasons but I wish she had broken up with him the very first time he hit her. I wish she had broken up with him for herself, for the care one must-have for one's body. I turn to look at her, putting my hands b
Plinio's POV: Sierra's headlights illuminate a meek figure on the side of the street. How much I wish not to see Celeste like that, but it is she. She is shaking while sitting on her knees. Halting my car, I hop out of the car and run to her side. Her shoulders heave up and down as she tries to calm her breathing. Her hair has fallen to her face but I know there are tears behind it. What must have happened? "Oh, Celeste," I slide away from her hair with my fingers. A reddish shade rests on her jaw. If I'm not hallucinating, then it is behind to swell too. My heart falls to the pit of my stomach and a gasp leaves my mouth. She glances at me through her tear-filled, piercing blue eyes. "Who did t