Through My Window (Hidalgos #1)(60)

I think about not opening the door, but I can’t leave him out in the cold either.

“I know you’re in there, Raquel. Open up.”

Reluctantly, I open the door and turn my back on him to head to the stairs. I hear the door close behind me.

“Raquel, wait.” I ignore him and keep walking. I climb the first step and he grabs my arm, turning me toward him. “Wait!”

I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

He raises his hands. “Okay, just listen to me. Give me a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s a lifetime of friendship; I deserve a few minutes.” I gave him a cold look. “Give me five minutes, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Talk.”

“I had to do it, Raquel. You were gawking at that guy. Do you have any idea how much it hurt me to watch him use you repeatedly while you let him? I grew up with you. I care about you.” He touches his chest. “Regardless of how I feel about you, you’re my best friend. I want the best for you.”

“And telling my mom was the solution? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It was the only thing I could do. If I had tried to talk to you, you wouldn’t have listened to me.”

“Of course, I would have.”

“Be honest, Raquel. You wouldn’t have. You would have said I was jealous, and you would have ignored me because you’re so fucking blind with love that you can’t see beyond your nose.”

“You have two minutes left.”

“Remember what you said to me last Christmas? When you told me it was time to forgive my father?”

I tighten my lips because I do remember. Yoshi’s dad had messed up big time with them, and Yoshi was furious. I advised him to at least listen to his dad’s side of the story.

“No, I don’t remember.”

His expression falls. “I was furious with you, I shouted at you: ‘How can you take his side? What kind of a friend are you?’ And you told me: ‘A true friend is one who tells you the truth to your face, even if it hurts.’”

I don’t like it when someone uses my own words against me. “That was different. I talked to you. I didn’t go gossiping and meddling with your father.”

“Yes, you talked to me, and I listened to you. You wouldn’t have listened to me, Raquel. I know it, and you know it too.”

There is a moment of silence. “Your time is up,” I tell him and turn away.

I hear him mutter defeatedly. “Rochi . . .”

“My name is Raquel.” My voice comes out colder than I expected. “Thank you for the explanation. Regardless of your reasons, you destroyed years of trust in a flash, and I don’t know if it’s something that can ever be restored. Good night, Joshua.”

I leave him there at the bottom of the steps, and he looks like a gentleman waiting for his lady to come down the staircase. Except that he took it upon himself to destroy any chance with said lady. When I get to my room, I hear him close the front door. I let out a big sigh and walk to my window.

The window that started it all.

“Are you using my Wi-Fi?”

“Yes.”

“Without my permission?”

“Yes.”

Idiot.

A sad smile crosses my lips. I sit down in front of my computer, and the memory of Ares kneeling in front of me, fixing the router, comes to mind. I glance at the window, and I can almost see him. I shake my head.

What’s wrong with me?

Stop seeing him everywhere, it’s not healthy.

With nothing to do, I go on Facebook. Well, not my personal Facebook. It’s a fake one that I created to check on Ares. I know, I’m a hopeless case. In my defense, I created that account a long time ago and haven’t used it since. But now that I’ve blocked Ares from my personal Facebook, I have to use the fake one again.

It won’t hurt me to check his page, will it? There’s nothing to lose. His profile has no new posts, only photos where other people have tagged him. The most recent one is from Samy’s account, as you might expect. In the photo they’re at the movies, and she’s laughing with her mouth full of popcorn while his hand is raised as if he was feeding her. In the post she wrote: Movies with this guy who brightens my days.

Ouch.

My heart gives a pang, but I keep scrolling down. All I see are posts of people tagging him with pictures of the soccer game two weeks ago and congratulating him, telling him how great he is. I roll my eyes. Keep feeding his ego, as if he’s not arrogant enough already.

Taking one last look at the picture with Samy, because obviously I’m a masochist, I close Facebook and go to sleep.

I don’t want to think anymore.


My cell phone wakes me up. I half open one eye and my eyelid trembles with the effort. It’s still dark, what time is it? The phone keeps ringing and I stretch out my hand toward my nightstand, knocking everything over in the process.

I answer without even looking at the screen.

“Hello?”

“Good morning,” my mother’s voice replies. “Get up.”

“Mom, it’s Sunday. Did I also lose the right to sleep in?”

“I’m not off shift today until after noon, please finish cleaning the house, and get the laundry started.”