Through My Window (Hidalgos #1)(96)

“Relax, Artemis,” I say, trying to calm him down. “It’s a nuisance, but look on the bright side, free publicity for the Hidalgo Company.”

Artemis gives us one last glare before going to lie on his chair. He still doesn’t look happy, but, well, happy has never been his strong suit either.

“Did you read the comments?” Apolo asks, absorbed by his cell phone. Filled with curiosity, I open the post and start scrolling. I have to stop because the comments are getting dirtier and dirtier. Wow, it’s amazing what people can say without even knowing us.

I feel myself being stared at, so I look up and meet a pair of very pretty gray eyes across the pool. A black-haired girl and her blond friend have just stepped into the water on the other side. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them since we arrived at the resort two weeks ago. Apolo follows my gaze.

“The girl who chases you, huh?”

“She doesn’t chase me.”

“You know it’s true, even I’ve noticed it.” Apolo takes a look at her. “She’s very exotic, your type.”

I run my hand through my hair. My type? Yes, he’s right, that used to be my type: girls with dark hair and light eyes. But somehow, I ended up falling in love with a girl who has neither of those things. How ironic is life?

“I don’t have a type anymore. There’s only her.”

Apolo gives me a big smile.

“I’m proud of you.”

“And I’m proud of you, my brother who is no longer a virgin,” I tease.

“Don’t start.”

“Ah, come on, it’s normal to be curious. My first time was a disaster.”

“Liar.”

“I swear, it took me like five minutes to put on the condom,” I say.

Apolo grimaces in discomfort.

“Too much information, Ares.”

“Always remember to wear protection.”

“Ares!”

“What?” I ask innocently.

At that moment my mother walks over. I expect her to say that it’s time to eat as a family, but she stands with her mouth open, checking something on her phone.

“We are a trending topic on Twitter,” she says.

Artemis throws his head back, grunting. He turns in his chair.

“Don’t tell me this is about the photo,” he groans. My mother shows us her phone.

“Look, the hashtag Hidalgo is in the top ten.”

Social networks will never cease to amaze me.

“Which photo?” Claudia asks, furrowing her brows.

Apolo sits down on his chair, taking a piece of pineapple.

“Remember the picture you took of us this morning?” Claudia nods. Apolo chews for a second and says, “It went viral.”

My mother gives him a grimace of disgust.

“Don’t chew and talk, Apolo, how rude.”

I sit down and check my phone again. I still don’t have a message from the witch.

Where are you, Raquel?

Don’t you miss me?

Because I’m dying to talk to you.

I open my conversation with her, and I notice she hasn’t seen my messages yet. My phone rings in my hands, but my excitement fades when I see it’s Samantha. I move away from the table to answer.

“Hello?”

“Oh, happy New Year, Ares.”

Her voice sounds self-conscious, something’s not right.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She hesitates on the other end of the line.

“Something happened, Ares.”





FORTY-EIGHT


   The Gifts



- RAQUEL -




Medication . . .

Therapy sessions . . .

Psychiatric consultations . . .

And a lot of other things related to Joshua’s condition are all I heard in the hospital as the day went on. I don’t know if it’s from tiredness or lack of sleep, but it was hard for me to pay attention, let alone understand what they were talking about.

My mother practically dragged me out of the building when the clock hit midnight again because I had officially spent twenty-four hours there. She said I needed to rest. Dani arrived to keep Joshua company in my place so his parents could rest too. They were devastated. After crying on my best friend’s shoulder for a while, I said good-bye to Joshua and left.

This is not how I imagined starting the new year. Apparently, life likes to hit us when we least expect it to see how long we can hold on. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach and left without air, even though I’m breathing. My mind keeps trying to understand, to look for reasons, to point fingers, to blame myself. I still remember my conversation with Joshua before I left: “I know you want to ask, so just do it.”

Joshua smiles at me.

“It’s okay,” he says.

I rub my arms in an attempt to buy time to choose my words carefully.

“Why? Why did you do it?” I ask.

Joshua looks away, sighing.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he says.

I sit down on the hospital bed next to him.

“I’ll try to understand,” I say quietly.

He looks at me again.

“Give me time, I promise to tell you, but right now I . . . can’t.”