Athena

18. You Have Me Now

Feeling like a dumbass, I mumble, "Sorry, I didn't mean to assume that your mom was—"

"Dead?" supplies Cruz.

I'm embarrassed to admit, "Yeah."

Cruz side-eyes me, but he stays quiet. I take a moment to study him. Cruz's facial expression doesn't appear to be particularly annoyed or upset, but the green in his eyes is no longer as sharp. The color has become dull. Moody.

He looks... sad?

It occurs to me: Cruz and I have both experienced loss.

I think of my sister. 

Persie and I should be together right now, but we're not. We're separated by two thousand miles, and I miss her every fucking day.

I think of my mom. 

Persie and I lost her in such a sudden and senseless tragedy. The way I miss her is different from the way I miss my sister. It feels more like a still, silent void than a sad, wishful pang, and this particular emptiness can never be filled by anyone else. She's gone. Forever.

Cruz's mom may not be dead, but he still lost her in a big way. I bet he misses her, too. My chest tightens with a thick emotion.

Releasing an unsteady breath, I remark softly, "Damn, it's still sad, though. Can't be an easy thing. To not have your mom around."

I don't even know if Cruz is aware that my mom passed away. We've certainly never talked about anything this personal with each other, and these words aren't easy for me to say. They trigger something inside me. My mind drifts away for a moment.

God, I wish she was still around.

If Mom was alive, then Persie and I would still be living together. Granted, life had been far from perfect for the three of us, but, at least, I knew, through good times and bad, we were family.

Our love was real.

I'm sure that my mom, unlike Aunt Katrina, would've noticed the red flags when I came home from Sam's party. She would've interrogated me right away, and I wouldn't hesitate to tell her the full, ugly truth of what went down with Chrissa and Brody. I believe Mom would've done everything in her power to help me calm my chaos.

Knowing this makes the void feel even emptier.

Cruz clears his throat. His presence pulls me back to reality, cutting through my sad, sullen thoughts.

"It's not so bad, I've gotten used to it," he assures me, "and I'm actually glad she's gone."

Oddly, Cruz sounds sincere here. There isn't a trace of bitterness in his tone.

I can't help but ask, "Why don't you want her around?"

"Because she's happier now."

I eye him closely. "Was she... unhappy... before?"

Pain flickers across his face. Cruz swallows uncomfortably. "Yeah, things were pretty bad. Because of my dad."

Everything he leaves unsaid sends a chill down my spine, my imagination runs wild, and all I can mutter in response is a soft, sympathetic, "Shit."

Dozens of questions swirl around my head.

Was Cruz's dad abusive towards his mom?

If so, had the abuse been verbal? 

Physical?

Did Cruz's dad abuse... him?

Why didn't Cruz's mom take him with her when she left?