Beautiful Bruises ~ Camilo Madrigal x Reader

Salt

You woke up the next morning hungry and tired, your night plagued with nightmares of your father, and an empty stomach. You slipped out of bed and repeated what you had done yesterday morning, clutching your basket of goods closer to your chest as you walked to the market. 

You sighed, leaning against the side of your stall but also making sure to keep an eye on the eggs and milk. Soon, Lucía approached you, carrying something in a basket.

"Hey!" she said loudly as she approached, and you smiled at her.

"Hey Lucía! What's up? You don't usually come to visit on market days."

She shrugged, blinking innocently.

"Oh, you know. I just wanted to give you a present," she said, placing the basket on the counter. It had a cloth over whatever was in it.

"You gave me a birthday present last week, for my 15th birthday!" you exclaimed, rolling your eyes. "Now I'm going to feel bad that I didn't get you two gifts."

"Oh, don't worry about it," she said, quickly walking away. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, before a swish of black hair caught the corner of your eye and you spotted Lucía on the other side of town. "Aha," you mumbled. "Gotcha."

You stomped after the shape-shifting boy, grabbing Lucía's hair. Caught off guard, he quickly changed back into himself, your fist now full of curly cocoa-colored hair.

"Hey!" he shouted, spinning around, before catching your eye and quickly looking away sheepishly. "Ha... caught me."

You raised an eyebrow at him, your scowl deepening, and he held his hands up in surrender.

"Look, let me explain. I wasn't really planning on taking anything, I just felt like... causing some trouble, ya know? It gets boring when you live with a perfect family who does everything Abuela expects! So I asked you for the milk, and then... you actually gave it to me, which I wasn't expecting. So I kind of didn't know what to do, and then... yeah."

"That doesn't explain why you stole the eggs!" you cried, unable to help yourself. You poked him, hard, in the chest.

"Hey! Look, cariño, that was because you saw me and chased me. I had to go out with a bang, ya know?" He smirked as he said that, leaning in so that your faces were closer. "And I returned the stuff. Feel better now?"

"Don't call me sweetie," you spit, pushing him away by the shoulders. "And you still haven't said sorry! You got me in a lot of trouble with my papa." You decide not to go into detail. You've never told anyone about what your papa does - it could get him and Jude in big trouble, and plus, you wouldn't have anywhere to go if he got sent to jail.

"I'm afraid I can't say sorry, because, quite frankly, I'm not." He grinned, and you felt like strangling him. "But! I can give you a personal invitation to my little brother Antonio's gift ceremony tomorrow. Pretty sweet, right?"

You grudgingly shrugged.

"Fine. Thanks. But I'm still mad at you," you added quickly, before turning around and starting to walk off.

"It starts at five pm tomorrow night. See you there, cariño," he said slyly, but when you spun around, he was gone.

"Idiot," you mumbled under your breath, before returning to your stall. Luckily nothing was missing, and, as promised, one carton of eggs and a pail of milk was in the basket, along with a chocolate candy and a small note.

Lo siento

Short, but it brought you much satisfaction. You smiled as you folded it up and slipped it into your skirt pocket carefully, deciding you would throw it away when you got home. Which, of course, you didn't.

"Papa," you said that evening as you set the table. Jude was cleaning up at the shed they worked at, so he wouldn't be home until after nightfall.

"Hmm?" he asked, crunching on a salad.

"I got us an invitation to Antonio's gift festival tomorrow," you said proudly.

Your papa slowly stopped chewing and looked up at you.

"You what?"

You froze up a little bit, backing away. 

"Papa, I-"

TW: abuse

"Hands on the table. Now."

"But, Papa! I thought you would be happy, it... it will be fun!" you cried desperately as he advanced on you.

"The Madrigals are bad news. Hands on the table." He roughly grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to sit down and place your hands on the table, palms down. He snatched the whip off the wall as you started to stand back up, horrified.

"Papa! Can't we just not go?!"

"SIT DOWN," he roared, and you quickly did as he asked, hot tears already stinging your eyes. "That will be seen as rude. They'll hate us and the town will start rumors. Now zip it - I don't want to hear another word out of you tonight."

You whimpered, forcibly closing your eyes and turning your head away.

Smack.

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Getting ready for bed that night was torturous - the backs of your hands were raw and bleeding, and everything you touched made your hands sting uncontrollably. You sobbed yourself to sleep, unable to wipe your tears for fear of rubbing salt in the open wound.