The mafia boss' daughter

III

A day later:
At home:
4:21 PM:

I'm currently in my room, thanking the lord because I'm ill and there's a family barbie going on. Aunt Nina really scares me, she never runs out of energy. Now, Uncle Pedro is just cold and stinks so those reasons are good excuses to stay up here. I think I have a fever though...

I take a sneak peek through the window and see Miguel getting yelled at by my dad with the tragedy mask I slept with last night. I run downstairs in fluffy pants and a tank top with a blanket on top. My body takes a screenshot when I miss a step but I grip the railing to save myself. I put on some sandals and bust open the backyard's door, out of breath.

Me: Wait!

Mum: Mika! You should stay in bed, you're sick!

Me: Yes but you have to leave Miguel-

Dad: He's the one who's been harassing you.

Me: Wait- really?

I see his parents behind him, scared.

Miguel: No, I haven't!

Dad: I'll give you one last chance. Either you stay the fuck away from my daughter or I call the police on you.

Miguel: I'll stay away- I promise!

I've never seen Miguel cry- ever. I know it isn't him but after the pain that he caused me, I know that the tragedy boy must've done something. He probably invented a fake story about Miguel. He leaves with his parents and I go sit down in my living room.

I'm sweating and panting in my blanket but I'm so groggy, I get stuck inside and it's hard to escape it.

Emiel: Are you okay?

Me: No- help me go to my room...

Emiel: Just take the elevator...

I see him in double and as an idiot. I frown at him and he sighs, rolls his eyes and helps me to the elevator. He clicks the button and it opens; we enter it, click another button, it closes and we go up. I walk to my room and fall on the bed face first- passing out.

8:25 PM:

I wake up from another nap after failing to go back to sleep with an ice pack on my head and a soup on my nightstand. I sit up before getting out of bed and walking to my desk with my soup. My vision is still doubled and blurry so after putting the soup on my desk, I put on my glasses. I feel strong for being able to carry the bowl with one hand.

I sit down and call the tragedy boy; he picks up.

Tragedy boy : Hey! What's up?

Me: Why did you frame Miguel?

Tragedy boy: Because he's an asshole? He deserves it- Are you eating a soup?

Me: Yes... It's quite sweet actually, I'm sure my mother handmade it. She knows I hate spicy food-

Tragedy boy: I hate it too but I don't have an excuse to- I'm half Mexican.

Me: I hear you, my mom's Hispanic. What about yours?

Tragedy boy: Yeah she's also Hispanic... Enjoy your soup though-