Chapter 6

Warnings: Language, man-angst…I think that’s it.

God, he hated those sunglasses… they made it so damned difficult to see inside at night – but he knew with the table-side lamp shining brightly on his left, he would not be able to see her even with his sunglasses off. It would give him a splitting headache in a matter of minutes trying to focus past the glow of the lampshade.

Bitterness spread within him like oil across water, filling in the cracks and coves that it had not yet touched. He shouldn’t be so weak. He should be able to say the hell with it, and take off the glasses…damn the consequences. He should be able to rotate his shoulder, or lift his niece in his arms, or protect her when she falls.

He should be able to do a lot of things that he couldn’t anymore…


Carlos was hospitalized for twenty-five days.

Twenty-five days.


That was twenty-five days of staring out the window, watching the clouds race each other across the sky. Twenty-five days of listening to the incessant beeping of his vitals monitor. It meant fifty-seven dressing changes; three skin grafts; seventy-four doses of medication; five nurses who weren’t paying attention and tried to take his blood pressure from his injured arm; five nurses who got an earful of Spanish curse words for attempting it.

Carlos was irritated and sour. He hated hospitals. He hated the way the floors squeaked beneath the nurses’ shoes. He hated the way there was never any rest. He hated how all he could see out of his window was the top of the building a floor or two below him and nothing else. Just gray, flat slabs of concrete and industrial exhaust fans with rust along the seams.

Twenty-five days of feeling guilty, of blaming himself for Mark’s death…for endangering his cadets the same way.

He’d heard that with the tip off from the explosion the men inside the building had darted out the side entrance – precisely where the rest of the team had been waiting for orders from Mark. They’d reacted quickly and had apprehended everyone that had tried to flee the building, making headlines for one of the most successful drug busts in five years time. The article had credited Sgt. Vasquez for the bust; Carlos had ripped it to shreds when he’d seen it.

Twenty-five days.

His arm was still sore; his chest and neck, too. His face was numb and prickled every so often. If he moved his face too much – stretched it, or tried to move the resistant muscles – it felt as if his skin were going to rip apart each and every time. His head ached halfway through the day from having to refocus with one eye: It ached to the back of his skull. Bright lights did it too, so he began to wear sunglasses even indoors…even at night.

He felt like a monster… both physically and emotionally. His anger and bitterness was exceedingly unlike him, and yet he found that the more he tried to control it, the worse it got. All his energy was sapped.

He hated guests. They visited him constantly. Coworkers, friends, media. They asked him questions about the blast, or about Mark, or about how he’d found out about the building in the first place, like he’d planned it all along. He hated feeling like he should be willing to share the story over and over again, when all he wanted was to forget it entirely. Bury it. Bury it with Mark. It was done. It was over. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

He just wanted to be left alone.

There were times he was grateful to have Hector as his brother. Hector hovered over him, threw people out of the room, closed the door in their faces when he knew Carlos didn’t want to talk. He did the things that Carlos didn’t have the strength for.

But there were also times when Hector’s over-protectiveness grated on his already frayed and thinned patience.


For God’s sake, Hector…! I don’t need you to pull up your family and move them just for me!” he yelled in Spanish. Two of the young movers raised eyebrows at each other as they began lifting boxes to heft out the door.


Hector signed his brother’s name on the clipboard the mover held out to him and gave him a nod to start packing Carlos’ belongings into the truck. His brother was nearly collapsing from his own anger and stress. It was hard enough to see him in the pain the accident had brought him; watching him stress himself into an early grave was even harder.

“I am not ‘pulling them up,’” he quoted calmly. “We are simply relocating for a month or two to help you.”

Carlos grappled at the back of his head in frustration, digging his knuckles into his skull. He made a sound like a growl from deep in his chest. “I don’t need your help! I’ve told you this…I just want to go to Covena, do what they tell me to do, and come back. I won’t be gone long enough for you to even justify leaving!”

“You don’t know that. Anyways, all we’ll be there for is to help get you settled in.”

Carlos frowned at him from behind his sunglasses, his mouth turning down disapprovingly. Hector slung his arm around him, pulling his resisting form against him. “Easy, hermanito. It will all work out.”

Six short weeks later, he was still surrounded by people everywhere he went. Hector insisted on driving him to and from his appointments. The girls were continuously at his heels, wanting to play. Anastasia cooked and cleaned and unpacked his belongings. He began to feel closeted in his own apartment. He didn’t want his things put away…he wanted them to stay in boxes. He wasn’t going to stay here.

There was nothing for him here.

He had completely pushed all thoughts of finding Christiana from his mind. He did not want her to see him like this. He was altered…changed. He was un monstruo. A monster – both outside and in. He would never want to have her see him at his weakest. Perhaps it was vain…but he felt as if he were trapped by the man he once was. He would appear completely different to her now, and she would take one look at him and regret ever having slept with him.

He did not want to cause that moment of regret. He didn’t want to feel any more ashamed of his appearance than he already did. He wanted to bury that past with the rest of everything else, once and for all.

He sat on the couch, staring at the television but taking nothing in. At least he could watch the screen now without having a massive headache. It was some progress…but only a little. The children’s show was colorful and bright and the characters sang ridiculous songs about hunting for socks. The only reason he hadn’t left the room was for the sake of his nieces, who were happily watching the show with him. Isobel had been frightened of him lately and he was attempting to resume some semblance of the uncle he had been.

When the silly show ended, Anastasia rounded the corner into the room. “All right, Isa, nap time,” she said calmly. She gathered up Isobel in her arms. “Say bye-bye to Tio.” She bent forward to lower Isobel closer to Carlos’ face. Carlos turned to kiss his niece, but she flinched away, ducking her head against her mother’s arm.

Carlos’ smile died on his lips. “She’s just tired,” Anastasia explained, smoothing Isobel’s sleek dark hair. Carlos turned back to the television, staring through it, as Anastasia swept Isobel out of the room and up the stairs to their bedroom. Next to him, Lydia was bouncing around, full of energy.

“Lydia, please stop. You are moving the furniture,” Carlos said tiredly, his patience already beginning to fizzle and it was barely two in the afternoon.

“I want to go on a sock hunt!” Lydia proclaimed, unfazed by her uncle’s darkening mood. She bounded over to the couch on his left. “You can help me, Tio! Let’s go now! See?”



In a flash, she threw herself down on the couch on her back, kicking her leg up in the air. Had Carlos remained still, her foot would have appeared right in the line of vision in his good eye – presumably to show him the color of her sock – but with her bouncing around as she had, he had quickly turned his head to watch that she didn’t hurt herself.

The result was her foot kicking him roughly against the left side of his face, her heel connecting with his temple, knocking the sunglasses off of him with a clatter.

“¡Aye! ¡Puñeta Lydia!”


His voice came out sharp and angry. He pressed his palm to the side of his face. The contact had merely stung, nothing more, but it angered him more that he hadn’t seen it coming. He could feel his own self-hatred boiling over as he pushed himself off the couch. He reached for his sunglasses roughly.


“I cannot see out of this eye!” he shouted, pointing to the left side of his face. He glared down at his tearful niece for a moment before he turned and strode out of the room just as Hector appeared from the living room. Carlos brushed his brother’s hand away.

“Hey!” Hector called after him, but he didn’t stop. He needed to get away from here…he needed to be somewhere alone. Somewhere he could think, without being waited on hand and foot, or relying on someone else to drive him, or being knocked in the head by a little girl’s foot. He slammed the door with finality when he left.

Hector was bewildered. He’d never once heard his brother raise his voice like that to either of the girls. Lydia had ran to him the moment he’d come into the room and she was crying against his leg. “Shh, mija,” he said, crouching down to her level. She scrubbed her knuckles into her eyes pathetically.

“I d-didn’t m-mean to h-hurt h-him!” she wailed, hiccupping. Hector raised his hand and smoothed a wisp of hair from her face affectionately. He kept his voice soft.

“You didn’t hurt him, Querida.”

“But he yelled! Why is he always mad at me?” Her eyes were brimming with a flood of tears and he cupped her face in his hand.

“He is not mad at you, Sweetheart. He is mad at himself more than anything.”

Lydia sniffled. “Why?”

Hector stood and drew her to the chair in the corner, and pulled her up onto his lap. “You see, Lydia…Tio is a man who does not like to be weakened by anything. He doesn’t like not being able to see. He doesn’t like that this accident happened to him.”

Lydia leaned her head against her father’s chest as he stroked her hair. “But you said those are things that won’t change in Tio now.”

“Yes, mija.”

“Then why is he angry at them if he cannot change them?”


Hector chuckled softly, kissing his daughter’s hair. “You ask very wise questions, my little cricket.”

Changing the subject, he suggested they play a game of chutes and ladders. Two games and a grilled cheese sandwich later, and Lydia had forgotten all about that her Tio had even been angry.

Not so with Hector.

He watched his brother when he’d returned from his walk. He was patient with Lydia and Isobel – but only just. Hector could see his brother’s patience wearing thin; the fuse easily ignited. He also noticed the frequency that Carlos seemed to reach for a glass of whiskey to help his patience last. Hector didn’t like the changes he was seeing in his brother; he was destroying himself from hatred and blame. For the first time in nearly twenty years, Hector felt like he couldn’t reach out to him.


Carlos would have breathed a sigh of relief at having the living room to himself for the first time in days, but he knew it would hardly last. Instead he barely had a moment to hear himself think after Hector took the girls upstairs for bed. Anastasia joined him within minutes, sitting down in the chair opposite him. She watched him warily as he silently cursed her to the blackest reaches of Hell in his mind. Couldn’t he be left alone for even a second? The only solace he had was when he was on the damned toilet…


“Busy day today, hmm?”


Her soft voice broke his inner monologue. He looked up at her briefly, his sunglasses making everything twice as dim.

God, he hated them…they made it so damned difficult to see inside at night – but he knew with the table-side lamp shining brightly on his left, he would not be able to see her even with his sunglasses off. It would give him a splitting headache in a matter of minutes trying to focus past the glow of the lampshade.


Bitterness spread within him like oil across water, filling in the cracks and coves that it had not yet touched. He shouldn’t be so weak. He should be able to say the hell with it, and take off the glasses…damn the consequences. He should be able to rotate his shoulder, or lift his niece in his arms, or protect her when she falls.

He should be able to do a lot of things that he couldn’t anymore. And yet here he was, whining about it, when Mark…

Mark wasn’t even able to slap him for it. Mark was dead.


“What,” he said, taking another sip of whiskey. He welcomed the burn as it slowly slid down his throat, proving his insides could feel even if the outside couldn’t.

“Are you okay?”


Carlos could see the sympathy and pity in her eyes. She probably didn’t even realize it. It grated on him, nonetheless. He looked away from her, cracking his knuckles on his right hand one at a time.


“I’m fine,” he snapped, too quickly. The whiskey wasn’t touching his bad mood… or perhaps it was only working to enhance it. He quickly drained his glass and set it down on the table with a dull thud. “I’m going for a walk.”

He got up stiffly and prowled to the front hall. He didn’t have to look to know she shadowed his path. This incessant smothering was beginning to set his teeth on edge.

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.” He grabbed his jacket off the rack and began to put it on. In his haste he’d forgotten to put his left arm in first. He hissed at the sharp pain that radiated across his shoulder when he reached his arm back blindly for the sleeve.

“Here, let me…” she began, moving forward to pull his jacket up his arm.


“No!” He jerked his body away, spinning around like a wild animal. “Stop it! I can put on my own jacket, for Christ’s sake!”


Hector had descended the stairs into the hallway behind them and his voice rang out sharply, snapping like a whip. “Carlos!”


Anastasia stared at Carlos, bewildered. “I was just trying to help you…”

He shoved his arm through the sleeve roughly. “Don’t,” he said darkly, and with that he spun around and descended the stairs toward the door. He ignored his brother calling after him and he punched the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

Anger fueled his steps as he paced quickly through the courtyard, beside the empty, dark playground. He could hear Hector following after him, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop.


A hand on his shoulder jerked him, slowing his stride. “Hey!” Hector’s voice growled dangerously. “¿Que es tu problema?”

Carlos finally stopped and spun to face his brother. He felt feral and like he was finally somewhat unrestrained. “My problem?”

He had brought his face close to Hector’s – almost nose to nose – and Hector sniffed briefly. Carlos had no doubt he could smell the whiskey. “Are you drunk?”

Carlos laughed without humor. “So what if I am?”

“What is wrong with you?” Hector demanded, stepping into Carlos’ path where he’d tried to continue walking. “Huh? Stop being so angry! I know you are frustrated, hermanito, but we are your family!


Hector placed both his hands on Carlos’ shoulders. “We are your family. Your nieces…they love you, and all you do is growl at them and storm away. Anastasia…she is just trying to help!

I don’t need her help!” Carlos yelled through bared teeth. He shoved at Hector’s hands, pushing them off his shoulders. “God…if I am frustrated, it is because I never get a moment’s peace here! I am constantly being crowded…at the hospital, at home, in the car, in my bed. It never ends!” He was breathing hard, as if he’d run a marathon. His mouth, it seemed, did not want to stop, now that he had finally allowed it to speak. “The girls are under my feet, Anastasia is mothering me, you are following me around, getting in my way. It’s too much, Hector! It’s too much!


“I need space. I need to be alone. For God’s sake, Hector, leave me alone!”

He turned to continue marching away, but Hector responded. “I am just trying to help your stubborn ass!

Don’t help me,” Carlos muttered over his shoulder. Hector stopped him once again.

You are my brother. You are my family. I protect my family.”

For fuck’s sake…” Carlos said. “You treat me like a child. I am a grown man! I can take care of myself.


Right,” Hector said sarcastically. He gestured towards Carlos’ face. “The last time you said that, your face ended up like this.

Carlos took a threatening step towards his brother, his fists balled and ready. “Leave now before I break yours.”

Hector seemed unfazed by the threat. “Why are you fighting this so badly?”

Oh my God… repeat and repeat and repeat!” Carlos said, holding his head. “I don’t want to depend on you or Anastasia. Let me do this on my own. If you want to help…

“Carlito, I am trying to…”


Carlos interrupted him. “Then leave me alone.” He stared hard at his brother, saying his words carefully and precisely. “I don’t want you here.”

Hector flung his arm up in exasperation. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Carlos stood panting angrily in the moonlight as he watched his brother’s form retreat around the corner. He was half afraid to hope that his words would be taken seriously this time.

Relishing the peace and quiet, he looked up at the branches of the tall oak he stood under. They wound and stretched and grappled with each other above his head, twisting into the abyss of leaves… and then he saw it: A quick movement in one of the windows, one story up. The silhouette of a person was there, parting the curtain.


Turning his head, Carlos saw them jump slightly at his notice, and then their hand fell away, letting the curtain flutter back into place, and the shadow disappeared.

Taking stock of his surroundings, Carlos chuckled ruefully to himself as he shouldered past the oak and cut between two of the buildings. If two men howling at each other in Spanish were enough to spook the folks around here, they definitely did not belong in the city – that he could attest to.

His bad mood slightly eased, but unwilling to give up his solace just yet, he turned down the street, letting his feet try to carry him away from all that plagued him…

Even if what plagued him at the moment was his own self-deprecating thoughts.


Long time no see! I’ve been taking my time with this one, which on second glance, I really don’t know why, since this was just supposed to be a fill-in for the build up of Carlos’ story in Covena. It turned into more, though, as always, and I think it was important that we saw the bitterness in him, and how dark his thoughts are beginning to be. Carlos is a very self-sufficient character and does NOT like depending on others for anything, really, so this is more of a mental struggle with himself than it is anger at his brother.

Oh, and before I forget, the scene where Lydia kicks him in the face? Yeah, pretend those sandals and cute sim-kid feet are actually socks. I tried photoshopping that in, and it looked like someone gave her plastic booties that had survived some sort of charred experience, and I was unhappy with the result to say the least. So I kept the shoes. But she’s really wearing socks, I swear. ::waves magic fingers::

Spanish Lessons:
+ Hermanito = little brother
+ Carlito = lit. “little Carlos”…also just a pet name for Carlos
+ Puñeta = fuck! or shit!, as in “fuck! I just pinched my finger…”
+ Mija = a shortened version of mi hija, or “my daughter”. (Pronounced “mee-hah”).
+ Que es tu problema? = What is your problem?



Filed under Chapter 6

26 responses to “Chapter 6

  1. Nyxie

    Yay, an update! Poor Carlos, I feel so bad for him.

    • yay!! I know, I feel bad for him, too. It was harder to write that side of him than I thought it would be!

      • Nyxie

        You seriously have to tell me if you get sick of this and I’ll stop.

      • wow!!! I love this one, too!! Great finds, Nyxie!! I should really get around to updating the Christiana/Carlos playlist I’ve been compiling…I miss 😦 It was so much easier than

  2. gayl

    I love your writing. I really felt like I was in the middle of Carlos’ anger and pain. I felt how smothered he was becoming. And hmm, I wonder who that was peeking out the curtains. They are in Covena right?

    • Thank you Gayl! It’s funny you should mention how you felt smothered as well…there was a point when I was in the middle of writing it and my husband came into the room to ask me a question and I nearly snapped his head off, haha, poor guy.

      And, why yes! They ARE in Covena. Technically they are living in Edanomella city. :))

  3. This was wonderful – I’m glad to see an update from you again! I always look forward to them. 😀

    I can’t imagine how hard this must be for Carlos, to feel like he’s lost his independence and his sense of self. It broke my heart when Isobel flinched when he tried to kiss her and then to see him blowing up at poor Lydia. 😦

    • I know 😦 I’ve been horrible at updating in a timely manner, I’m sorry.

      And yes, poor Carlos, it’s hard to write him this way, which is so unlike him. He’s going through some rough times right now, that’s for sure.

  4. Qui

    His anger an bitterness is so strong that you can really feel it and relate to him. He should be happy to be alive and at this point, I’m sure he is wishing he wasn’t. Losing a best friend and then having to readjust to live with disabilities can’t be easy. I wish he’d make peace with it and allow his family in. Hopefully he’ll start to feel better when it hair grows back. I know that always helps me! 🙂

    I wonder if that neighbor was just a neighbor…

    • I think being left alone will help him sort things out, really. He thrives when he is doing things on his own. It’s part of the reason he and Hector clash so much: Hector is always trying to help by being there, doing something, and Carlos simply does best when left to his own devices.

      Hmmm…we’ll have to wait and see now, won’t we? 😉

  5. deagh

    “You want to help me? Stop helping me!” Ah, I have so been there and done that. And the dreaded “Are you ok?” question. Actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t blown up more than he has. I really feel for him here. Hopefully he can come to terms with things…and I agree with what others have said, once he gets some hair back and things improve physically some more, that will help him mentally as well. But for now, jeez his family needs to give him some space.

    • Actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t blown up more than he has.

      BAHAAHA I’m so glad you said that. I was totally thinking I was the only one that thought he was reigned IN. 😛

      The hair… I think he’s going to keep it like this, just for a little while. He’s already made his peace with the hair, and it’s something to occupy his morning for a good ten minutes every other day. He’s actually a little worried if he let it grow in, what it would look like on the side of his face. It’s hard to see (also because I’m just not that good at skinning..) but the scars go up his cheek and close to his temple. There is an area above his ear on the side of his head that is scarred just as badly as his face and neck, and no hair would grow there now because of how it healed.

      Hopefully Hector has heard him this time. 🙂 Thanks deagh!!

  6. SB

    Poor Carlos. A strong man finds the loss of his independence very difficult to take, and he doesn’t seem to be dealing with it well. He needs to accept the help he’s offered (would he withhold help if the tables were turned?), and slowly move forward.

    Your shots are always so beautiful, so dreamy, and these are wonderful. I love the view out the window, and that last shot. You can see all the way down the block with the electric lines, the light, it looks so real.

    Wondering who is behind the curtain!!

    • You know, Beth, you’re right. Carlos wouldn’t withhold help if their roles were reversed. He would be there for his brother without a doubt…but his one difference would be that he would actually back off more than Hector does. Hector’s protectiveness makes him over-bearing more often than not. His heart is in the right place, but he doesn’t know when to just back off. Carlos, on the other hand, can sense when his presence is beginning to get on someone’s nerves.

      ETA: I have fast fingers today…didn’t mean to reply so fast. But thank you for the compliment on the shots!! I had a lot of fun building the surrounding buildings that we didn’t even get to see haha. And person behind the curtain…they are a little sketchy, no? 😉

  7. deagh

    “He needs to accept the help he’s offered (would he withhold help if the tables were turned?)”

    It’s not about not offering help. They have offered help. Actually, help isn’t being offered, it’s being shoved down his throat. Yes, they are well intentioned. Yes they love him and want to help. He’s told them that the best way they can help is to give him some time alone, and they are not doing that. So now it becomes less about giving him what he needs and more about them going on record as helping. When you have people around you, no matter how well intentioned, you feel compelled to put on a mask that everything is ok, especially when you have a cultural machismo tradition. He likely will not break down and cry, for example, with all those people around. He has family around him all the time, from what it looks like, and he has to keep up this mask, or so he feels. So he asks them to leave him alone, give him some privacy, and they are not respecting that.

    He *does* need help…but they’re smothering him, and it is not helping. He needs some time to figure out that he does need the help. When he gets to that point, *then* help would be helpful. Right now, it’s just making things worse. So they need to back off after making it clear that they are ready, willing, and able to help *if asked*. And stop asking him if he’s ok. Why the hell would he be ok? Of course he’s not ok. What kind of stupid question is that?

    Oy, this is a book. But I remember so vividly the awful, awful responses when my mother died. I can so empathize with him here. I can empathize with his family too, though – they want to help and they don’t know how. But if they really want to help, they need to talk to some professionals to find out how best to help him.

    • Thank you Deagh, I didn’t mean for this to trigger thoughts of your mother, I hope that’s not what I did. :\ But I really appreciate the honesty that you’ve infused into this comment. The mask thing…yes! Exactly. He is constantly pretending he is fine, and he is NOT fine. Mark was as close as a brother to him as Hector was, except they just weren’t related by blood. He feels endlessly guilty for having robbed Lizzie and Mason of him, and he just can’t forgive himself for it. Not yet, at least. In time, maybe. But at this moment it is still new to him.

      It’s tough, too, because he asks to be left alone, so they try…but five people living in a one-bedroom apartment, well, it’s hard not to bump into one another. He really has no privacy, and when they think they are leaving him alone for a while, he never really said “I don’t want you living here.” Not until this fight with Hector. And to look at this from Hector’s point of view, his protective nature didn’t want to leave Carlos alone in an unfamiliar city with no one to look after him. He knows his brother is a grown man, but he had just gone through a traumatic accident…he would feel tremendously guilty if he had just let Carlos go to Covena by himself. So, the solution? Go to Covena with him for the summer and try to be useful that way. Bring the girls with him, too, because Carlos is always so cheered up by them. Based on the past, he thought this was the best way to bring Carlos back to normal…but it backfired badly.

      • deagh

        Not at all – I’m nearly 22 years removed from those memories. I can remember them now without them being so painful. I don’t want to make this about me, but my friends made some absolutely wretched choices while I was grieving. Looking back, I understand that they had the very best of intentions…but as you put it, they backfired badly. Took some time for me to forgive that. I can see that same thing happening with Carlos.

  8. kelseypinkshoe

    Aghghfgkjdfjadklfjs yaaaaay! I’m so late on commenting, and am incredibly sorry for that, but this chapter was awesome, Christi! (But you knew that, since we conversed beforehand. :P)

    It’s so sad to see Carlos in this state, but you wrote it wonderfully. I totally got that “caged” feeling while reading — you know, the unbearable irritation that comes with being smothered. Totally relatable.

    Anyway, gah! I’m never nearly as coherent as I’d like to be when I’m writing chapter replies. But suffice it to say that I loved reading this chapter (though it made me sad), and the shots were gorgeous (the foot-to-face one was really well done, btw).


    • kadkghawi I’m late in replying, so it’s cool! 😛
      I’m glad the “caged” and smothered feeling got across. Like I said above, it made me feel that way, too, and poor husband got a good snap out of me because of it for no reason at all, haha. It’s okay though. I made it up to him 🙂

      Glad you liked the foot-to-face pic! I gave up trying to edit it much further, heh. And of course the ending I know I kept that from you…but I wanted to at least surprise you with SOMETHING haha. :b

  9. Hayley

    I was having such a bad day (after being late and getting a speeding ticket for $136) seeing that the next chapter came out honestly made my day! I cannot wait for the next chapter of the McT’s!!!!
    I hate Carlos’ attitude! Ahh! Haha I’m really excited to see his turn around though, I just have a feeling Christiana and Delilah will get him to realize that it wasn’t his fault and that he needs to enjoy his life

    • Awww that sucksss so much!! $136 is ridiculous 😦 I’m sorry!

      I know Carlos’ attitude is pretty bad right now, but it’ll get better. He just needs to work through his issues on his own without interference from his brother and family haha. The next chapter is coming along nicely!! I’ll get some solid writing time in the next couple of days…maybe even some game time! Woohoo! 😀

  10. Pingback: The Night in Covena | Spanish Lullaby

  11. Awwwww…..poor Carlos. Bitter, bitter Carlos….get over it already! You can take care of yourself – sure – your face, along with half of your body is burnt, and there is NOT A THING in the world you can do about it. Grow up already and stop snapping at children and snarling at toddlers ~ it’s not their fault!

    Phew, now that I finally got that out…wow! I guess I was a little behind, but I’m all caught up now.
    Favorite picture/scene – definitely Carlos being knocked in the head by a little girl’s foot/sock.

  12. haha jeeeez lots of hostility for Carlos there!! 😉 He was pretty shaken up, though. I’d be irritable, too.

    • You know, I’m trying this new thing called ‘Tough Love’; i.e calling things exactly as I see them and not sugar-coating it. I like the fact that he is fighting the helplessness, the love and concern being shoved down his throat and all that…..but – Oh, who am I kidding? I love it! The things that shake him up, bring him down and/or break down the ‘Casanova’ in him; will only make him stronger…………I hope.

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