He got away and called on his elder sister for help (ThePurpleD3viL)

Lucia

Lucia shoved the half-full shopping basket against her hip and fished her phone out of the back pocket of her ripped black jeans. She was twenty-two. An attractive woman just like her mother, smaller tits, sure, but she’d learned early that attitude and a fat ass made up for anything nature skimped on. Right now that ass was wrapped in high-waisted denim so tight it looked painted on, the kind of jeans that made straight girls nervous and dykes hungry.

The screen lit up with the caller ID and she actually felt her jaw tighten.

Diego.

She hadn’t changed his contact name in years. Still just “Little Shit” with the old photo of him at twelve making that stupid peace sign. She almost swiped to ignore it, she hadn’t spoken to him in months, hadn’t wanted to, but the screen kept flashing and something in her gut twisted just enough to make her thumb hover.

She answered on the sixth ring.

“What.”

No hello. No fake warmth. Just the flat edge she always kept ready when family called.

On the other end Diego sounded like he’d been running. Breathless, words tripping over each other.

“Lu-Lucia…please–you gotta—you gotta come home right now, something’s wrong—really wrong…Mom—she’s—she’s not—she—”

“Slow the fuck down,” she cut in, already annoyed. “What are you even talking about?”

“She’s…she’s different—she—she did things—she’s—she’s with Chase—she’s—”

“Chase? The rich kid who used to shove you in trash cans? What the hell does he have to do with—”

A wet, choked sound came through the line. Not crying exactly. More like someone trying not to cry and failing badly.

“I can’t—I can’t say it over the phone—she—she—she hurt me—Lucia please—just come—I need—I need someone—I can’t—I can’t— I gotta go…”

The line went dead.

Lucia stared at the black screen for three full seconds.

“...the fuck?”

She shoved the phone back in her pocket. Around her the chit chat of the grocery store continued to carry on. A middle-aged woman with a toddler in the cart gave her a nervous side-eye and hurried past. Lucia didn’t notice.

She stood there in the canned-goods aisle, replaying the call in her head.

Diego didn’t call her. Ever. Not birthdays, not Christmas, not even when he’d broken his wrist two years ago. The last time they’d spoken face-to-face he’d been eighteen and she’d driven four hours just to tell him, in front of their mother, that she was moving away for good and that she was done pretending the three of them were still a family.

He’d cried then too. Quiet, snotty tears. She’d felt nothing but tired. But after that he had been very distant, being only courteous in his wishes over the phone, texting if absolutely necessary.

So why the hell was he calling her now like the world was ending?

She dragged a hand through her hair, neon-green tips catching the light. The undercut was starting to grow out; she could feel the soft prickle against her fingertips. She considered going back to the register, paying for the instant noodles and energy drinks, driving home to her one-bedroom, smoking a joint and forgetting the call ever happened.

Instead she pictured her mother’s face, the same pinched, disappointed expression she’d worn the night Lucia came out. The way Valeria’s mouth had gone thin, the way she’d said “We’ll talk about this later” like her being a lesbian was a personal insult to her mother.

“NO I WANT TO TALK NOW!” Lucia had yelled out.

“You’re choosing this lifestyle over your family, Lucia. Over me. Over your little brother who looks up to you.”

She’d laughed then. Bitter. Sharp. “He doesn’t look up to me, Mom. He looks at you. Always has.”

She’d walked out a few days later and hadn’t come back.

Lucia’s grip tightened on the basket handle until her knuckles paled.

If something really was wrong with Valeria, she could believe it, the woman had been one bad day away from a breakdown since Dad left, then showing up unannounced, seeing the perfect Dr. Rivera fall apart, might actually be worth the gas money.

And if Diego was exaggerating, she could still walk in, look her mother dead in the eye and say something vicious about how nice it must be to have a son who still needs her disappointment of a sister this badly.

Either way she’d get to watch something burn.

She abandoned the basket right there, turned on her heel and walked out of the store without buying a single thing.

The cashier called after her. “Ma’am? You forgot—”

Lucia didn’t even turn around. She just got on her bike and prepared to head back home.

The drive back to her town would take just under three hours if she didn’t stop.

She didn’t plan on stopping.