1. Millie

1

MILLIE

March 23, 1993

"Again, Theresa? Look at the fucking floor, cochina. There's a stain right there by the stove! How long has it been there? And this? Why don't you tell your worthless daughter to fold her clothes and put them away!" My mother's fiancé shouts at her, as she sits on the couch, shame written all over her tired face. Her cheeks and neck turn a bright red shade.

As always…I watch her take his unprovoked wrath. My own rising beneath me as I helplessly have to go through another one of their fights.

"I'm sorry, Santiago. A drop of the soup must have fallen," she tells him as she adjusts her posture on the couch. She had just finished dinner while he was out gambling their money away.

I sat there, anger simmering, waiting to blow but having to stay quiet so he wouldn't take it out on my mom further.

"Eras una puerca! And so are your children!" He calls her and my brother pigs. His tone hardens with disgust.

What had my mother done to deserve this treatment? What had we done? And most of all, what did my mother see in him?

I've had enough. Ever since he entered her life, she was ruined in all the wrong, dreadful, self-deprecating ways. My mother's spirit is tarnished and never coming back the longer their relationship continues.

He throws my clothes on the floor, making that the last straw for me.

"Don't fucking talk to my mother like that, you piece of shit!" I stand from the couch, screaming at the top of my lungs, as a lump in my throat forms. If my mother can't stand up for herself, I will. I'll be the armor that she doesn't have the strength or courage to wear. She's my mother. I'll always have this protective instinct; I can't help it, and right now, punching Santiago in his face after built-up frustration of hearing him beat her down with disgusting insults and unprovoked fights sounds like a fantastic idea.

I've had enough of watching this abusive relationship grow with no ending in sight. Every time he's around, my mood shifts, the air feels dense, and everything gets clouded in his demeanor.

At first, Santiago stood still, with flared nostrils and a protruding gut over his belt. His hands balled into fists and sweat-drenched the sides of his shirt.

I don't understand why he has to react like this over small things that can be fixed with gentle requests or inquiries.

To get back at me, he does something I will never forget or forgive.

My collection of snow globes from every school field trip, dating back from Pre-K to my junior year of high school, comes crashing down to the floor when he sweeps his heavy arm through the dining room shelf.

Glass shatters, and thousands of pieces spread across the white tile in a massive puddle of water.

My heart can't take it. With a trembling body, I watch my trophy memories fade before me.

"Why would you do that?!" I cry out as I do everything I can to stay standing. My legs want to give out from the blackened emotions boiling inside of me with no way out. I step forward to pick up the pieces, but my mother's broken voice cuts through the tension.

"Millie! Please stop." She demands through gritted teeth. Her eyes widen.

She's angry . Finally ! She says something…but then her eyes narrow. And they're not directed at Santiago.

She's angry at me?

"But mom, look at what he's doing! Doing to YOU! Look at what he's saying ? —"

She cuts me off again.

"Millie, shut up!" She demands of me once more, and my blood runs cold. Tears fall down my cheeks as I watch Santiago walk into the kitchen with sick satisfaction. He has a curve on his thin lips and smug shoulders. He's turned my mother against my older brother and now me.

My older brother moved out a year ago because of their relationship, and I stayed, hoping things would get better.

"Mom!"

"Callate lo sico!"

The way my mom forced me down like I was the one who overstepped and crossed lines reminded me that I was no longer the center of her world. Have my brother and I ever been? It's a question I'll never get the answer to because I'm too afraid of the raw answer.

The center of her world remains clear.

It's a man named Santiago, and she's lost in her dark depression, plagued by his sickness, and there's no more trying to save herself. There's no more fight in her because she chose him.

She's lost.

And…so am I.

The reality strikes my chest like a stab in my spirit.

My mother chose him over her own blood.

All my life, no one has ever chosen me. People are genetically programmed to feel something: protection, loyalty, love, selflessness, or guidance.

I'm jealous of everyone who has these things from their parents. Every time I go to school, I see my friends have their parents cheer them on when mine are nowhere to be found. I never got to experience moments like my mother and father kissing me on the cheek when I was a pre-schooler and telling me to have a good day at school. Or to have a warm bed and house to go home to.

I grab my backpack and flee from her apartment until I end up on my estranged father's doorstep.

~Millie

I date the entry from when it happened. Five years ago. I'm twenty now, but the hole is still there. The damage is done. The past is permanent. The pain of losing a mother who's still alive is like a wound that constantly bleeds.

I close my journal. Reading and writing have been my own self-medicated form of therapy since I was a child. I needed help. I still do. I craved to be shown that love exists and that demons don't have to consume me. There is light within my troubled past and future, and I refuse to let everything I've been through taint me permanently.

I push away from my desk and roll on my chair for a second before I get ready for work. I slide the all-pink journal across my desk and stand, tying my long black waves of hair with a band.

My hand is cramped from writing. It's been healthy and freeing for me to pen down my thoughts finally. My parents don't believe in depression or anxiety. They've never entertained the idea of mental illness.

So…writing has been a way for me to escape my horrid reality. I place the diary back in my drawer and slip on my barista uniform while staring at my new collection of snow globes on the shelf. I stare at the Alaska one more specifically. I haven't been there but one day, I will.

"Alright, babes, we just gotta clean up, then we can lock up and enjoy our weekend." I cheerfully hype up my coworkers as we close down the local coffee shop. I give Leah and Hayes a smile to disguise how I'm truly feeling. I'm beyond exhausted. I've been working since eight in the morning, and it's now eight at night. My body aches, and I begin to sweat. Even though lately I haven't been feeling like myself, I've been self-taught to keep going and to maintain positivity throughout rough moments like this. Bad days don't always have to stay bad. They can end with a smile on my tortured face.

I've been working at the ‘Nostalgia Coffee' shop for the past three years. It's a flexible job that fits in with my full-time college schedule. And when I heard I could wear roller skates in a 1950s-themed diner that also sells comfort food, I jumped at the opportunity.

After I finished cleaning a coffee spill that left sprinkles of stains on the pink salmon walls, I move on to clean the checkered floors. Photos of 1950s-1970s rock stars, country artists, and singers are framed amongst the walls.

Paul Anka plays on low volume, and the sound of the television in the top corner of the lounge room grabs my attention as Hayes quickly grabs the remote and points at it. He raises the volume and puts his hand over his mouth, covering a gasp. It's the local news channel with a breaking news alert. I stop in my tracks, balancing myself off the broom, and read the title of the breaking story.

In bold red letters:

ANIMAL ATTACK LEAVES 1 FARMER DEAD AND 2 IN CRITICAL CONDITION

"Another animal attack? Hayes, please walk us to our cars. This is getting a little scary. Those attacks are getting closer and closer to town," Leah says as she pleads with a terrified Hayes. His hazel eyes skim over the news reporter, observing the TV like it's going to come alive and bite him. Leah turns around with her back to the TV and continues to wipe down tables that have not been cleaned yet. She throws the towel over her shoulder, and her other hand holds the cleaning spray. Her blonde, wavy hair is pulled back in a ponytail, though strands have escaped her gelled back style, hovering over her brown freckles.

"Sshh! Let me listen." Hayes ignores her request and hushes her instead.

I roll my eyes at both of them. Hayes and Leah are the two co-workers who constantly bicker and gossip at work. Still, I wouldn't trade these two goofballs for the world.

"I mean, what kind of animal could this be? We live in Texas, for crying out loud. There are no bears. There are no alligators nearby," Leah continues. It's sort of true. We live in the southern region of Texas, south of San Antonio, away from all busy city life in a town called Santana.

"Leah, I'm trying to listen. Maybe if you let me listen to the news reporter, I can answer those questions!" Hayes hisses, hushing Leah once again. He holds the mop close to his chest for balance. His ponytail whips to his back as he shakes his head.

I've had enough of this. I'm tired, and I want to sleep. My threshold for negativity has met the maximum limits tonight. I stomp over to the television, get on my tiptoes, and turn it off.

"Millie. I was watching that," Hayes complains. I quickly grab the remote from his hand before he can turn the television back on.

"I know, but we're still on the clock." I turn to a worried Leah. "That attack happened far away from here, by the way, Leah. So, stop worrying, and let's finish cleaning so we can go home." I put my professionalism mask back on. I hate when I have to do that.

"Actually, Millie. That happened just a couple miles from here." Hayes corrects me. An uncomfortable, eerie pause lingers between all three of us as "Sleepwalk" by Santo & Johnny continues to play softly.

Our supervisor, Cole, pops his head out of the kitchen and swings his backpack over his shoulder. "Millie is right, you guys. Please focus on closing and not the TV. I have to leave right now, so I'm leaving her in charge." He points to me with a tired smile.

I lift an eyebrow, return the smile, and lean on my hip. Cole leaves through the back of the shop and locks it with his keys.

They both stare at the now turned-off television, digesting the news. I place the remote near the television and go back to cleaning. I don't understand why I'm feeling more tired than usual. It's only eight at night, yet it feels like one or three in the morning.

Leah sticks her tongue out at Hayes, and he returns the friendly gesture. Finally, after their little quarrel, they're over it.

Suddenly, our front door to the coffee shop opens, making the bells attached to it chime. I quirk a brow, immediately disappointed that I hadn't locked it yet. I felt like I didn't have to with the practically empty parking lot and We're Closed neon sign on the front window.

A tall blonde man with the brightest blue eyes emerges. He's dressed in a white shirt, black jeans and boots. He looks to be around his mid-30s. He comes walking in like he owns the place, confident yet scary. He turns straight to me, looking deeply into my eyes, and smirks. I tighten my grip on my broom.

"Sir, we're closed. You can come back tomorrow for coffee when we open. We open around eight a.m.," Hayes shouts politely over the register. The blonde man doesn't break. He continues to stare at me. It's cold and unreadable, making every second unbearably uncomfortable.

I don't like this.

I stiffen, and finally, he moves with a smirk.

What a creep.

I look away from the man and return to sweeping the floor in hopes that he'll understand that I don't welcome this type of attention. He needs to stop looking at me like that.

"I don't drink coffee," the man replies with a deep voice.

I peek with my peripheral vision to see him turn to Hayes in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, we don't really sell much else," Leah says as she walks over to the store's front door. She opens it and holds it open for the man, hoping he'll notice and leave. He turns to Leah and then to me. He flattens his lips.

There's a moment of intense silence before he speaks again.

"You know, you guys should really stop closing after sundown. I hear there has been a lot of…" he pauses, and a sinister smile replaces his once-thinned lips. "Animal attacks at night. You guys shouldn't be out…it's dangerous," he tells us cruelly. His ice-cold voice is laced with mystery.

We all stand in silence, watching him, perplexed by his cold demeanor.

Then, the man walks out the door without another word, and Leah quickly jumps at the opportunity to shut the door behind him. She reaches into her pocket for her set of keys and locks it. We all walk towards the window, plastering our faces against the glass to watch him. Instead of getting into a car, his tall figure keeps walking into the night until we can't see him anymore. Our coffee shop is located in a newly built area, so there aren't any other nearby stores.

That was weird.

"That guy was kind of creepy," I say as I sweep the floor.

"And hot," Leah mutters through a cheeky grin.

Hayes and I turn to Leah with the same confused look.

"Don't judge me." Leah rolls her eyes.

" Judging ," Hayes and I reply, synchronized with a laugh.

After we finished cleaning, Hayes walks us both to our cars. After he walked Leah to hers, he followed me to mine.

The humid Texas air blows through my hair, and I push the loose strands out of my eyes with my hand.

"Goodnight, Hayes. I'll see you next time we're on shift together."

"Yup. Goodnight, babes. I can't wait to tell the boyfriend about how I got to clean up vomit after the group of college students came in drunk."

"Yeah…that wasn't fun." I grit my teeth as I get into my car quickly, and Hayes closes the door, biting his tongue. I watch him enter his car, and then he zooms out of the parking lot.

I turn on the air conditioning, take out the tight ponytail from my head, and drive to my house, which is about a twelve-minute drive away from the coffee shop. The entire time I drive, the blonde man's interaction lingers. Leah was right about his looks. He's very handsome. He's got that mysterious, intriguing look about him. Yet, there was a dark aura he carried—it was almost tangible.

Even though it was a short and distinguished encounter, the way he was staring at me made me cringe and grip my steering wheel tighter.

Once I get home, I pull the door open, knowing my dad is still awake, sitting in the same spot on the couch as he always does, watching TV in the living room. I close the front door and lock it. He always leaves it open for me around this time. I hang up my purse and keys in the entryway and approach the kitchen, where my dinner plate awaits me in the fridge.

Grabbing it and placing it in the microwave, I heat it for about a minute before taking it to my room to eat. It's the same uneventful routine I've come to love. I walk by the living room and turn off the TV when I realize my dad has fallen asleep, waiting for me. I gently shake his shoulder to wake him up.

"Go to bed, Dad. I'm home."

He raises his head from the couch cushion, and his snores abruptly stop. With sleepy red eyes, he groggily nods his head.

" Mija , you're home. How was work?" He yawns while he gets up from the couch and walks to his room.

"Good, Dad. Get to sleep. I'll be in my room, turning in for the night. I'm tired."

He nods again and waves his hand over his shoulder as he sleepily drags his feet to his room.

Our all-black male German Shepherd, Cooper, is on my feet as I move towards my room. He kisses my hands, probably telling me he missed me while I was at work. I give him gentle pets as he follows me.

I set my dinner plate at my desk once I'm in my room, and Cooper lays down next to my window.

Huh ?

Now, that was not part of my usual routine with him. Usually, he sits on my bed, giving me the best puppy eyes he can muster at his five years of age, trying to get me to feed him from my plate.

I take off my shoes, turn on the TV in my room, watch my favorite comedy show, and eat the brisket with potato salad. My father is a fantastic cook with a passion for barbecue. I don't doubt that he has all the barbecue tools in the world. You walk outside on the backyard deck, and you would think he owns his own barbecue business with all of his top-of-the-line cooking machines.

I open my mouth to take a bite of my potato salad but I don't get to eat it. I jolt in my seat from Cooper's unexpected change in behavior. The food falls from my fork and back onto the plate when Cooper's growls roar.

I'm jumpy these days.

I turn to watch his ears shoot up, and he stands looking out my window between the curtains on high alert.

Cooper repeatedly barks. His snarls are indignant. The fur on his back rises like he's ready to intimidate or attack.

Is there a cat outside? Another dog?

"Cooper, stop it. You're going to wake up my dad." I scold him and try to calm him but he doesn't stop. I roll my eyes, get up from my chair, and get ready to open my curtains to investigate. It's probably a harmless squirrel.

As I get closer, I grow more weary. What's bothering Cooper so severely that he starts to scratch the windows?

I walk beside him as he continues to snarl, and I sweep my blue curtains to the side to check it out.

Oh my god .

My eyes widen, and my heart falls to my stomach when I realize who he's barking at. I drop my fork as blood rushes to my ears, silencing my ability to move or breathe.

It's the same blonde man from the coffee shop across the street looking at me with a wicked grin and abnormally bright blue eyes. His head tilts forward like he's taking pleasure in watching me. His smile isn't welcoming. It's taunting. I freeze as my mouth drops open. My voice is caught in my throat as I try to croak out for words, but nothing comes out. I'm unsure of what to do in a situation like this. He flashes his teeth, and I can see large canines, sharper than usual.

What the hell ?

I blink fast and open my mouth to scream for my dad.

"D-Dad!" I blare as hard as I can after finally finding my voice. I rip my vision from the stranger, turn towards my bedroom door, and bellow out again.

"Dad, come quick!"

I hope he can hear me over Cooper's continuous barks. I turn back to the window, but I'm met with no one. I grip my curtains tighter and search vehemently for the man, up and down the street, every single tree…but nothing.

He vanished .

"I swear—" I mutter to myself.

Am I seeing things?

Where did he go?