Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝓔𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷

Pᴀʀᴛɪᴇs ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇsᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ. Tʜᴀᴛ's ᴡʜʏ I ᴛʜʀᴇᴡ them. I only did when my mom wasn't at home, though. Like during the days she was so busy at work that she had to a reservation at a hotel so that she could rest and just go back to work the next day.
My mom is a business woman—not rich, but enough—so she doesn't have time for bullshit. Even though she keeps up with mine whenever she's home and I am too. But my mom is the sweetest, and she has been through a lot.
A shitty husband that left her pregnant and kind of fucked with a house to pay on her own without the help of anyone.
My grandparents had cut her off because of the man she had chosen, so when she tried to ask them for help, they a bit literally said to her "I told you so!". I grew up without grandparents and without a father, great.
I mean, I am not the only one in this world with a situation like mine, there are a lot of people actually. It's sad? Probably. But I learned to live with it. I'm a strong ass man now. Even though I kind of only get in trouble.
Habit, I guess.
"Ethan, where do I put this shit?" Brody shouted from the living room. I looked from the doorway and saw him holding my mom's expensive vase.
A heirloom she would have given to her daughter if she had one, but since she didn't, well I was going to have it. So I had to protect it with my whole soul.
I ran out of the kitchen and made my way to him, quickly taking the vase from his hands and inspecting it like a newborn child had fallen off a crib.
"You can't touch this. Neither should I, for now. I'll put it in a cabinet." I said, still eyeing the vase down to make sure no small trace or dirt was in there.
I made my way to back to the kitchen, where I was cleaning everything up, and got to most hidden counter with a cabinet that not many people would think of opening, so I went there, pulled the door open and carefully placed the vase inside.
If I ever broke that vase, my mom would break me instead. Because that vase came all the way down from Puerto Rico before my grandparents stopped talking to my mom, also before knowing who she had chosen to date. So like, during the start of the 2000's.
My mission was to keep it safe until I had a house of my own and a job of my own and a brain of my own with self-consciousness. That would take a long time.
"When are the guests arriving?" Shrimp asked as he walked through the front door with the bottles of two different alcohols in hand.
"In less than an hour, now." I said, wiping my hands with a rag and walked towards him, taking the two bottles off of his hands and walking to the kitchen to and placing them on top of the counter where all the other drinks were.
"Did you invite Miss Latina?" Shrimp asked when he walked into the kitchen after me, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning against it.
"Of course, why wouldn't I? She's good." I added, next thing I knew he was chuckling about something.
"Yeah, she's a good package, face and body." He said.
Normally, I would laugh about it and shake it off, but somehow a weird feeling rolled up my spine and made my jaw clench and my eyes directly go to his.
I was gritting my teeth so hard that my whole face hurt and I was afraid I would break any teeth by now. But that feeling wouldn't go away, so I decided to let out a fake chuckle. No matter how hard I tried to make it real, Shrimp saw something was wrong.
"Something wrong?" He questioned, a confused look on his face.
"Nope, nothing wrong." I replied, giving him a fake smile and turning around towards the sink, taking a cup and washing it, trying to avoid any further conversation.
When he had said that about Isabel, for the first time in the last few years, I felt disgust. Hatred. Anger. That I was hearing something like that. And I had said things more disgusting than that, so why did I feel like this?
Was it because I was starting to get mature?
Was it because I was starting to feel like saying things like that about girls was disgusting?
Was it because he was talking about Isabel?
No idea. But I should know. I always did know the answer.
Right now? I didn't have it.
And it was fucking with my head to a level where it shouldn't. I just met Isabel. If I was feeling all that just because of what Shrimp said while I had said worse things in the past, then there was something really wrong with me.
How could a girl that I had just met make me feel like this? It made no sense, I know. But yet the feeling lingered. More than I wanted it to be by now.
I had to forget it anyway, tonight was about a party that I was hosting. A party where I would have to ice my lips by the end of the night from how much kissing I will be doing with them on so many different girls, maybe that will take my mind off a five foot seven angel with the face of pure innocence, the body of a goddamned stripper and long curly brown hair that I'm sure would look better wrapped around my fist.
Let's not say for what.
I was thrown out of my thoughts when I heard Shrimp walk out of the kitchen and go to the living room, probably going to help the guys set up everything.
Get the party started.