Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒

𝓔𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷

Sᴇx ғᴏʀ ᴍᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʙᴇᴇɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ɴᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀs. Bᴜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ Isᴀʙᴇʟ? Fᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ Jᴇsᴜs Christ. That girl put a fucking spell on me.
How well she fit in my hands. How she moaned. The way she gasped for air and how her eyes would glisten every single time my cock hit the same spot over and over. How she writhed beneath me. How she would act so tough for a second and the next she was at my mercy. Yes, my mercy.
That's a short part of all the things I had to say about this girl. All the things I could say about her and none of the other girls could compare to it.
I couldn't tell about it to anyone, especially my friends.
They would try to see for themselves what I was saying about her, and actually go after her for it. It happened once and I never want it to happen again. With another girl, of course.
I walked into school in a pretty good mood for once, not being able to wait until I saw her sunshine face again. Her locker was close to mine, so maybe if I waited for her there I could actually talk to her a bit more.
So I walked towards my locker, opened it and pretended to put some stuff inside. When I looked to the left, there she was. Standing with Devi by her side as she had a bit of a weird look on her face. No smiling.
I couldn't bring myself to actually know what that expression was, but every time I looked at her face, flashbacks from Saturday morning raced through my head like a movie in fast motion. I'm at school, I shouldn't be thinking about it. Yet here I am.
Once I saw Devi wrap her arms around her, I knew something was wrong. There always had been something wrong. She never talked about her family, and I knew it was bullshit that she fell down the stairs. Everyone knew. Even Shrimp's fucking mom. The fucking nurse that took care of her.
Something climbed up my spine and made me clench my jaw tight, my face muscles straining. If some fucker put his hands on her I would beat his face to a pulp.
I slammed my locker hard enough for anyone to hear if they were walking down the hall, especially Devi and Isabel, and walked to where I could always find Shrimp. Parking lot.
"Hey, man." I greeted and bumped his fist with mine, standing by his side and dropping my bag on the floor, right next to my feet.
"You should have been here earlier, Ethan." He chuckled, looking down at the floor before looking back up at me, the cold air from outside blowing slightly on his hair.
I don't understand what it is with blue eyed people to look straight into your soul. It's maddening.
"Why so?" I asked, scrunching my nose slightly to his statement.
"Some random girls started fighting and one of them pushed the other and she fell to the ground. And the girl that fell to the ground was in a mini-skirt, so everyone saw her white lace panties. It was both really funny to watch and a pretty hot sight." He chuckled again, and even though normally I would laugh just thinking about the situation and also think it would be hot, I let out a fake chuckle instead. A small thought running through my head.
Black laced panties are better.
We made a small talk before heading to class once the bell rang, Shrimp heading to the same class as me for once. While he were talking, he had given me some pretty great information. Isabel's address. I know that if I just showed up out of nowhere it would be creepy, but I had to now what the fuck she was living in. I wanted to make sure she lived in a happy house, with a happy family and no fucking weird things.
Our schedules with Shrimp almost never included any classes with me and Shrimp in them together. I might have a few ideas to why Principal Grubbs could have done that, but no need to state them.
For once, I was really focused in history class. Which was new, I usually slept in this class. But I knew why. It was the thought of someone putting their hands on Isabel. Touching her. Hurting her. Making her cry—which would be a rare sight because I never ever saw that girl cry—or anything else. Making her feel fear. Shaking her. Hitting her.
The muscles on my face strained so hard it hurt, and the urge to slam my fist into the fucking table in front of me was at its peak. Or the wall. Or someone's face, since we were going there. Anyone's face, really.
Because I knew for a fact—everyone knew, and yes, everyone knew—that Isabel didn't fall down the fucking stairs. If she did, it wasn't on her own. The scars on her ribs and the upper half of her stomach? It wasn't self-harm scars.
One, it was a weird place to drag any blade across your skin.
Two, the scars weren't straight like cuts or burn or something.
It was broken skin that had healed overtime.
I wasn't a fucking doctor but I had gotten in some fights before, the fuckers who had hit me had broken my skin and I had a few faded scars over my body, too. But it wasn't deep or too remarkable. While Isabel's scars?
They had been rough. They must have cut further more than just her skin, maybe even further to the start of her muscles.
I bit my tongue hard at the thought of someone hurting her, which clearly had happened. I was going to find out who the fucker was and do the same fucking thing to him.
My hand gripped my pen so hard it broke in my hand, the harsh pieces of plastic digging into the skin of my palm while ink dripped down onto the table. Winces and groans slipped from my mouth as everyone's eyes landed on me.
"You okay there, Ethan?" Mr. Shapiro asked from the front of the class.
"Yeah. Can I just be excused for a second?" I asked, gripping my wrist with my other hand as I let the last pieces of the pen fall on the table, some of them bloody from having stabbed into my skin.
I didn't even wait for his answer before I got up from my seat and walked my way to the bathroom, and once I did get there I pulled out the shards of plastic that had dug into the palm of my hand, washing everything away with freezing water to make the slightest it of pain go away.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I've dated other girls, yet they've never made me feel like this. How Isabel makes me feel. I've only known the girl for a bit more than two months, and it seems like I've known her my whole life.
She has an effect on me no other girl ever had before. And it is suffocating.
After looking a little longer into the mirror, I snapped out of my trance and walked back to class with a few paper towels wrapped around my hand as a bandage so it wouldn't bleed. I had gotten rid of the shards of plastic by throwing them in the trash, even though my DNA was on them basically. I couldn't do much concerning that.
I went back to class and let the rest of the day go on, trying not to think much about Isabel again. Mr. Shapiro said he would tell the janitor to clean up my desk later after school, and who would say no to that.
I drove back home once was over and left my bag there. I was planning to go check Isabel's house, to make sure that my hopes that she was living a happy life at home were real. And that the scars on her body were caused my a really brutal fall or an attack and that her family was there for her when she needed their help.
That her parents were there when she needed their help. That they raised her and she didn't raise herself on her own. That she had a good childhood and that she had the opportunity to be a child. That the allegations against her family were fake. The allegations that everyone thought about.
But as I walked down the streets towards her house, the hood of my grey sweater draped over my hair and hiding a small bit of my forehead, two men approached me and pushed me backwards, making me stumble on my steps.
I pushed the hood of my sweater down and looked at both of them, recognizing their face.
Shit.
Francisco and Terrance. The guys that work for the drug dealer who I promised kind of a lot of money too in exchange for a few pounds—let's take the easy but really bumpy road—cocaine.
It had been over a month since I hadn't gave him his fucking money, and he did say I would suffer some consequences if I didn't pay him the sum of money I had promised.
He wouldn't kill me, but he wouldn't let me off the hook too easy. But Hernandez would probably go after the money if I didn't have it. And who has the money? My mom.
"Where the fuck is the fucking money, Morales?" Francisco's hispanic accent burst the bubble of silence around us.
"I don't have it, man." The most easy answer to give, yet the most dangerous.
"Then we can use your face as a punch bag, can't we? Hernandez's words." Terrance said with a smirk, glaring at me through thick lashes.
They were both taller than me, muscles all over.
Hernandez had said they were a few years older than me, and that they were old students at Sherman Oaks High, but nobody knew what their job was now.
And I made a promise to the guy, so I cracked my knuckles and looked up at them with clenched fists, waiting for them to do something.
"Bring it on, pretty boys." I taunted, and they both smiled at me before starting to lean forward.
"Says who." Terrance answered, swinging a fist at my nose, and as much as I tried dodging it, I didn't.
My face turned, my hand going straight to my nose as it started bleeding, and I released it before throwing my fist at the tall brunette instead, hitting him straight between his eyes hard enough to make him fall ass down on the floor.
Another blow, this time from Francisco. His fist landed on my mouth, yet almost my whole face took the impact as he grabbed me by the collar of my sweater and started sending blow after blow at my face.
I was already getting worn out, my vision turning blurry. But no. They were not going to get me. Not this time.
When I found the opportunity, both my hands gripped the side of his head and I pushed him slightly back with a kick of my foot, before bending my knee upwards and bringing his face straight to it in one harsh blow.
He let me go and fell to the floor, hands clutching his face as he groaned loud.
My face ached, and I was thinking that I was going to faint, but I quickly regained composure and walked past them.
Before I moved further away, I took my wallet from my pocket and took out the three fifty dollar bills, throwing them to the two guys, now both laying on the floor.
"Here. Tell Hernandez I'll get him his fucking money." I scoffed, walking away and pulling the hood my sweater back over my hair, the shadow it created hiding a bit of my face, so nobody could see the bruises on them. The sun had already set anyways, so it was starting to get really dark outside.
But I continued walking. Walking and walking. Until I reached the house that I have been wanting to be able to reach for the past few days now, after finding out that Isabel had fell down the stairs.
I looked at the driveway, no car. Maybe it was in the garage. I know Isabel had a car, but where she parked it? No idea.
Yet, there was light inside the house. Upstairs.