Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗

𝓘𝓼𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓵

Fɪɴᴀʟʟʏ, I ᴡᴀs ʜᴏᴍᴇ. I ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ Dᴇᴠɪ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟs sᴏ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ commemorate my birthday. Even though it had been eight days ago. The following day after Ethan invited me to the pool and fucked me so viciously that my heels had lifted off the floor and I could barely breathe.
Nine days since then. Nine days since I had been threatened of rape by whoever that guy Hernandez was. Can't lie, it shook me up a bit, but maybe it was a sick joke. I hadn't seen a single trace of him since that day.
But he certainly was dangerous. And I think the two guys I had given coffees to were his minions, even though the brunette will full sleeves of tattoos didn't even look at me. The Hispanic guy seemed more approachable, honestly.
Never trust a guy that drinks black coffee with no sugar.
I walked inside the house, kicking my heels off and taking them in my hand, before placing my purse on one of the stools and taking an apple from the almost empty fruit bowl.
My parents weren't home, once again. But it was just good for me. I had the home for myself and didn't need to stress about those two assholes.
I took off my jacket and hooked it on the back of a chair, running a hand through my hair before slipping on my slippers and walking towards the stairs. The house was dark, no need to light up anything when I could clearly see clearly like this
When I opened the door to my room and turned on the light, my eyes drifted to the corner.
My heels and apple fell to the floor.
My jaw dropped.
"Let's have a talk, Isabel." The Hernandez guy demanded with a smirk on his face, his hand tucked into the back of his jeans.
Speaking of the Devil.
"How the actual fuck did you get into my house?" I asked almost instantly, fear crawling all over the inside of my body, making all the drinks I had earlier start rumbling in my stomach.
"Your parents are really nice, they even let the front door open. Haven't met them personally, though," He started, the smile on his lips fading right after he finished. Not only are my parents assholes, they're idiots, "Now sit."
He nodded towards my bed, but no way in hell I was going to sit on my bed with a man that had threatened me of violence nine days ago. I shook my head no.
A sigh left his mouth, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose before the hand that was tucked in the back of his jeans left them. His fingers wrapped around a gun, "I said, sit." He repeated, gesturing to my bed with his gun.
My legs moved on their own, and I quickly sat down, my body shaking. My throat clogged up. I could feel my vocal cords frozen. I couldn't talk.
The sight of a gun terrified me.
He moved closer, until he was right in front of me. The gun was closer. I shook harder, tears burning behind my eyes with the force I was holding them back.
I never cried for anything before Maria told me about her scars, and now I was crying. I have been crying too much these days. Mom and dad would definitely call me a little bitch if they ever found out.
They have been calling me a little bitch for a while now, but maybe now they would even say it with a smile.
"Your boyfriend hasn't given me the money, yet. So while he hasn't, you'll be my source. Since now I know you work at that pathetic coffee shop, you must earn some money. And hide it so your parents don't find out." He said, fidgeting with his gun with the other hand, his eyes locked on it.
"He's not my boyfriend." I spitted out, leaning back so I wasn't too close to this psycho, but he got closer.
"That's not what his eyes show. He's head over heels for you, Belmonte," He said, pressing his gun to my shoulder, not hard enough, but it scared me, and sent me to the edge. To the point where the tears I was trying so hard to hold in were starting to blur my vision. My heart beat faster, "If anything happens to you, apparently he'll rip my dick off with his bare hands. Or that he will ruin me into pieces and feed me to the pigs from a farm not far away from here. How pathetic." He chuckled.
The tears finally rolled out of my eyes slowly when he started moving his gun towards my throat, where my pulse beat and where it fastened when he pressed the tip of his gun against it. My breath got shorter. The room got smaller in my perspective.
"I don't have money. I use everything to pay for things that are important." I finally answered, sniffling and forcing back the sobs that were threatening to pour out.
"Your sister's therapist. I know. How thoughtful of you. But I really am gonna need that money." He retorted, moving his gun slowly down the valley between my breasts, then my belly button.
Not only did he want me to pay whatever Ethan was in debt of, but he had been stalking me. Maybe even my sister, at this point.
"It's the money for my sister, asshole." I snapped through gritted teeth, and quickly regretted it when he pressed his gun between my eyebrows.
Right in the fucking head.
Sob after noisy sob started pouring out when he got in my face, my eyes closing and the fear and panic I felt earlier overflowing, the drinks from earlier having vanished.
I felt sick.
"Stop." I said with a sob almost inaudibly, the first two letters coming out normally, before the last two were drowned in the water that was forming in my mouth.
He didn't say anything while the same tiny and drowned "stop"s were pouring and pouring out of my mouth. I was a shaking mess.
If my mascara wasn't running down my face already, then I don't know what could be.
"Here's the catch, bitch. Either you tell me where your fucking money is, or these clothes?" He pointed with his eyes to my party clothes, "Will be on the floor and so will you. On your fucking knees. And not for fucking praying, like you do all these nights in your bedroom. Don't ask me how I know, the cross on your fucking neck is the answer that you do it."
What if I kick him in his groin? Will he shoot me instead.
Maybe that was supposed to be how I died. Barely seventeen, shot in the head, while wearing what my parents dearest would call, whore clothes.
I could already imagine that on the fucking news.
I could already imagine the smile on my parents' faces and the staining tears on Maria's.
Or Devi's.
Or Ethan's.
Or any hypersensitive person that doesn't even know me and will cry only because a seventeen year old was shot in her own house by an unknown man that the police would never catch.
The cardboards written "Justice for Isabel" and people showing it to the world, until the next week everything would be forgotten.
Or none of it happening.
This sicko getting rid of the body. Making it look like I ran away without telling anyone about it, and it wouldn't even get to the local newspaper.
Everyone that I would have ever known thinking that I was a selfish little bitch who ran away without even taking her sister with her because she wanted to get out of her house. Or because I wanted to be a whore and get paid fifty dollars every week for dancing on a stripping pole.
Or none of it happening. None of this I'm imagining in my fucking head.
Oh, I was going to cry a lot once this psycho fucking left.
"I need it." I sobbed, my eyes still closed, but the tears still rolling down my face like a fucking river.
"Fine then. But let me remind you of your two choices. Either you tell me where the fuck is your money, or you get undressed." He repeated, pushing the gun harder against my head.
He pushed harder and harder, until I was laying on the bed, the back of my hands pinning themselves next to my head as they shook harder and harder, tiny little screams coming out of my mouth as the fear of getting shot got even bigger.
The fear of dying.
The fear of leaving everyone behind.
"Fine! The money is stuck to under my bed." I said between loud and noisy sobs.
"Good girl." He mocked, moving away from me.
I felt him go under my bed, finding the roll of money stuck to it with tape and getting up.
"1500$. Already a good start. Tell your boyfriend I need the rest or the next time I come here, your pussy will be bleeding." He threatened yet again, and I didn't answer.
Instead, I stayed on my bed, waiting until he finally left my room through the door and walked downstairs, leaving the house and slamming the front door so hard my body shook in fear even more.
When I felt his presence gone, I rolled myself into a ball on my bed and buried my face in the pillow, crying all the water from my body out.
Sob after sob. Shake after shake.
I was a fucking mess.
Since I came to Sherman Oaks, my life had been a mess.
But if I hadn't left Vegas, maybe Maria would have continued hiding her scars and never get the chance to heal herself. She witnessed our parents' fights ever since she was a fucking kid, and I didn't want her to ever get suicidal from too depressing events.
Sometimes, I wished that Maria was born in an other family and not this one. I don't want her to keep living this fucking hell.
But if I asked for emancipation, I couldn't take her with me. My parents would get full custody and she would never be treated right. Never.
And I couldn't adopt her, I was under eighteen and the idea of having my sister as my own child was sickening.
Now about Ethan's drug dealer or whatever, I wasn't sure of what to tell Ethan. How did I tell him that the guy he bought drugs from threatened me of rape—now twice—and held me at gunpoint to take money so he could pay a fucking teenager in debt. The guy took the money I used to pay my sister's therapist appointment.
And how am I supposed to say that to Ethan? "Oh hey, your drug dealer threatened me of rape twice and he took the money I used to pay for my sister's therapist so he could pay your debt"? What a great fucking idea to tell him that.
I couldn't keep my mouth shut either. Unless I wanted to be sexually assaulted by a man who is probably married to a badass woman who kills as much as her husband and takes as much drugs as her husband.
What even is the purpose of me being the person they're after? Only because Ethan is head over heels for me doesn't mean I'm his girlfriend. Even though I deeply, deeply want to be. But being his girlfriend also meant I needed to protect myself. That meant I couldn't have any secrets hiding from Ethan. And he couldn't have any secret hiding from me.
So I needed to tell him about this either I felt like it was the right thing or not.
I wanted him.
No, not wanted. I want him.
I need him. His touch. His hands. His face. His heart. His love. Everything.
His validation. His body. His personality.
I need everything from him.
So Ethan Morales, you're stuck with me, for a while.
But right now I'm just going to stay in my room and cry until I feel like getting up.
Right now I need to process what the fuck just happened.