Wrong-An Ethan Morales FanFiction

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎

𝓔𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷

"Wʜʏ ɪsɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀᴅ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ?" A ʙᴏʏ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ ʙᴇsɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀs I ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ rest of my classmates leave with their dads. Each of them holding hands.
I wished that was me. But mommy told me that daddy didn't want to see her, so he wasn't going to ever show up for me. Even though she guaranteed he loved me, I didn't believe her. I knew he had left on his own, that he was never coming back.
Maybe I'm six years old, but I'm not stupid. I hear all of mommy's conversations with her friends when she's on the phone with them.
Like once, I heard her say she was in the wrong for ever trusting "the man". She never said his name, but I knew she was talking about my dad.
I wish I knew what it was like to have one.
"Oh, I don't have one. He left." I answered both truthfully and confidently. I didn't need to be afraid of saying something like this.
But my confidence soon died down when the boy snorted and chuckled, whispering to his friends that were right next to him, too.
I didn't have many people to talk to, here. I spend the day alone here.
That's why I hate school. I've never had friends since I stepped foot here, or in kindergarten when I was younger. They all think I'm different because my dad left. That I act different because of it. While, actually, it doesn't affect me as much.
I think.
Because a part of me still wished I knew what it is like to spend a day with a dad. To go to football games together, even though neither football or soccer intrigued me much.
Sometimes, I wished that dad was still here and—
I was quickly cut out of my memory when the doorbell of my house rang.
Being home alone, lights out and a big ass storm outside with someone ringing my doorbell, was fucking terrifying.
So I got off from the couch, paused the ignored series on the TV and walked over to the front door, ready to punch whoever was here for whatever they wanted.
Maybe it was Francisco and Terrance, here to take the money. And I was fucking ready for it. The money had been hidden in the kitchen knives drawer for over a month now. I was just waiting for someone to come get it since I didn't know where the hell was Hernandez's warehouse. And I'm not stupid, I know he would try to hold me down and try one of his drug dealer tricks on me.
I had left a message to Terrance—he had secretly given me his number not long ago—telling him that I had the money, but he left me on seen and didn't answer.
I looked through the peephole of the door and saw Isabel standing outside, arms crossed and a nervous look on her face. I opened the door, confused to why she was here.
Yeah, asshole thought. But she hadn't spoke to me in two weeks, so I wasn't expecting much from her. So I opened the door.
"Isabel? What are you—" I started, a smile on my face but it quickly faded when she pushed through my arm and stormed into my house. My surprise filled further.
"Your fucking drug dealer came into my house, Ethan." She sighed as I closed the door and walked towards her.
What. The. Fuck.
"Repeat that?" I asked, feeling my anger towards Hernandez get fucking bigger already. If he touched a single one of her hairs, I'm going to kill him.
"Really, Ethan? You saw it coming. A fucking angry drug dealer who's after money and will do anything it takes to get it." She chuckled sadly, a sad smile on her face as I walked towards her and grabbed her arms.
"Did he touch you? Hurt you? Rape you?" I asked nervously and angrily as question after question followed. Her eyes widened and she shook her head to say no, but something was wrong. Tears were starting to form in her eyes.
"No, he didn't do anything." She lied, the tears starting to pour out.
"You're lying. What the fuck did he do to you? I swear if he even dared to fucking pull his dick ou—"
"He held me at gunpoint! And he took the 1500$ I earned from the coffee shop and that I used to pay for my sister's therapy!" She started sobbing, and a thrill of emotions filled every single inch of my fucking body.
Hatred.
Anger
Rage.
Furiosity.
Confusion.
Concern.
Shock.
And so much more.
Her little sister in therapy? Her being held at gunpoint by that fucking sicko? Money from the Sherman Oaks Coffee Shop?
She regretted what she just said. I saw it in her eyes. So she had fucking secrets she didn't tell me.
"He threatened me of rape two times, Ethan. He said that the next time if he didn't have whatever money you're in debt of he would actually do it." Isabel sobbed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.
This was the first time I ever saw Isabel Belmonte cry. Mark that.
December 27th. 6:38PM.
But fuck.
It. Fucking. Burnt.
"Why is your sister in therapy, Isabel?"
"It's complicated."
"I fucking got that, tell me why."
"Because she needs it—"
"Fuck! Isabel just tell me—"
"Because we live in a fucking mentally abusive household, Ethan! Is that what you wanted to hear?" She cried, tears pouring and pouring down her face, "I live in a house where two asshole parents have fought all the fucking time since I was fucking born. Where they have wanted to make me cry all my messed up childhood and never got to it. I never had the chance to be a child, Ethan. Because I was taking care of my little sister and raising myself in the meantime. They took me away from my grandmother, the only person who fucking cared about me. They hit me. These scars I have? They caused it."
And she cried. But I held her against me.
Her face was buried in my shoulder, her hands rolled into fists and pressing into my chest as she sobbed and gasped.
My hands were on her back, pressing her against me.
Still. I didn't think she was flawed.
Isabel has her problems, and they made her even more perfect.
In my eyes, she was it.
Deep down, Isabel was a kid. A kid who didn't live her childhood. She needed to fucking heal, for God's sake. She raised herself and her sister. Never had the fucking chance to even know what was a fucking childhood. No one ever took care of her.
And I was going to change that.
I was going to change everything for her.
"Come with me." I whispered in her ear, taking her hand and walking with her towards the stairs.
I walked her up the stairs and took her to the bathroom, kicking the door shut and locking it with a gentle click. Tears were still running down her face, no matter how hard she tried to wipe them away. She stood in front of the bathtub, looking over at me with red and swollen eyes, red nose and wet lips.
She was so pretty when she cried. Yet it hurt to see her like that.
I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, kissing her neck, a soft sigh coming out of her mouth and resting her hands on mine.
"Ethan, I'm not really in the mood for sex right now, I—"
"This is nothing sexual, cariño. Do you trust me?" I asked softly, and she nodded.
I was speaking the truth, there was nothing sexual about what I was going to do.
My fingers hooked around the hem of her shirt, lifting it up and her arms too, taking it off of her, tossing it on the floor. Her belt went next, then her jeans.
Her shoes.
Her socks.
Her bra.
Her panties.
Until she was left with nothing but her earrings and the cross on her neck. I took a towel from one of the hooks and wrapped it around her naked body, before I got undressed, too.
I left our clothes in a pile next to the bathtub, and turned on the water, making the heat of the water enough for it to be enjoyable.
For her.
I got into the hot water first, gesturing her to come in.
She dropped her towel and got inside it, sitting between my legs and resting her back against my chest, one of my hands going to her stomach and the other in her hair, caressing the soft locks. Not even a single tangle.
"I meant what I said, cariño. If another man touches you, I'll shred him to pieces. I'll get to Hernandez." I promised, hearing her chuckle under me as she brought her knees up.
"How are you gonna do that? He's a drug dealer. He can get you killed in seconds if you try a trick on him." She muttered as I ran both my hands through her hair, wetting it slightly.
"I know what to do, cariño. But I won't tell you. Even though I know you're dying to know." I answered, hearing her huff in annoyance and adjusting her position.
On purpose. She ground her ass against me, just to tease me since she knew my fucking cock was under her. I groaned in response.
But nothing was going to happen now. She was still fucking depressed.
Her eyes were still red and swollen. Her face was still puffy and her nose was still red. She was still crying, she just wanted to light up the depressing mood.
I pushed her forward so I could access to her back, before taking a loofah from the shelf and drowning it with hot water, before bringing it back up to the surface and gliding it down her skin, wetting everything.
As much as sex was in my mind right now—it always was when it came to Isabel—there was nothing better than this right now. It was all I needed.
I bathed her. Touched her everywhere. Kissed her softly. Hugged her.
Took every single one of the tears she shed in front of me and wiped it from her face.
She had never been taken care of. Always took care of her sister. Grew up without friends, love, happiness. Her sister was and still is her ray of sunshine in the fucking messed up house she lives in.
I was going to find her a way out of that fucking house. Those two assholes would never see her again or her sister.
After our bath, I dried her off and took her to my room, letting her borrow one of my shirts to sleep while we looked at my computer.
"You really think this will work, Ethan?" Isabel asked nervously, her eyes locked on the bright screen.
"I know this will work, cariño," I said, taking her face in my hands and looking at her, "This woman and her husband are two killing machines. The best lawyers. Both graduated from Harvard. It might be expensive, but we'll get the money."
I am convinced this is going to work. She will get the fuck out of there. I am gonna fucking kill Hernandez for even stepping close to her. For holding her at gunpoint. Like, really? He thought I wouldn't find out or something?
Well I do. And it fucking got to me.
Eventually, Isabel fell asleep and I turned off my computer.
I knew a way to get rid of Hernandez. The way being a 6'3" brunette with full sleeves of tattoos and full access to Hernandez's warehouse. You're thinking what I'm thinking, right?
This guy might be triggered by literal sexual abuse, but he is a killing machine. A bit too literally. And he hates Hernandez, ever since he started working for him.
I don't even need to say his name now. So I took my phone and while Isabel was sleeping...
"Hey...Terrance?"