Between the Ashes and the Sky

by BMES

Summary:

This is a fanfic, first time wrote something like this, Zulema x y/n. In this version its after the serie Vis a vis: El oasis, when everything finished, I just decided what if Zulema didnt get cancer, and instead of she died, she almost dies and ran somewhere far and collapsed, and then y/n found her. I kinda wanna see what happens.

Chapter 1: A Stranger at the Roadside

It all started the moment you spotted Zulema lying by the side of that desolate desert highway.

 

—

 

It was a crisp evening. The desert wasn’t scorching hot at night — in fact, with the wind sweeping through, it carried a chill that cut straight to the bone. The temperature in the desert shifted unpredictably throughout the day, but after living in this uninhabited place for so long, you’d grown used to it.

 

It was just another ordinary day for you — except that on this particular night, you suddenly remembered to go check the water source a little deeper into the desert.

 

The temperature tonight wasn’t exactly warm. The cold wind blew over and over again. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, thinking about finishing the check quickly and getting back home as soon as possible. With that thought, you quickened your pace.

 

But then, at the roadside, you seemed to catch a glimpse of something black lying on the ground. At first, you thought it was a garbage bag or maybe a burlap sack, but as you got closer and your view cleared — it was a person.

 

A woman with black hair, lying there by the road.

 

Night had already fallen. At first, you thought maybe she was a drunk vagrant. But then again — you’d lived in this remote desert for years. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Who the hell gets drunk and ends up lying in a place like this?

 

And then you noticed it — the metallic tang of blood in the air.

 

You slowly stepped closer, and finally saw her face. You stumbled back a few steps in shock, eyes wide.

 

There were bruises on her forehead, dried blood streaked across her face. In the darkness, the blood looked almost black. Curiosity got the better of you — you crouched down and poked her.

 

Nothing happened.

 

You reached out and checked her pulse. Faint. So faint. She was barely alive. And then you noticed the blood-soaked sand beneath her.

 

You frowned, conflicted.

 

Should you save her?

 

Your mother had once been a doctor. You’d picked up a bit of first-aid knowledge just by being around her — maybe enough to keep this woman alive. But... what if she was a terrorist? Or someone even more dangerous?

 

You stood up, considering calling the police or turning her in. But in a place this remote, there were barely even police — and even if they came, you weren’t sure she’d still be breathing by then.

 

You let out a sigh, finally making your decision: you would save her. You couldn’t go against your conscience — not when the woman in front of you clearly needed help.

 

So at last, you wrapped Zulema up in your blanket and brought her home.

Chapter 2: No One Is Safe Out Here

Summary:

Zulema finally woke up...but what would happen next?

Your life seems to repeat itself every day; in such a desolate place like the desert, there really isn’t much you can do.

 

Your parents had been fighting since you were little. Until one day, your mother left, leaving you and your father behind. Not long after, your father also left, and you never saw either of them again. You were only seventeen that year.

 

But you inherited your grandfather’s pottery skills, and in the depths of the desert, there happens to be a lot of rare clay. Just like that, you didn’t starve to death after your parents abandoned you.

 

You dragged Zulema, who you barely managed to carry, all the way back home—a small flat. Panting, you laid her down on your small sofa. The house wasn’t big, but everything was tidy. Rows of pottery lined the walls, jars big and small, leftover food on the table, a small bed in the corner. A small TV, and a few little windows.

 

You went to the bathroom, took out disinfectant and a medical kit. Returning to Zulema, your movements weren’t skilled, but you still remembered some first aid knowledge your mother had taught you when you were little. After an hour of fussing, you finally managed to bandage her up. She was still unconscious. You went to wash the blood off your hands and fed her some antibiotics and other medicine. It was already midnight by then, nearly dawn. You crawled back onto your small bed, lay down, and, just like usual, watched the moonlight come through the window until you slowly fell asleep.

 

The following days weren’t much different; you changed her dressings and continued with your routine. Life stayed the same—only now you had one more person to take care of. On the day you found her, you had accidentally discovered a handgun in her coat pocket. You kept the gun—just in case, for your own safety.

 

Sometimes you wondered where she came from, who she was, why she had collapsed half-dead on the roadside in the desert at night. You’d guess her story, even make up a tale.

 

It was a scorching afternoon. You went out to a nearby dune to collect new sand and materials. You locked the door, and everything seemed calm.

 

And at this moment, Zulema—who had been unconscious for several days—slowly opened her eyes.

 

Dazed, her mind felt scrambled. Along with a headache, she slowly sat up. The sharp pain in her abdomen came instantly—but she was surprised: she was still alive.

 

The surroundings looked like someone’s home. She glanced at the pottery on the walls and frowned slightly. Those weren’t things an ordinary family would have—another question arose in her heart: Who exactly is the owner of this house? A cop? Or someone working with the police?

 

She had to get out of here. This place wasn’t safe.

 

Zulema shakily stood up, her body not yet recovered from unconsciousness. She checked the wound—it was actually well-bandaged. No infection, no tearing. She instinctively reached for her body and found that her gun was missing.

 

At that moment, you happened to be returning home, carrying a large bucket of sand, drenched in sweat, taking out your key to unlock the door.

 

Hearing the crisp sound of the key, Zulema immediately became alert. There was nothing nearby she could use to defend herself. But you had already opened the door and walked in...

 

She acted fast—grabbed the vase on the table, smashed it quickly against the corner. The sharp sound startled you. Holding the now-sharp piece of the broken vase, she lunged at you, pressing you hard against the doorframe. The shard was at your throat.

 

Everything happened too fast. The bucket in your hand fell to the ground with a “thud,” sand spilling everywhere. You could almost feel the sharp tip piercing your skin—you forced yourself not to move. Fear crawled up your body, but you knew now was not the time to panic.

 

“Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll cut your damn throat.”

 

Her voice was hoarse and fierce. For a moment, you really thought she might kill you on the spot.

 

“Where the hell’s my gun? Don’t tell me you’re with the cops, zorra."

 

But after saying just two sentences, the pain in her abdomen surged again. Blood started seeping through the bandages, staining them red. Her hand faltered for a moment, and at that moment you stepped forward, dodging out of her attack range.

 

“Take it easy. You’ll bust your stitches wide open.” Your voice was calm, as if you hadn’t just been threatened.

 

“You really need to lie down… You’re not supposed to be walking around yet.”

 

Zulema looked at you, her eyes full of malice and aggression. But the pain in her abdomen was unbearable. She slammed into the nearby wall, gasping for air, trying to cope. You looked at her, somewhat helplessly. You wanted to step forward and help her back to the sofa, but she shoved your hand away and staggered back to the sofa herself, collapsing onto it.

 

“You should just rest.” you said softly, crouching down to start cleaning the sand spilled all over the floor. You seemed already prepared—this woman wasn’t kind and likely wouldn’t be grateful for you saving her. You looked at the broken pieces of the vase on the floor and felt a little disappointed.

 

“I actually really liked that vase…” you muttered under your breath.

 

Zulema, sweating from the pain, barely lifted her eyes to glance at you.

 

“Heh… Be honest. You’re gonna hand me over to the cops, aren’t you?” she said sarcastically, a mocking sneer on her lips, as if she had accepted—for now—that she couldn’t leave this house.

 

“No.” You replied lightly.

 

Zulema let out a cold laugh, and you just took out the medical kit, wanting to change her dressing like usual. Though she resisted, for the sake of survival she restrained the urge to push you away or kill you right there.

 

“Hostia… I can’t die here…”

 

She muttered, looking down at you as you skillfully applied medication to her wound. Her hand clenched the couch cushion tightly from the pain, knuckles pale.

 

“So I guess I can’t kill you just yet, hmm?” she said with a cold smile, looking at you. “A nurse in the desert? How cute.”

 

Her tone didn’t sound like a compliment. It sent a chill down your spine. But you forced yourself to stay composed.

 

“I couldn’t let you die on the roadside, not there.” You spoke softly and simply, as if you weren’t at all fazed by her mockery. “Once you’re healed up, you can leave. The cops won’t find you here. It’s remote.”

 

You continued your work carefully. After putting the medical supplies back into the kit, you slowly stood up. Zulema finally began to study you carefully—barely twenty, quiet and well-behaved looking. But it felt like something more broken was hidden under that calm exterior.

 

“Mierda… Let’s hope you’re right.”

 

She murmured, closing her eyes.

Notes:

heey guys, second chapter...lets see what happens

Chapter 3: Where Apples Taste Like Promises

Summary:

Now Zulema is finally healed...but, she wanted to take you with her, for a trip. For a trip without promises if you are going to make it out alive or not. Would you go with her?

As the days went by, everything stayed pretty calm. Well, except for those moments when Zulema’s sharp tongue made you feel weird… but you never kicked her out or anything like that.

 

You’d talk about your past sometimes, and she’d open up here and there too—but never all the way. You didn’t push, and she didn’t push either. Things just... went on. She never fully let her guard down, and you? You were just living your life.

 

Weeks passed like that. Her wounds were mostly healed by now. She could move around freely—hell, she could even run if she wanted.

 

That day, inside your tiny house, you were sitting at the table, carefully working on a new flowerpot a client had ordered. You held a small carving knife, etching delicate lines into the clay.

 

Zulema strolled over, an apple in her hand, looking all casual—but clearly lost in thought.

 

She leaned against the doorframe next to you, took a bite of the apple, then said,

“Ey, chiquita.”

 

She never called you by your name. Just weird little nicknames all the time.

 

“Mm?” you hummed back, not even looking up. You were focused, carving with care.

 

She swallowed the bite and just stared at you with those deep green eyes, saying,

“So... I’m finally all healed up, huh?”

Her voice had that teasing edge, but mostly it was her usual sarcastic, heartless tone.

 

“Mhm. That’s good.”

You still didn’t look at her. You noticed how close she was standing today, but you pretended not to. Your hand kept carving, smooth, elegant lines. But your brain was elsewhere too.

 

Zulema watched you, surprised by how little attention you were giving her. She frowned slightly, dragged a chair over, and sat down across from you. Then she snatched the flowerpot right out of your hands and tossed it to the side like it was trash.

 

“Hey!”

 

You shouted in shock as your carving knife scraped a jagged line across the pot.

 

“What the hell?” you frowned, hurt and pissed, looking up at her with wide eyes.

 

“You deaf or just dumb?” Zulema snapped with a cold smirk. Her calculating gaze pierced right through you like she could read your mind.

 

“I said, I’m all healed. Finally ready to get the fuck outta here. So… you coming with me or what?”

 

She took another bite of her apple, waiting.

 

But you didn’t even hesitate.

 

“I’ve got a life here. I don’t wanna leave.”

 

Your voice dropped as you looked down, fingers clutching the edge of the tablecloth. You couldn’t figure out why she’d even ask. Like she really thought you’d just ditch everything and run off with her, just like that?

 

“It will be very exciting, believe me," she said, eyes narrowing, “You think whatever we’d get into wouldn’t be better than poking around in this dump with your little stick in the mud.”
She grinned, trying to see even a flicker of doubt in your face.

 

Zulema was never gonna settle down. She needed someone. Since Macarena escaped, she had no one she could trust in this strange place. And you? Young, sweet-looking, easy to handle. In her eyes, you were perfect.

 

“We’re talkin’ big money, nena. Like, more than you’ll see in ten lifetimes doing this clay shit.”

 

She kept trying to tempt you, convinced you’d give in eventually.

 

But you just stood up, tossed the carving knife on the table, and walked away.

 

“I… I don’t wanna go,” you muttered under your breath, mostly to yourself.

 

After that, you two barely said a word to each other. The air was thick with awkward silence.

 

That night, you lay in your little bed, and Zulema was still on the couch. You didn’t know if she was asleep or not. You never really knew what she was thinking. She was dangerous, sure… but that thing she said earlier—asking you to leave with her—it kind of stuck in your head.

 

Did you really wanna waste your whole life out here in this boring-ass desert, doing the same thing every day? Of course not. You used to dream about escaping, making a name for yourself, living free. Parties. Friends. Big city lights. But dreams are just that—dreams.

 

Your parents locked your future in this tiny, dusty house in the middle of nowhere. Then they both left you, one after another, abandoning you in this ghost town like you were nothing.

 

You rolled over in bed, frustrated, sleep nowhere in sight. You couldn’t stop thinking about leaving with Zulema. But there was still that part of you that didn’t trust her. What if she tricked you? Used you to get what she wanted—then ditched you, or worse?

 

You didn’t know. You didn’t even want to think about what the worst might be.

 

But that word—freedom—it wouldn’t leave you alone. It clung to your thoughts like a shadow.

 

And outside, the desert night grew deeper and darker.

Notes:

Heey guys, so I also got a account on wattpad, BethMEmilyS1221. sooo, ig its going well.

Chapter 4: Pack Your Dream Up

Summary:

Now you are finally in, after a looooong time of thinking.

In the days that followed, you kept thinking about what Zulema had told you. You had imagined leaving this place countless nights before, and now, it seemed like you finally had the chance. The only problem was... this chance might lead you somewhere even more dangerous. It might even get you killed.

 

Do you want to trust Zulema? Of course you do. If there was anyone who could take you out of this small, locked-up house, you'd go with them in a heartbeat. To some place new, a place you've never set foot in before, to start fresh. Or maybe just drift around, live like the wind. Over the years, you'd saved up enough money to start over somewhere else. But the trauma your parents left you with... that's what's really been keeping you stuck here.

 

Just like that, weeks went by. But Zulema didn't leave. It was like she already knew you'd eventually decide to go with her. And finally, you did. You opened the safe and pulled out your savings — it wasn't a small amount. You'd been putting it aside in silence all these years... or maybe, more accurately, you'd been quietly saving for your dream.

 

"Zule?"

 

That afternoon, during lunch, you sat across from Zulema. She was absentmindedly pushing rice around her plate with a fork, quiet as ever — that same distant, cold aura she always carried. But after all this time, it didn't feel quite so unfamiliar anymore. At least now, you were pretty sure she wouldn't kill you in your sleep.

 

You spoke up quietly, your eyes fixed on her.

 

"What?" Zulema didn't look up, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork. Her voice was as unreadable as usual.

 

"I..." You hesitated, unsure how to say it.

 

"Tómate tu tiempo, princesa. Not like it's the first time you can't find your words." Zulema let out a cold laugh, finally lifting her gaze to meet yours. She set her fork down, leaning back slightly in her chair, long black hair cascading over her shoulders.

 

"What if I told you I want to go with you now? Is it too late?"

 

You blinked, staring at her without looking away. There was resolve in your voice... but more than that, there was trust.

 

"I don't care about getting rich. I just want to leave. Go somewhere far. Somewhere fun. I don't want to be locked up here for the rest of my life." You went on, and for a moment, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes — quickly masked by her usual indifference.

 

"So, you're in after all, huh?" She chuckled, folding her arms across her chest, voice full of teasing.

 

You nodded silently.

 

"Escúchame bien, Chiquita." Suddenly, Zulema leaned forward, elbows on the table, her face only inches from yours. Her voice cut like a blade rusted in iron, heavy with command and threat — a weight on your chest like a boulder slamming down. "This isn't some game in the mud. Out there, it's a whole different world. Guns. Cops. Blood. There's adrenaline, there's money — but you've gotta be able to handle it."

 

Her voice hissed like a snake in your ear.

 

"Yeah." You just nodded. "I've made up my mind. As long as you can get me out of here... I'll go anywhere."

 

"Trusting me just like that, huh? That's... interesting." Zulema let out a low laugh — this time, without the usual coldness or sarcasm. "Or maybe you're just crazy. Either way... I like it."

You trusted her, and that — that was something she didn't totally expect. But whatever. Now, finally, she could go back to what she did best: robbery, theft, and all kinds of illegal business.

 

"Pack your stuff. We leave tonight. I know where to get an RV. From now on — you're rolling with me, got it?"

 

She paused for a second, eyes cutting across you like a blade:

 

"From now on, your life's tied to mine."

Notes:

Heey guys, so, I really hope u like it, well, this fanfic seems like its going well so far. Leave a comment if u like it, plssss

Chapter 5: No Way Back

Summary:

Lets pack everything and really go to a trip with Zule! tbh sometimes I really thought about it, especially when Im stuck in a double period math class.

The night air was cool and clear. You packed up everything you owned into a single bag. But when you looked back inside, you realized there wasn't much at all: some toiletries, a few vases and pieces you really loved, an old flip phone, a beat-up walkman, a handful of tapes, and a journal. That was it.

 

All these years—was it really just these things that kept you tied to this little house?

 

"Let's go, Chiquita."

 

Zulema's voice came from not far away. Somehow, she'd actually gotten her hands on a camper van. You turned back one last time to look at the small house. Ceramic pieces lined the walls, the table was cluttered with tools and scraps, soft cushions were slumped over the couch, and patterns ran across the floor like memories etched into the ground.

 

You sighed softly, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked toward Zulema. The door behind you closed with a faint click, and when you turned the key to lock it, it felt like saying goodbye to an entire part of your life.

 

The camper wasn't big, but it felt warm. There was a double bed—though the top bunk was so cramped you couldn't sit up without hitting your head. A small table. A tiny stove. Even a little cushion-seat tucked into the corner.

 

There were still some daily supplies and decorations left inside. A few landscape photos were pinned to the wall. You guessed they must've belonged to whoever used the van before.

 

Zulema got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

 

"You sure you're ready for this kind of life?" she asked, glancing at your face in the rearview mirror. She could see it in you—that hunger for freedom, tangled with a haze of uncertainty.

 

"I don't know," you murmured, voice low but steady. "But I'm not going back."

 

The van began to move, pulling slowly away from the small house where you'd lived for so, so long. You curled up on the cushion seat in the back, eyes glued to the window, watching as the house grew smaller and smaller... until it disappeared.

 

Zulema, meanwhile, was already thinking ahead—planning. She shot you a sideways glance, weighing you in her mind like a freshly-forged weapon. You were useful—she knew that much. But she wasn't sure yet just how long you'd last.

 

There were things she still needed to finish. Loose ends. Unpaid debts. And you? You looked like a kid following her mother into the dark. At least, that's how Zulema saw it—for now.

 

The night grew deeper. You sat quietly on the cushion, still watching the landscape blur by. The stars were out, twinkling in a quiet sky. Moonlight draped the earth in silver. It was silent outside—and just as still inside the van. You said nothing, knees drawn to your chest, leaning softly against the wooden bed frame beside you.

 

Zulema noticed your silence. She gave a low, dry chuckle.

 

"What's wrong? Don't tell me you're already having second thoughts," she said, her dark green eyes gleaming with a hint of teasing.

 

"No," you muttered, barely audible.

 

"You better not be. Things are about to get ten times crazier than you think. And if you can't keep up—don't expect me to carry you."

 

Her voice was just as cold as ever. And you, somewhere deep down, couldn't help but question yourself: was it really a good idea... to leave with someone like her?

 

But you'd already made your choice.

 

All you could do now... was hope it'd be worth it.

 

Notes:

Im gonna write the robbery scene soon.

Chapter 6: Trip With No Aim

Summary:

Some chill time this chapter.

This was a long trip — but it didn't seem to be going anywhere.

 

Days had passed, and you still had no idea what Zulema was up to.

 

She hadn't taken you to rob a gas station or anything like that. Instead, you two just stood outside, eating some cheap, half-stale bread she'd picked up.

 

She didn't have you stealing cars either — just kept driving the RV slowly down some deserted road in the middle of nowhere.

 

That day, you stopped at another gas station.

 

Zulema jumped out of the RV, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and stuck one between her lips.

 

"Isn't it kinda dangerous to smoke at a gas station?" you asked quietly as you followed her out.

 

She gave a mocking little laugh and lit the cigarette anyway.

"When did you start caring about safety?" she said, exhaling smoke slowly.

"Trust me — the stuff we'll be doing later is gonna be way more dangerous than this."

 

You didn't answer. Your eyes drifted toward the tiny convenience store next to the pumps. You walked in, glancing around like a curious little kid.

How long had it been since you left your house? You couldn't even remember what a gas station shop looked like.

You stood in front of the shelves full of snacks and bottled water, trying to decide what to get.

 

The door opened again with a loud creak — Zulema walked in with her usual no-nonsense stride. She casually grabbed a bag of chips from the shelf.

Then, as she turned to head toward the cashier, she glanced back at you.

 

"Need anythin´? We can pay together."

 

It was the first time in days she sounded... kinda normal.

 

So, you grabbed a random bag of chips — you didn't even know what flavor it was — and jogged after her.

 

That night, the RV was quiet.

 

Zulema took the bottom bunk — she said it was more spacious. You didn't mind, so you slept on top.

Sometimes at night, you could hear her steady breathing when she fell asleep.

Sometimes she'd complain that you turned over too much and made the bunk creak.

 

Everything had been so quiet lately, so peaceful, that it was almost easy to forget that this woman — the one eating, sleeping, and living next to you — once nearly slit your throat with a broken flowerpot.

 

And during these days, Zulema had been watching you — quietly, closely.

She was sizing you up, trying to figure out if she could trust you enough to bring you into the crazy stuff she had planned.

 

At night, you'd sit next to her and eat those cheap chips you'd bought together.

 

At least now, she didn't push you away anymore.

Her words were still sharp, but if you listened closely, there was a hint of care in there — the kind she'd never admit to.

 

She still grumbled about the noise you made at night, still cursed at you here and there...
But she always left the light on for you if you stayed up late.

 

She'd never say it out loud, but she was starting to let you in — just like you had already let her in a long time ago.

 

Maybe she'd never be the "motherly" type.

But even so, you were still willing to follow her — like a kid — wherever she decided to go.

 

Chapter 7: First Blood, No Body

Summary:

First robbery, lets goo.

Everything felt like the calm before the storm.

 

That day, after a simple lunch, the sky was unusually cloudy. You sat by the window seat in the RV, holding an open soda bottle in your hand, watching the scenery roll by.

 

Zulema was driving. The window was rolled down, and the wind blew through her black hair. You could see the calculation and scheming in her eyes through the rearview mirror.

 

She lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

 

"Hey, Chiquita," she said, her tone a little serious. She needed to test if you could handle the kind of life she lived. "You see that gas station up ahead?" she pointed toward the slowly approaching building in the distance.

 

You looked where she pointed — it looked like there was a little mini-mart attached too.

 

"We are gonna rob that place?"

 

"No, we're gonna have a very polite chat with the owner," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. But almost instantly, she started laying out a robbery plan.

 

"Listen up. I go in, hold the clerk at gunpoint. You grab the cash. Got it?" She gestured with her hands as she explained.

 

You nodded obediently.

 

"We're not gonna... kill anyone, right?" you asked, curiosity and anxiety mixing in your voice. The sudden plan to rob a gas station scared and excited you at the same time.

 

Zulema let out a short, cold laugh, like she was mocking you. "Scared already?" Her voice sliced through you like a knife. "Just asking that question proves you're still green."

 

You took a deep breath, your hands tightening slightly. She glanced at you through the mirror, clearly amused by your nerves. She was just trying to rattle you.

 

The RV pulled up outside the gas station. After turning off the engine, Zulema headed to the lower bunk and pulled out a black plastic bag from underneath. You leaned over, curious, and saw her take out a handgun. It looked old but had beautiful engravings on it.

 

She slid the gun into the inner pocket of her black leather jacket and stepped out of the RV. You followed her closely.

 

"Go check if the owner's the only one in there," she ordered, staying just a bit away from the front door.

 

You did as she said, walking into the gas station. The bell on the door rang crisply as you entered. You quickly scanned the place: just one guy, sitting behind the counter, glued to the TV watching a soccer match. A fan creaked somewhere in the corner, and a crappy speaker played faint music.

 

You also caught a glance at the cash register — it was full. So full, some bills were even sticking out from the cracks.

 

You swallowed nervously, your head spinning with a mix of tension and thrill. Your hands were shaking, but your mind had never been clearer. It was like standing right at the edge of a door — a door that, once you stepped through, there was no going back.

 

You casually made a small lap around the store, acting like you were browsing, then quickly walked back out to Zulema. A cold breeze hit you and you pulled your coat tighter.

 

"It's just the owner in there. And uh... that register's loaded."

 

You said it with a bit of childish pride, like you'd just done something important.

 

Zulema smirked. "Let's go."

 

She strode toward the gas station, and you hurried to follow.

 

"You know what to do, right?" she asked under her breath just before opening the door.

 

Zulema wasn't really into robbing gas stations, but this was a test — to see what you were made of.

 

"Hands up! Behind your head!" she barked as she walked straight to the owner, smoothly pulling out the gun and aiming it at him. The man panicked, his hands flying up as he nearly fell off his chair, yelling something you couldn't understand.

 

You rushed over, unable to contain your excitement. You popped open the register in just a few seconds — ding! — and the drawer slid open, revealing more cash than you'd ever seen. Probably more than you could earn in months. You found yourself wondering how a gas station even made this much.

 

The bills practically glowed. You didn't even bother with a bag — just grabbed a fat handful and shoved it into your coat pocket.

 

Your mind was screaming — this was the most alive you'd ever felt.

 

Zulema watched silently as you stuffed your pockets like a maniac. She almost wanted to laugh. When the register was finally empty, she glanced at the terrified owner, who looked like he was about to cry, and let out a chuckle.

 

"Alright, alright, Chiquita. That's enough," she teased, and only then did you stop.

 

You both ran out, fast, but not before you grabbed a bag of chips and a pack of cigarettes on the way.

 

You jumped back into the RV, slammed the door, started the engine, and sped away.

 

It all went down perfectly. Not a single hitch. You sat in the passenger seat, catching your breath — a few bills accidentally slipped out of your coat and hit the floor. That's when you finally laughed.

 

"God... we're rich!" you beamed like a little kid, grabbing a big wad of cash and waving it at Zulema.

 

She couldn't help but laugh too. One hand on the steering wheel, she took the money with the other.

 

"This? This is nothing," she snorted. "I'll take you on jobs a hundred times crazier than this. And we'll make way more than today."

 

But deep down, she was a little secretly proud of you.

 

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

 

Bonus Scene:

Zulema: "Why'd you grab that pack of cigarettes? You smoke now?"

Y/n: "No. It's for you."

Zulema: (pauses) "For me?"

Y/n: "You always smoke that brand. I remembered. You only smoke those."

Zulema: (sighs, lights one up, puts it in her mouth) "You're so damn annoying."

(She didn't look at you, but something stirred inside her. And in the corner where you couldn't see, the corner of her mouth lifted just slightly.)

 

Notes:

Heeeey guys, so first time tryin some bonus scene, uff, this is a long chapter tbh. If u like those bonus scenes maybe leave a comment, what kind of interactions u guys wanna see. Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 8: Stars and home

Summary:

Some very chill and warm chapter

After that medium-sized robbery, it was like you'd opened Pandora's box—there was no going back.

 

Sometimes the two of you would just drive through the desert roads with no real destination. Maybe you'd pull into a gas station, or pass by a little store somewhere. Whether you robbed the place or not? Totally up to your mood.

 

You didn't have to worry anymore about when you were going into the desert for water. No more stress over customers hounding you about their shipments. Everything felt like a dream—strangely peaceful and unreal.

 

You'd share with Zulema the little things you secretly snuck away—stuff you stole, funny things you saw or heard. And she didn't push you away with that usual annoyed look anymore. Sometimes, you could even lean against her. If you were feeling bold, you'd cuddle up with her at night in the narrow bunk bed.

 

Time passed. You'd known her for nearly half a year now. In that time, you'd crossed what felt like a never-ending desert. During the day, you'd snack, drive, admire the view. At night, you'd sit together on the roof of the RV while you gazed at the stars with that dreamy look on your face, telling her stories and dreams.

 

But you weren't just some clingy kid following her around all the time. You were much more than that.

 

Like that time she got a slight fever—maybe from the sudden weather change. She insisted she didn't need you fussing over her, said she could handle it, even called you dramatic. But you still made her stay in bed for a few days.

 

You brewed her medicine. She'd grumble about how annoying you were, but she never actually pushed you away.

 

"What, are you hoping I'll die sooner? Did you poison this or something?"

 

She still took it anyway—reluctantly, but she did.

 

To Zulema, you weren't just some "test subject" anymore. Somewhere, deeper in that guarded heart of hers, you had carved out a space. A place buried deep—untouched, but very much there.

 

That night, the RV was parked somewhere remote. The wind howled outside, but inside it was warm, the heater humming softly, the lights casting a cozy yellow glow.

 

You sat comfortably in a small chair next to the bed, your elbow resting on the table, eyes fixed on the window, like you were searching for stars. The moonlight spilled over the landscape outside. The world felt like it had fallen asleep. Everything was quiet.

 

Zulema cracked open a beer, tossed the tab into the trash, and took a deep drink.

 

"What're you thinking about, Chiquita?"

She pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, placing her beer on the table. You could smell her again—that familiar scent. Cigarettes, and that faint minty freshness.

 

"Nothing," you mumbled, shaking your head.

"Just looking for stars."

 

You sounded a little childish saying that, and of course, she let out her usual cold little laugh. She wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, mocking you a bit.

 

"Stars?"

She reached over and gave you a light smack on the head.

"What, did the sun fry your brain or something? You think we're in a damn movie now?"

 

"You're always dreaming about this dumb, childish crap. You're unbelievable."

 

Still, after all that trash talk, she looked out the window too. Then she raised her hand and pointed.

 

"There. There's one."

 

Of course, she'd never admit it. That was just how she was—sharp tongue, soft heart. Deep down, she was laughing at herself. Finding stars for a childish idiot like you? What the hell is wrong with me? But she did it anyway. When she was with you, even the most boring nights became something more.

 

You let out a soft, content little hum and laid your head on the table, your hair falling loosely over your face.

 

"Hey, Zule..." you mumbled.

 

"What?"

She glanced up, still holding that half-empty beer.

 

"Don't you ever... miss home? I mean, after wandering for so long?"

 

You turned your gaze to her like you were hoping to find something in her eyes.

 

She wasn't expecting that question. It caught her off guard. She took another sip of her beer, then scoffed—classic Zulema.

 

"Home?"

She laughed bitterly.

"You mean some place where you can sleep without worrying someone's gonna bust in and drag you out of bed? Yeah. Never seen a place like that in my life."

 

"I've spent half my life in jail, the other half on the run. 'Home' for me is just wherever I can crash without getting caught."

 

She said it lightly, like she didn't care, but she didn't meet your eyes either.

 

You caught it—just a flicker of something raw. A kind of vulnerability you'd never seen from her before.

 

You let out a quiet sigh.

 

"Would you ever consider... this to be home?" you asked softly, pointing to the floor beneath your feet.

"I mean... the RV?"

 

"This sure as hell ain't a home..."

 

Zulema frowned, like you'd hit a nerve she didn't want to acknowledge. She didn't finish her sentence.

 

"Don't waste your brain on pointless shit. Only kids need a 'home.'"

 

She downed the rest of her beer and tossed the can in the trash. The clank echoed through the quiet RV, closing the conversation.

 

Tonight, she didn't leave the light on for you like she usually did. She just turned it off and lay down in the bottom bunk, leaving you alone in the dark.

 

You sighed and crawled up to the top bunk. The bed creaked under your weight. You lay there in the narrow space, the moonlight faintly outlining the ceiling. It was completely silent in the RV.

 

But it felt like something heavy was pressing down on both of you.

 

You suddenly remembered the moment you left home. You closed your eyes, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about your parents. But the thoughts came like waves, dragging you down. You curled up in bed, trying to sleep, trying to forget.

 

And then, in the darkness, her voice cut through.

 

"Come down."

 

Her voice was cold, commanding—like usual—but there was something else too. A hoarseness you hadn't heard before.

 

"Huh?" you responded softly.

 

"Are you fucking deaf? I said get down."

 

She didn't explain why. But you could hear something in her tone—something stubborn, yet... tired. So you didn't ask. You just fumbled your way down in the dark and sat at the edge of her bed.

 

She didn't look at you. Just reached out, grabbed your arm, and pulled you into her chest.

 

"Don't say anything," she whispered, voice low and raspy.

"Just for a little while."

 

Her arms wrapped around you—not gently, not loosely. It was more like being held by a tightly wound rope. You could feel her fighting something, even the slight tremble in her fingers. Hugging someone... wasn't her thing. Not at all. But she didn't let go.

 

It wasn't a soft embrace. In fact, it was stiff and awkward.

 

But you had never felt safer.

 

Slowly, you closed your eyes, and in the dark, drifted into sleep.

Chapter 9: Money and Danger

Time slipped by quietly, unnoticed. Then one day, Zulema looked at you seriously and told you something big. It wasn't just any errand—it felt like a tidal wave crashing down on the calm, chaotic peace you'd both gotten used to.

 

It was a sunny afternoon after lunch. The desert outside was glowing under the sun, but it wasn't too hot. You were sitting in the RV, wearing a t-shirt and some loose pants, licking an ice pop and flipping through a boring book you'd picked up at a gas station. Zulema was on the bottom bunk, going through a notebook filled with tiny, messy writing. You glanced up quickly, but couldn't understand a thing—it was all complicated numbers and codes.

 

"I've got some unfinished business at the border. Gotta handle it myself. There's a guy meeting us there—I called him in, but that doesn't mean I trust him. Once we get the money, we're out of this hellhole."

 

She spoke suddenly, snapping the notebook shut like she'd just made a final decision.

 

At first, you thought it was just another small-time gig—stealing something, making a quick deal, grab a bag and go. But Zulema's serious tone made it clear: this wasn't going to be that simple. Then she added, casually, "Don't worry. I've got it under control."

 

"Unfinished business? Like what?" you asked, half-distracted but curious.

 

"I'll tell you when we get there," she replied flatly, not answering your question. She jumped off the bunk and went back to the driver's seat. The RV roared back to life. "This ain't no fucking game. I'm not gonna have time to clean up your corpse."

 

Same old Zulema—sharp-tongued as ever. The RV cruised down a long road through the desert. You were heading to an abandoned factory out in the middle of nowhere, not far from the border. No cops, no one around—just dust and weeds. Zulema had prepped for everything anyway.

 

You leaned against the RV wall, watching the landscape change. After about an hour, the view had shifted to dry plains. The grass was brittle and dead. You could hear the wind rustling through it. You stuck your head out the window, letting the wind slap against your face and lift your hair slightly. It felt fast, wild, a little freeing.

 

Eventually, the RV pulled up in a wide open patch of nowhere. Overgrown weeds stretched in every direction. You stepped off the RV and onto the dry, crackling grass. Everything around looked lifeless, like the land itself had given up. You heard the crunch of dried grass under your boots. Behind you, you heard Zulema light a cigarette.

 

"When are you gonna tell me what we're actually doing here?" you asked, turning to see her leaning against the RV, smoking like she had all the time in the world.

 

Zulema glanced at you and frowned slightly, like she was debating whether to tell you or just order you to stay by the RV.

 

"Come on, tell me. You looked real serious earlier. What exactly are we here for?" you pressed, moving a little closer and leaning on the RV beside her. She exhaled smoke slowly and flicked the ash, the glowing tip landing on the dry grass.

 

"Hey, don't set the place on fire," you muttered.

 

"There's a ton of money here. I stashed it a long time ago," she said, ignoring you. "I need you to cover me. And the guy we're meeting—if he tries anything funny, shoot him. Got it?"

 

She bit down on her cigarette and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a gun and handing it to you.

 

That was the moment. Taking that gun meant agreeing to her insane plan. It meant you'd be willing to kill for her. You never imagined walking down that road. Theft, sure. Robbery, yeah. But murder? That was something else. You hesitated.

 

And Zulema saw it immediately. She let out a cold laugh.

 

"You think tagging along with me means we're just playing house forever? Grow a brain, or someone's gonna blow it out one of these days." Her words were like knives, sharp and mocking. "What? Scared of killing someone? I don't need a coward following me around."

 

That cut deep. You knew she didn't really mean it—she was pushing you to grow. And you didn't want to let her down. Swallowing hard, you reached out and took the gun. It was heavy. Too heavy. The cold black metal felt like a monster waiting to devour someone's life. And you knew—you just stepped into something dangerous.

 

"That's more like it," Zulema smirked as she saw you take it.

 

She laid out the plan: stick close to her, be ready for anything. You followed her toward what looked like an abandoned factory not too far off. As you stepped past the rusted gates, a chill breeze brushed by. You pulled your jacket tighter, feeling the weight of the gun in your inner pocket. The place was filled with old, rotting tools and broken-down machines. Zulema was right behind you. You couldn't read her expression at all.

 

Deep down, Zulema didn't want you in danger. But she'd never change her ways. She wouldn't abandon her plans for anyone—not even you.

 

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from a shadowy corner of the factory.

 

You snapped your head up, instantly alert. Your hand slid into your coat, fingers brushing the gun. You were ready to pull it out and protect her if needed. Seeing how tense you got, Zulema let out a snort.

 

"Such a little brat," she mocked, walking ahead. "Ricardo."

 

The man stepped out—a tall guy in a dark outfit, face mostly hidden under a cap. His voice was rough, raspy. He carried a big bag, heavy from the looks of it. But something felt off. He didn't hand the bag to Zulema. Instead, he strolled lazily closer, stopping near you.

 

"Look at you... Zulema... Guess you still remember me, huh?" 

 

he said with a sneer.

 

"Well, listen up—I ain't your fucking lapdog you can mess with whenever you want."

 

His voice suddenly turned furious, almost a growl. Zulema stared him down, but before she could react, he grabbed you hard and yanked you toward him. You lost your balance, and in a flash, his arm locked around your neck and cold steel pressed against your temple.

 

He was holding a gun to your head. Tight grip. His eyes wild and raging, fixed on Zulema.

 

"You bitch! You're gonna tell me where the rest of the money is—NOW!" he shouted, clearly planning to betray her. He wanted all the cash, but only Zulema knew where the rest was hidden.

 

But Zulema didn't flinch. She just gave him that signature scoff of hers.

 

"You've lost your damn mind," she muttered. "You think pointing a gun at some kid is gonna scare me?"

 

Even though she talked tough, you could tell she was analyzing everything—how he held the gun, the angles, the surroundings. You, on the other hand, were gasping for air, clawing at his arm, kicking your legs, but it was no use. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

 

The air felt like it froze. Terror wrapped around you like ice. You looked at her, eyes wide, silently begging for help. But she just stood there, stone-faced. You knew she was waiting for an opening.

 

Everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see who would make the first move.

 

Notes:

Sorry for being so quiet for so loooooong————Mostly exam week and also mostly on wattpad. But thanks for reading! There is only 24 clickes but im already like so happy!

Chapter 10: Tick, Tick... Bang!

It seemed like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next move.

 

Your body trembled slightly, Ricardo's grip on you was so tight it nearly choked the air out of your lungs. Your vision started to blur.

 

"Killing her will only bring you more trouble, you idiot." You could vaguely hear Zulema's voice, and for a moment, Ricardo's grip loosened. He cursed, still loudly threatening her. Deep down, you knew Zulema wouldn't let the man kill you that easily, but hearing her calm tone still made you uneasy.

 

"You screwed me over back then, made me rot in jail... You cursed woman," Ricardo growled. The barrel of the gun pressed even harder against your head. "So unless you want your little bitch's brains splattered everywhere, you'd better tell me where the money is!"

 

The air froze with tension, but Zulema just sneered. There was no way she'd tell this man anything useful, yet her eyes quickly darted to you to make sure you were still okay.

 

"Don't be so hasty, Ricardo. You want money, not a corpse, right?" She pretended to cooperate, but you knew Ricardo wasn't that dumb. "Besides... you wouldn't want to kill that little bitch."

 

Her tone suddenly shifted, and you looked at her, though your vision was still blurry.

 

"What the fuck do you mean?!" Ricardo thought she was mocking him or provoking him. He squeezed your arm hard, making you scream in pain.

 

But Zulema didn't seem disturbed at all. Her face remained scornful, yet you could sense she was cooking up a plan. A quick, desperate one.

 

"How do you know I didn't strap some explosives to her? Don't be ridiculous." Zulema finally spoke again, this time with a mocking tone and a hint of a gamble. "You think I'd bring some random little brat here for no reason?"

 

And right at that moment, Ricardo hesitated. He knew Zulema was the type to follow through on her threats. He'd seen her do all kinds of brutal things before. So maybe... maybe this hostage he was holding really was wired to explode, and they'd both be blown to pieces.

 

"Tick-tock... Don't let me go boom," Zulema said with a wicked smile. Her eyes were sharp and venomous. She shook her hand slightly in her pocket, as if boldly telling Ricardo she could detonate the bomb at any moment. She began slowly backing away, keeping her hand in her pocket.

 

You quickly played along, pretending to be terrified, your voice trembling. "Y-You don't want to blow us both up, right? Let me go... I don't want to die... and neither do you, right?"

 

Your voice quivered, almost crying. You raised your head and looked at him with big, innocent eyes, even squeezing out a few tears.

 

Ricardo's Adam's apple bobbed as he glanced at you nervously, as if trying to spot some kind of switch or check whether you really had something on you. He cursed, then suddenly shoved you hard and turned to run. You were thrown to the ground violently, barely able to react when—

 

Bang! Bang!

 

Gunshots split the night air. Ricardo was torn apart like a puppet by bullets, falling heavily to the ground. Bright red blood spread beneath him like a slowly blooming flower.

 

You slowly pushed yourself up from the ground, raising your head to look at the lifeless man in the distance, stunned.

 

"He was too stupid. Didn't deserve to live till tomorrow."

 

You heard Zulema's sarcastic voice, cold as ice. You turned to look at her. You were terrified, and she was obviously not the type to come over and hug or comfort you. She simply walked forward, picked up the big bag of money from the ground, and turned to leave the warehouse.

 

"The cops won't fucking find this place," she scoffed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, getting ready to light one. But as she lit it, she noticed you still standing there frozen. She turned to you, leaning back slightly, squinting her eyes — looking relaxed but dangerous.

 

"What's wrong? If this already scared you, you won't last long," she said, deliberately trying to intimidate you — but secretly, she was amused.

 

You quickly followed her steps and left the abandoned factory. Your footsteps echoed in the vast, empty space until you made it outside. The sun was almost down, and the sunset stretched your and her shadows long across the ground. A cold wind blew past. Zulema walked behind you, unwilling to admit that she'd been a little worried when Ricardo grabbed you earlier. From time to time, she glanced at you secretly — but never let you notice.

 

She said nothing. She just lit her cigarette. But you could feel that the heat of that burning cigarette was nothing compared to the flash of fury that had burned in her heart.

 

She would never allow anyone to hurt you — even if she refused to admit it.

 

Chapter 11: Gilded Silence

A few days passed, and the fear of having a gun pointed at your head slowly faded.

It had been a rough ride—you almost got killed—but hey, it ended pretty well.

You two walked away with a fat stack of cash. Enough to live off for a good while.

 

"Zule... do you think maybe we should just use this money to settle down somewhere?"

 

It was one of those quiet afternoons. Zulema was behind the wheel like always, cigarette between her fingers, driving the RV.

She wasn't going fast. You sat in the passenger seat with the window cracked open, wind brushing against your face and tossing your hair gently.

You asked her that question because, honestly, after almost dying, you weren't sure if you still wanted to keep doing this with her.

 

But Zulema let out this short, dry laugh, like you just told her the funniest joke.

 

"What, you scared now?" she sneered, flicking her cigarette butt out the window.

Her tone was as biting as ever, her sharp eyes locking with yours in the rearview mirror.

"Just 'cause some punk pressed a piece of junk metal to your head?"

 

You looked down, unsure what to say.

You were scared, yeah.

And the way she talked about it so lightly—it bugged you.

 

"Well, yeah, 'cause he didn't press a gun to your head, did he? Don't act like it was nothing..."

 

You muttered back, annoyed, pouting a little as you turned to look out the window and stopped looking at her altogether.

 

She just cursed under her breath, like she was used to you throwing a bratty mood every now and then.

 

The road stretched on calmly beneath the wheels.

Outside, the sky was painted with streaks of sunset, bathing everything in a fiery glow.

You stared at the view, mesmerized. The golden light filtered in through the window and lit up your hair like it was wrapped in gold.

The wind hissed outside, blending with the soft hum of the engine.

 

Zulema kept one hand on the wheel.

 

With the other, she reached into a little box by her seat, popped a piece of gum into her mouth, and kept her eyes on the road, unfazed.

 

"And what about you?" you asked out of nowhere, your voice soft.

"Zule... where do you wanna go?"

 

That question hit the air like a blade slicing through the silence.

She kept chewing her gum, eyes glued to the road.

But you knew she heard you. She just didn't want to answer.

 

A few seconds passed.

Then she finally spoke, her voice low, a bit hoarse, like something inside her was pulling tight.

 

"I don't know," she said, frowning. "But I know I can't stop."

 

You could feel the change in the air—something had shifted.

You swallowed hard and turned away.

You had seen her lashes tremble, the way her gaze avoided yours on purpose.

Her grip on the wheel tightened. She kept chewing that gum, maybe trying to keep herself busy.
But when she said that... something stirred inside you.

You wanted to keep going with her, even if the road ahead was dangerous, even if it led into the unknown.

 

The atmosphere in the RV turned strange—heavy, like a thick umbrella was covering you both.

 

"...Okay. Let's drop it," you said, leaning back against your seat, trying to shake off the weird tension.

The sun was about to disappear behind the horizon.

You rested your chin on your hand and looked out the window again, your expression soft, dreamy.

 

"Hey Zule... do you think there'll be stars tonight?"

 

You murmured the words almost to yourself, your voice quiet and a little needy—but also more like a passing thought.

 

"What is with you and those damn stars, huh?"

Zulema finally answered with a scoff, her eyes cutting toward you sharply, like she was mocking your naive again.

 

But in you, she saw something she hadn't seen in a long, long time—something real.

Trust. Innocence. That wide-eyed wonder that hadn't been crushed by the world yet.

Zulema couldn't even remember if she'd ever been that free.

It stirred something buried deep in her—the softest part of her, the one she'd locked away for good.

She didn't want to remember.

 

But around you...

That hidden softness started peeking through.

The gentleness she didn't want to admit to, and the regrets she never voiced.

 

"No. No stars tonight."

Her voice sounded different this time—like she was actually thinking.

But you didn't ask why.

"All you see out there at night... they're just traps. Not hope."

 

"...But we've seen them before, Zule," you said quietly, trying to lift her spirits.
"Don't be so down."

 

"It's probably gonna rain tonight," she said coldly, turning away from your eyes again and staring at the sky outside, lost in thought.

 

"...Can I sleep with you tonight?" you asked.

 

"No."

 

"Just for a little bit, Zule..."

 

"...Only for a little bit. One second more and I swear I'll kick you out of bed."

 

You leaned over and gently wrapped your arms around the arm she wasn't using to drive.

She just let out a tired sigh—but you could tell, there was warmth in her eyes. That rare softness.

 

The RV rolled on through the fading light, like it was running from something.

Or maybe chasing something neither of you could name.

 

Chapter 12: Only Wind Knows

Days kept passing without you even realizing. The sun rose and fell, over and over again, like a loop that never ended.

 

Sometimes you'd sit in the passenger seat of the RV, resting your chin lightly on your hands, feeling the breeze brushing against your cheeks. Zulema, up front in the driver's seat, would be smoking or chewing gum, one hand casually resting on the wheel.
Sometimes the two of you would talk—about your pasts mostly, though Zulema never gave away too much about hers. Other times, you'd just sit there, quietly keeping each other company.

 

As time went on, something between you deepened. The thrill of your robberies, the adrenaline—it was exciting, sure. But even that kind of life had its empty moments.

 

Zulema never told anyone about her past. She believed anything you said could be turned into a weapon one day. But sometimes, when she watched you—your head resting on the RV's little table under the warm yellow light, your soft hair glowing, your quiet expression lost in thought—something in her softened.

And though she didn't want to admit it, she'd let little things slip in conversation. Tiny pieces of her past, dropped without thinking.

 

She thought maybe you'd be scared. Maybe you'd run away.

But she underestimated how much things had changed. You weren't that random stray kid anymore.

 

Sometimes she'd walk over to you, gently ruffle your hair.

"Hey, pequeña. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Or at night, she'd mutter a short, almost reluctant, "Night."

 

Everything was going fine—quiet, steady—until one day, she got a phone call.

 

It was in the afternoon. You'd pulled the RV over by the side of a quiet highway. The weather was decent—cool, not too hot. Zulema was in the passenger seat, smoking. You were up in the bunk, eyes closed, half-dozing.

Then you heard it—her phone suddenly ringing. That sharp tone cut right through the air and through you.

 

She rarely got calls. At least, not when she was with you. She'd told you before she had a lot of enemies, so your first thought was: Is someone coming after us?

 

You kept your eyes shut but stayed alert, listening closely as she answered. Her voice was low and rough, speaking fluent Spanish—you couldn't catch all of it, but you caught a few words.
"Dinero"... "Prisión."

 

Money.

Prison.

 

Your whole body tensed.

Prison? Why?

 

Did the cops find you guys?

 

You stayed still, silent, listening until she hung up.

You peeked, just a little, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her face had gone pale. The hand holding her cigarette trembled. She didn't say anything. Just sat there. Finally, she sighed. She didn't even realize you were awake.

 

You didn't dare ask. You just curled deeper into the blanket.

 

After that, she acted like nothing happened. And you... you didn't bring it up either. You were too scared. All you could do was silently hope—pray—that nothing bad was coming.

 

"Let's stop by that little town ahead, pick up some canned stuff," she said at one point, trying to sound casual. "Wind's picking up."

 

Her tone was a bit forced, like she was trying to keep things normal. She had no idea what you were thinking.

 

Night fell. The desert got cold, like always. You curled under the blankets, warm on the outside, but with a weight pressing down on your chest. Whatever that phone call was about—it wasn't nothing.

 

"What the hell's going on in that head of yours? You've been sulking all damn afternoon. Fuck. I'm not dead yet, you know."

 

She'd noticed.

She reached up, ruffling your hair from below, a bit rough like always. Her voice was still full of sarcasm—but this time, you could hear something else under it. Something sad.

 

You didn't respond. Just rolled over and turned your back to her.

 

"I'm tired," you mumbled quietly.

 

"Yeah, whatever," she muttered, sounding a bit annoyed. You heard her shift and lie back down in the bunk below.

 

Click. The lights went out.

Silence filled the RV—except for her breathing and your own heartbeat in your ears.

 

You tried to forget it, tried to sleep. 

 

Told yourself nothing was wrong. Told yourself you were just being paranoid. Told yourself... you were just afraid of being left behind.

 

You didn't dream that night.

 

The sun was just starting to rise when you opened your eyes, golden light spilled in through the curtains. You blinked, rubbed your eyes, sat up in the bunk, yawned, stretched lazily.

 

"Mm... Morning, Zule," you mumbled sleepily.

 

No answer.

 

Your eyes snapped open. You looked down.

 

She wasn't there. The lower bunk was empty. The whole RV was empty.

 

You scrambled to your feet, heart pounding. On the table was a box of chocolates—the exact kind you liked. You swore it hadn't been there last night.

 

That sick feeling in your stomach came out of nowhere. You jumped down from the top bunk in a panic—too fast. You twisted your ankle.

Didn't care.

You limped to the door, shoved it open, almost falling out onto the ground.

 

Outside was quiet.

Birdsong.

Morning sun across the empty road.

 

But no one.

No one at all.

 

You stood there barefoot, heart racing, looking around wildly.

 

Nothing.

 

Just the wind rustling through the grass.

 

Chapter 13: Lost In The Night

You're sitting alone on a little stool inside the RV, kinda zoomed out, your eyes stuck on that box of chocolates on the table.

 

It's been a few days now. You've barely eaten, just driving the RV aimlessly down some desert highway. You know you should've stayed where you were, just in case Zulema came back... but deep down, you're telling yourself the truth: it's obvious. You were left behind. Dumped in the middle of nowhere. Left tangled up in the mess of feelings you wove.

 

Night falls. Cold wind howls outside. You're sitting in the driver's seat, and it's like there's this voice whispering in your ear, over and over: "Serves you right. That's what you get for trusting her." She was never a good person to begin with. Maybe you were just some stupid little distraction to her.

 

Something to pass the time. And now? She's gone. Left you behind, shattered.

 

But somewhere deep inside you, there's still a tiny spark of hope screaming.

 

She's coming back... right?

 

...She is, isn't she?

 

You don't know.

 

You feel lost.

 

You miss your home.

 

Warm tears blur your vision. You press the brake gently, and the RV comes to a stop in some patch of dry grass.

 

You keep your eyes open, trying so hard not to cry, not to wipe those tears away, 'cause that would feel like giving in, like showing weakness. But your chest feels like it's being squeezed tight, and there's something caught in your throat that just won't let you speak.

 

Sadness wraps around your throat and starts dragging you slowly into the dark.

 

Quietly, you climb back up onto your little top bunk. The nights that used to be filled with stars and the soft sound of cicadas now feel cold and hollow.

 

The warm yellow light in the RV clicks off. A pale blue glow slips in from the window. You curl up on your bed, arms wrapped tight around yourself, knees pulled to your chest. You try to make yourself smaller, trying to hold yourself together in this heartless night.

 

Can you find her again?

Why did she leave you?

Did you mess up?

Were you too annoying again?

 

You mumble to yourself, mind hazy and heavy. Sleep rolls over you like a wave, pulling you under.

 

Of course you're hoping she comes back. Hoping this is just some kind of stupid misunderstanding. Hoping she just had something urgent come up and had to leave for a bit. But then... why no message? Not even one? She just vanished into the huge, empty world.

 

So, with all those messy thoughts and a storm of questions in your head, you slowly drift off to sleep.

 

——Meanwhile.

 

A man slumps in a chair, his chest bubbling with blood, eyes wide open in death.

 

The empty villa is silent. A woman stands in front of him, the gun in her hand still hot from the shot.

 

The shadows hide her face, but nothing can hide those sharp green eyes.

 

Her phone suddenly lights up. Your RV just stopped again. She stares at the screen for a few seconds, not saying a word.

 

"Idiot."

 

She mutters under her breath, annoyed but talking to herself. Even though she sounds irritated, she still quietly taps into your location tracker. Once she confirms where you are, she slips the phone away and starts walking. Her long black coat flares with the breeze, the soft clack of her leather shoes echoing on the floor.

Chapter 14: All the Words Were in Her Arms

Ding ding ding ding ding————

 

The piercing sound of your alarm clock screams through the silence, like it's trying to stab straight into your eardrums. You're jolted awake.

 

Your hair's a mess. You groan and crawl toward the edge of the bed, fumbling to smack the little alarm clock taped to the top bunk's wooden frame. The moment you press it, the shrill noise cuts off, leaving behind a suffocating silence.

 

There's no warm sunlight pouring in today—just a cold wind blowing through the cracked window. The chill makes you shiver. Wobbling to your feet on the bunk, you try to slam the window shut.

 

"Shit!"

 

It catches your hand. Hard.

 

You cry out, tears stinging your eyes as you drop to your knees, clutching your finger.

 

With a sigh, and only one good hand, you start to slowly, painfully climb down from the bunk.

 

It's the fourth day since Zulema left.

 

Somewhere in the background, you notice it—the soft tapping of rain. It's hitting the windows now, tick-tick-tick, steady and cold. The temperature's dropped fast, and outside, the sky's gone dark and heavy like it's about to swallow the desert whole.

 

It doesn't rain often in the desert. But when it does, it pours like the world's trying to wash everything away.

 

You slump into the seat at the little table. There's nowhere to go in this kind of storm. And honestly, you don't feel like driving anyway.

 

You don't feel like going anywhere.

 

But part of you still clings to the hope that Zulema's gonna come back for you. Even though that hope is fading—shrinking smaller with every day that passes. A voice in your head is trying to make you accept the truth.

 

But... you can't stop thinking about her.

 

You're not strangers anymore. You lived together. Crossed half the desert together—on roads, through dusty little towns, empty motels, shady gas stations. Just the two of you, far away from everyone and everything.

 

You watched the stars together. Talked through the night. Slept curled up in each other's arms.

 

Your vision starts to blur.

 

You fold over the table, hiding your face in the crook of your arm. No one's here—but still, you don't want to show your weakness, not even to the walls.

 

In your head, you imagine her voice.

 

Zulema would be here, right now, leaning over with that half-annoyed, half-worried look on her face.

 

"Don't be such a fucking baby," she'd mutter, but then she'd grab a tissue and gently wipe your tears away.

 

It hurts.

 

It hurts so damn much, like someone split your chest open.

 

Outside, the rain gets heavier. The wind howls—loud and raw, like some kind of monster. The rain lashes at the windows like fists.

 

Like your heart screaming, "Let me out. Let me forget everything."

 

You just stay there, curled up and crying softly.

 

The RV glows with warm yellow light, but the only sound in the world is the rain.

 

And then—

 

Knock knock knock.

 

You jerk your head up. Your ears twitch. Listening.

 

But all you can hear is the storm.

 

Probably just a big raindrop or something, right? you tell yourself.

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

There it is again.

 

You weren't imagining it.

 

Who the hell would be knocking like that in this kind of storm? Calm and steady, like they've got all the time in the world—even though it's basically a hurricane out there.

 

Could it be trouble?

 

One of Zulema's enemies? Someone from the past?

 

Or... something else?

 

Your skin prickles. Every hair stands on end.

 

You quietly get to your feet, grabbing the baseball bat by the double bed—one you and Zulema picked up on a whim at a corner store.

 

She told you, "You gotta learn to protect yourself. I won't be around all the time."

 

The bat feels heavy in your hands.

 

You walk on your toes, cat-quiet. Holding your breath, eyes wide, inching toward the door.

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

Each knock lands like a punch to your chest. You grit your teeth. You want to open it. But what if they have a gun?

 

But if you don't open it... what if they break in? This door won't hold up to someone determined.

 

So you just stand there. Frozen.

 

Then—

 

Jingle.

 

Keys.

 

You hear keys jingling. Someone's trying to unlock the door.

 

Click. Click.

 

Your grip on the bat tightens. Each little sound feels like a blade scraping along your nerves.

 

Creeeeeeak—

 

The door opens.

 

You suck in a breath. Lift the bat.

 

"GET THE HELL OUT!!!" you scream.

 

You swing with all force you've got.

 

But the figure dodges. Fast. Your bat slams into the doorframe, leaving a deep dent.

 

You snap your eyes open—

 

And stop.

 

You stumble back, crashing into the wall.

 

Soaked to the bone, dressed in a black raincoat that's still dripping, her dark hair plastered to her face—

 

It's Zulema.

 

She looks like she's been through hell out there. Her eyes widen from the sudden swing, still catching her breath. But her signature sharp, cold edge... it's still there.

 

"Joder... That's a hell of a welcome."

 

Her voice is still flat, unimpressed. But you can hear it—buried in the back of her tone. That small, stubborn sliver of... something else.

 

Regret.

 

Longing.

 

She doesn't meet your eyes. Just peels off the soaked jacket, letting it slap wetly onto the floor like it's no big deal. Like she didn't disappear without a word.

 

Like she didn't leave you spiraling.

 

Like nothing happened.

 

Like it's just another normal day and she's back to the RV.

 

Your eyes widen.

 

You can't speak.

 

Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Relief. Longing. A thousand things flood your chest at once. It's too much. You can't move. Can't speak. You just stand there, staring at her with your mouth slightly open.

 

Zulema notices.

 

She pauses, brushes the wet strands of hair from her face, and finally looks at you.

 

Her green eyes are full of something you can't name.

 

You blink—tears falling before you can stop them. Your hand starts shaking.

 

Clatter.

 

The bat slips from your hand and hits the floor. The sharp sound slices through the silence like a blade.

 

And for a second—just a second—Zulema flinches.

 

If it weren't to end a threat from the past, she never would've had the heart to leave you alone like that.

 

She couldn't tell you—but she'd rather take on every bit of danger herself than ever see you get hurt.

 

And now, there you are, standing in front of her, not saying a word. Your face is still streaked with the tears you were quietly crying just moments ago, and your eyes are all red.

 

You look like a porcelain doll. Like you could just shatter at any second.

 

She swallowed hard, but didn't say a word. Her feet slowly moved, step by step, toward you. And you—you just stayed there, back against the wall, still silent, like you didn't know how to speak anymore.

 

She got closer, torn up inside. You're gonna push her away, right? Push her and yell, "Why did you leave me?" Maybe hit her, maybe scream at her. Maybe cry so loud it'll split her in two.

 

But you didn't. You were just... quiet. Too quiet.

 

Zulema looked at you, her eyes pausing on your face. She hesitated. In her mind, she ran through every reaction you might have. Guilt and pain started to swell inside her, but her face stayed cold, emotionless.

 

Then finally, with a heavy sigh, she turned around—like she was ready to walk away again, quietly, and just let this end.

 

But your hand shot out and grabbed her arm, wet and cold from the rain.

 

Before she could react, you pulled her into a hug—tight. Your arms wrapped firmly around her waist, your head burying into the crook of her neck, into her soaked hair. You held on like your life depended on it. No crying, no yelling, no blame. Just holding her. Silently.

 

A crack of thunder lit up the dark sky outside.

 

Zulema's arms hovered in the air, like she wanted to hold you too, but wasn't sure if she had the right to anymore. Not after everything.

 

But in the end... you felt her arms settle gently on your back. You felt her hands start to move slowly, comfortingly, as she held you tight.

 

Neither of you said a word.

 

And outside, the rain hitting the windows softened a little—like it was playing some kind of quiet, wordless song just for the two of you.

 

Notes:

Uffff such a long chapter! Lost track of time and word just writing this, really hope ya guys like it.

 

Next chapter, something chill. or, maybe something like talking seriously? u guys can leave a comment for like a kinda vote, Im gonna prepare

 

thanks so much for reading again, those clicks, i feel flattered, really.

Chapter 15: Don´t go

Silence filled the space between you two like rainwater seeping into cracks.

 

There was no explosive argument like Zulema had expected—no storming out, no tantrum.

 

You were unusually quiet. So quiet, it made her suspicious.

 

It was raining again. Zulema muttered something about how it had been raining nonstop lately—no sunbathing, no chance to go out and rob someone or anything. She grabbed a soda can from the little table in the RV, popped it open with a crisp snap, and took a big swig.

 

She licked her lips slightly, tasting the artificial sweetness of the cheap soda. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw you lying on the top bunk, silently staring at a thick book.

 

She narrowed her eyes and moved closer. That familiar scent of tobacco clung to her, along with that cutting gaze that always seemed to slice right through people.

 

"Chiquita," she called you like it was no big deal, taking another sip. But you could feel it—she wanted to ask something. She just didn't know how.

 

"Why so quiet?"

 

Strangely, there was no sarcasm, no scolding in her voice.

 

You looked up from the heavy book, your deep eyes meeting hers.

 

"I'm fine," you said softly, your voice slightly hoarse. Your hair was a bit messy, falling over your shoulders. You looked worn out.

 

"Fine? Come on, don't bullshit me."

 

Of course, Zulema didn't let it go. She set the soda back down on the table. The bed creaked as she climbed up onto the top bunk and sat beside you.

 

You could feel her presence—oppressive, dark, not the soft warmth some people might bring, but her own brand of looming intensity.

 

"Still mad at me, little one?" she asked with a mocking edge in her voice, teasing more than accusing. She reached out and ran a hand through your tangled hair, half-playfully.

 

"Don't touch me."

 

You turned your head stubbornly, refusing to look at her.

 

"Still mad, huh?" she said again, hitting the truth right on the mark.

 

Zulema wasn't usually like this. She didn't get this close without a reason. Normally, you'd just trade a few barbs—never this kind of closeness.

 

So why now?

 

Guilt? Regret she couldn't admit?

 

"I'm not mad. Just... let me be for a while."

 

Your voice was quiet. You shoved the book aside and laid down, pretending Zulema wasn't even there, pulling the blanket over your head.

 

Your chest felt tight, like something was squeezing your heart.

No, you hadn't forgiven her for leaving you like that.

But you didn't want to do anything about it either.

You wouldn't bring it up unless she did.

 

That's why the RV had felt so heavy these past few days. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

 

"Don't ignore me. I fucking hate that."

 

Her tone was back to her usual self—cold, with a hint of irritation.

 

She reached for your hand, but you pulled it close to your chest and wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket.

 

She got annoyed too. Shifting slightly, she was about to jump down from the bunk.
"Fine. Stay by yourself then," she snapped.

 

But despite everything, you didn't want her to go. That ache in your chest—resentment and longing mixed—kept you silent, your throat tight with emotion.

 

So you nudged her with your foot.

 

"Don't go," you mumbled, your voice full of hurt. It was barely audible, but in the quiet of the RV, Zulema finally caught the shift in your mood.

 

"You annoying little brat."

 

She sighed, not getting down. Instead, she lay down beside you, pulling you into her arms like you sometimes did with her when you were asleep. You rested your face on her chest.

 

She gently patted your back—something rare from her. Maybe it was her way of making up for what she'd done. A silent apology. Guilt had pushed her to comfort you, even if her pride still stood in the way of saying it out loud.

 

"Alright, alright. Don't expect me to keep holding you forever." she grumbled.

 

Her voice was rough, but her arms tightened around you.

 

Notes:

Heeeeey guys back again. U guys can give suggestion on what to write next, what kind of scene u wanna see and stuff. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 16: Far Dreams

"Two packs of cigarettes, and a pack of that mint gum."

 

Zulema said it casually as she tossed the money onto the counter, swiftly grabbed the cigarettes and gum, and stuffed them into her pocket.

 

This time, you two had driven the RV all the way to some small town. You were far away from the desert and the Oasis now—Zulema wanted a change of scenery. Her reason? "It's too damn hot in the desert. I'm about to dry up and die."

 

You were standing outside the little shop, fiddling with a postcard you'd just bought. You liked postcards. They were one of the only things that reminded you of anything in this drifting, directionless life you were living. You liked all the different landscapes, even though you'd never actually seen most of them. A sunset over the sea. A foggy canyon. A little house in the rain.

 

The crooked glass door of the shop, with a faded "Open" sign, creaked open as Zulema walked out with an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

 

You followed after her, like a kid tagging along with their mom.

 

"That crappy piece of paper's all you bought?" Her tone was its usual sharpness, but not quite as cold as usual. She let out a dry chuckle and tossed the gum into the little compartment by the car door. Then she climbed into the driver's seat with her usual quick, no-nonsense movements, and you got into the passenger seat, completely unfazed by her annoying comment.

 

"I think it's pretty," you said, holding up the postcard. "Look, the top of the mountain's really nice."

 

You pointed to the postcard—blue sky, white clouds, green trees all over the mountain tops.

 

"Don't you think it's nice?"

 

You asked softly.

 

Zulema noticed how your eyes lit up when you looked at the card. That innocent sparkle, that bright smile she only ever saw on your face.

 

She sighed, eyes on the road ahead.

 

"Yeah, yeah." She waved it off lazily, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

 

She'd already planned to shut down the conversation. She didn't have time to talk about mountains or whatever with some immature girl. In her mind, that stuff was just fantasy. Her heart still felt locked away in prison—she had no room for things that could disappear any second.

 

Money. That was something real. Something that could last. At least, that's how she saw it.

 

But then she saw you out of the corner of her eye—your disappointed expression, lips pressed together, carefully tucking the postcard into the inside pocket of your coat and turning your head away like you were quietly hurt. And for a second, she wondered if she'd been too harsh.

 

She gave an awkward cough, then spoke like it was nothing—but she was trying to make up for what she'd said.

 

"Ugh... whatever. Staring at that stupid paper all day won't do anything. It's not real." She still hadn't dropped her tough act, but her tone had definitely softened. "Stick with me. I'll take you to see the real thing someday."

 

Inside, she was already rolling her eyes at herself. Since when did she talk like she was comforting a child? But you weren't like the others—those strangers she'd never hesitate to hurt or ignore. With you, somehow... she kept giving in.

 

"Hah? Really?"

 

You looked up at her like you'd just heard the best news in the world. That smile of yours came back, pure and bright and full of childish joy.

 

"Thanks, Zule."

 

Your voice was sweet, like a kid trying to be cute. You leaned your head gently against her shoulder, and she didn't push you away.

 

The RV cruised steadily down the quiet highway. The window by the passenger seat was cracked open, letting a cool breeze hit your face. You sat there, relaxed and happy, soaking in the moment.

 

Everything felt just right. The calm countryside. The two of you leaving the little town behind.

 

But then, from somewhere in the distance, a sound broke the peace.

 

Sirens.

 

The sharp, wailing sound wasn't close yet, but it was enough to set off every alarm in your body.

 

You knew Zulema had escaped from prison—she'd told you once, almost by accident. You hadn't thought too much of it at the time. After all, she'd been free for so long already, and if she were just some average criminal, the cops probably wouldn't be in such a rush to find her.

 

But what she didn't tell you... was everything else. The stuff she'd done. The stuff no one was supposed to know. The kind of things that could put both of you in serious danger.

 

The sirens were still far off... but the fear had already started to crawl its way up from the pit of your stomach.

 

 

Notes:

Heey guy, Well, I was writing and I COMPLETELY LOST MYSELF, so accidentally I wrote a bit too long. Im gonna put it into like 2 chapters so its not THAT scary. Sorry-----

Chapter 17: I Dont Want To Die

"Ey?" you blurt out, eyes wide as you glance into the rearview mirror and spot flashing lights in the distance. "Are they... chasing us?"

 

Your voice trembles. Your fingers shake as you point behind you, your whole expression twisted with fear and rising panic.

 

"No. They're not," Zulema replies, her voice low and calm.

 

You glance at her. She's still driving like everything's fine, but her hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles are white and the veins in her arms bulge. She's trying to act calm—but she's not.

 

"This little scene already got you scared? Heh... I think I overestimated you, huh?"

 

Her voice is as cold as ever, but you can hear it—something in her tone is off. Not as steady. Because the sirens are getting louder. The cop car is getting closer. Fast.

 

You shut your mouth. Your hands clutch at your seatbelt like it's a lifeline. The wailing sirens stab into your chest like needles, one after another, sinking deep.

 

You start to think—what happens if they catch you?

 

Prison. With those "monsters" Zulema used to tell you about. Maybe you'd get forced into smuggling drugs. Maybe you'd get killed. She told you about a woman who got burned alive... and other things too awful to imagine.

 

Zulema notices your breathing is getting shallow and quick, but she can't afford to check on you. Not now. It's clear to her now—those cops are after you both.

 

And Zulema knows exactly what she did to escape that shithole prison. If they catch her, she's dead. No questions. They'd be within their rights to shoot. A murderer. An escaped convict. A thief. She's a walking death sentence.

 

But you? She can't let you get hurt.

 

You're curled up in the passenger seat now, your arms wrapped tight around your torso, trembling. You look at her with pleading eyes—because in this moment, she's all you've got.

 

But Zulema just clenches her jaw and keeps her foot slammed on the gas. And in your gut, something wavers.

 

"Zulema! Stop the vehicle! NOW!"

 

The voice from the police loudspeaker is roaring now. You flinch, gasping when Zulema steps harder on the gas. The RV surges forward.

 

Suddenly—BANG.

 

Gunshots rip through the air. The back window shatters with a loud crash and you scream, covering your head with your arms.

 

"Joder..." Zulema mutters. Sweat drenches her back. She keeps checking on you—curled up beside her, shaking, barely holding it together.

 

The sirens are deafening now. More shots ring out. Another window explodes into shards. The noise makes you want to cry.

 

"Zule... I'm scared..." you choke out, your voice cracking as you start to cry.

 

Another shot—this time right by your window.

 

"AH!!"

 

You scream again. The glass splinters, but by some miracle, none of it hits you.

 

"¡Joder! Shut the fuck up!!"

 

Zulema slams a hand against the steering wheel, furious. She hits the gas harder. The RV races down the empty road, with the cops locked in pursuit.

 

Then—CRACK.

 

A bullet hits the driver's side window. The glass shatters. Zulema flinches, jerks the wheel hard—

 

Everything goes sideways.

 

The RV loses control. You're thrown hard against the door. The world spins. Then comes the crash.

 

BOOM.

 

The RV flips. Skids. Slams to a stop. You're barely conscious. One leg is pinned beneath the wreck. Every nerve in your body screams in pain.

 

You hear footsteps. The sirens begin to fade. You can't see Zulema anywhere. The vehicle's lying on its side. Empty.

 

Did she run?

 

Did she leave you?

 

You cling to anything within reach, desperate to free yourself. Your trapped leg finally comes loose.

 

"ZULEMA!!!"

 

You scream, but there's no answer. Just more footsteps. Gunshots in the distance.

 

Your heart clenches. You bite down hard, yank yourself out of the wreckage. The cops are near, guns up, scanning the crash site. But they haven't seen you—yet.

 

You crawl. Your leg is numb. Blood trickles down your forehead, warm and sticky. You touch it.

 

Blood.

 

Your breath stutters. Panic claws at your throat. You want to cry. But before you can process anything—

 

BANG.

 

Agonizing pain tears through your stomach. Like someone ripped you open. You gasp. Your hands fly to your abdomen—blood gushes between your fingers.

 

You wheeze. Try to breathe. Try to hold your insides in. You press down hard, but it's no use. The blood keeps coming. You collapse, gasping.

 

More gunfire.

 

Then silence.

 

Your vision blurs. The world muffles. You're slipping.

 

And just then—Zulema appears from the back of the RV. She took out the last cops. She's breathing hard, looking for you, eyes wild.

 

"Y/N???"

 

Her voice shakes. You've never heard her sound like this.

 

"Mierda... where the fuck are you?"

You could hear her footsteps getting closer, but you couldn't even cry out anymore. You tried to move, but no sound came out of your mouth.

 

In the distance, the sound of sirens started again—still far away, but getting closer.

 

Zulema instantly perked up. Her instincts screamed at her—it was time to go. She had to take the cop's car and get the hell out of here. Fast.

 

Because at this point, there were only two endings: she runs, or both of you die.

 

But... could she really leave you behind?

 

She actually hesitated.

 

Would she leave you?

 

The pain was still ripping through you. You wanted to scream "I'm here!"

But the moment you opened your mouth, blood rushed up and choked the words before they could come out.

 

You reach for something, anything. You force your body up, hunched over, dragging yourself forward. The only thought in your mind:

 

I don't want to die.

 

Help me.

 

Zulema...

 

...help me.

 

Mom... Dad... please...

 

The world tilts. Your limbs give out. And just when you're about to fall—

 

Two arms catch you.

 

You don't even know if it's real anymore. You hear the distant wail of more sirens, somewhere far away.

 

Then—darkness.

 

Chapter 18: The Softness That Shouldn't Exist

Zulema was never a good person.

 

She's killed too many people in her life, betrayed too many partners, abandoned so many. At the moments when others needed help the most, she didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

 

Running alone, doing everything alone, she never believed in "true friends." She could even betray Hanbal—the one she trusted and was closest to—for her own freedom. It seemed like there was no one in this world she truly cared about.

 

No guilt. Only cold, ruthless self-interest.

 

But you... you seem different.

 

She's never softened toward you—she doesn't soften toward anyone. She's Zulema, the infamous Zulema Zahir. If her interests are threatened, she won't hesitate to take out anyone standing in her way.

 

But when she hears you call her name, what does she think?

 

You two have been on the run together across most of Spain for over half a year.

 

She can't just watch you die like this.

 

It's just saving a clingy pain in the ass—maybe you'll come in handy someday, she tries to convince herself, letting herself soften just a little.

 

Sweating buckets, she drags you—covered in blood and shaking—into the police car. She tears off her shirt fiercely, rips it into strips, then ties them tightly into a thick band around your waist to hold back some of the bleeding from your abdomen.

 

Last night, she slammed the car door hard, ignoring the aches from being hit by the RV, stumbled into the driver's seat, and floored it—escaping before the next wave of cops arrived.

 

The RV you left behind smoked black, as if mourning the failure.

 

The police car sped down the scorching highway. At least Zulema knew where to take you now.

 

There was a motel nearby.

 

She had to take a gamble.

 

"Hey, stay with me, don't you dare die."

 

One hand on the wheel, the other lightly tapping your cold cheek. She could feel your breath fading, your life slowly slipping away.

 

"Wake the fuck up!"

 

Her voice was truly desperate this time.

 

When did she start caring about you like this? She shouldn't care about anyone.

 

But all she knew was you couldn't die.

 

She gave you medicine when you were sick, mumbling quietly for you to drink it; took you stargazing, her eyes shining with simple light, pointing out the names of stars; sometimes held you at night, or you held her; you told her about your dreams of the future—a peaceful, hopeful future.

 

A future with her.

 

There were actually tears at the corners of her eyes.

 

Her emerald green eyes showed a rare flicker of panic.

 

The car was practically flying. She needed medical supplies. She didn't trust any clinic around here, didn't trust anyone. In such extreme danger, she had to calm down and think clearly.

 

The motel was in a remote valley, like an oasis, almost desert again.

 

Thankfully, Zulema wasn't dumb enough to run off empty-handed. Even being chased by cops like this, she knew money could save lives. She grabbed a big handful of cash and a card.

 

She was only wearing underwear now, her jacket stained with blood. She knew she couldn't just show up like this—had to find a way.

 

Luckily, in the back seat of the stolen police car, there was a leather jacket the cops had tossed back there because it was too hot. Zulema grabbed it and threw it on. She smoothed her hair in the rearview mirror, trying to look less suspicious.

 

"Hang on a little longer, I'll be right back. You better fucking hold on."

 

She was talking to herself, panting. The cloth around your waist was nearly soaked through with blood. She closed the car door, leaving you in the passenger seat.

 

Then she pulled out sunglasses from her pocket and walked into the motel.

 

Luckily, the owner didn't notice anything strange. After a bit of work, Zulema struggled to drag you out of the car, carried you on her back, and sneaked into room 102, away from prying eyes.

 

Outside, the sky was growing dark. Looking at you lying on the bed, pale, breathing faintly, blood soaking the sheets beneath you, Zulema didn't give up. She knew where to find medical supplies and everything you needed.

 

She wasn't going to just watch you die.

 

No way.

 

Chapter 19: It will be Done by Winter

"When we made enough money, we can buy a big villa... and live there together. We could even get a little dog."

 

"We'll buy tons and tons of pretty clothes."

 

"Every night, I'll fall asleep holding you."

 

"I love you, Zule."

 

. . .

 

It was just a regular rainy day.

 

Raindrops tapped gently against the windows of the RV.

You were sitting by the window, holding a scarf that you had just barely started knitting. It was all crooked and uneven.

 

Zulema, like always, passed by without anything better to do, and her deep green eyes landed on whatever it was you were working on.

 

"Knitting like that? It's a mess."

 

Still the same as ever. Her mouth never softened. She reached out and flicked at the little section of deep red, fluffy scarf that you hadn't finished yet.

 

You were long used to her walking over, saying something sharp, and walking away again. It happened every day. What she said didn't really hurt anymore, because you knew she didn't actually mean it deep down.

 

You stayed focused on the two long purple plastic knitting needles in your hands—ones you'd picked up when you two stopped by some random general store on the road.

 

"When life gets boring, you can knit something." you had said back then.

 

You kept your head down, quietly continuing your work.

Zulema saw that you didn't respond to her snark, found herself a bit bored, and ended up sitting down next to you. She casually grabbed a tissue from the table and wiped a bit of gasoline off her hand from earlier—she'd been fixing something on the RV.

 

"What, trying to roast yourself alive? It's not even fall yet." she teased again. But this time her voice wasn't so sharp. There was even a trace of curiosity in it.

 

She slouched down lazily onto the soft cushion, one leg crossed over the other, then tossed the used tissue. It landed neatly in the trash can next to the bed.

 

"It'll be done by winter." you said in that childlike tone of yours—totally unbothered by her teasing. It was like a kid doing their homework seriously.

 

"By then, when you wear this red scarf, it'll feel really warm. Red's the color of fire."

 

Zulema froze mid-sip from her water, then looked up at you like you'd just told the funniest joke.

 

"Me?" She gave a dry little laugh, pointed at herself, and said with genuine disbelief:

"A red scarf? Are you out of your mind?"

 

But you didn't get mad. You just looked at her—with a kind of quiet determination in your eyes. A look that showed a level of care she hadn't seen on anyone's face before.

 

"Yeah... when winter comes, you won't be cold anymore," you said softly.

 

Zulema felt something warm stir deep in her chest—something she wasn't expecting.

Someone in this world actually cared about her.

Someone was willing to spend their time... knitting her a scarf.

 

She had never felt anything like it.

 

And this time... she didn't know what to say.

 

In the end, she just stood up, pulled a cigarette from her pocket, and headed for the door to step outside and smoke. But before she left, she reached out and ruffled your hair.

 

The gesture was rare—so gentle. Her voice too, was something almost unheard of: tender.

 

"Eres una tonta."

 

Even though that's what she said, you clearly saw it—that little upward twitch at the corner of her mouth. And her fingers trembling slightly as she held the cigarette.

 

BANG!

 

The open window slammed shut from a sudden gust of wind, jerking Zulema back to the present moment.

 

You were lying on the bed. Your breathing was still weak, but at least it was stable.

Your body was wrapped tightly in bandages Zulema had just finished putting on.

The wounds were stitched up. She'd even taken the bullet out of you.

 

Her eyes rested on you—a complex look in them.

 

The police could find this place at any moment.

That constant, suffocating sense of danger... it was something Zulema didn't want to deal with anymore.

 

She had thought about it. Just for a second.

 

Maybe... maybe she should just leave you behind.

 

If you died... would she finally be free?

Would she finally be able to run?

 

But the second that thought appeared, it cut through her like a knife.

It hurt—just for a moment—but enough to yank her out of that line of thinking.

 

Scene after scene of her time with you started playing in her mind.

Those memories wrapped around her like thorny rose vines.

 

Tighter and tighter. Holding her in place. Pinning her there—right next to you.

 

If she tore herself free, it would mean killing a living rose.

Watching it wither. Watching it die.

 

"Idiota... why didn't you hide?"

 

Her voice came out low and hoarse, like she was talking to herself. There was a tremble in it.

 

The whole room went quiet.

All that was left was the sound of her heavy breathing.

 

Chapter 20: The Softness She Denied

The sun rose and set, then rose and set again.

 

Over and over, in the same cycle.

 

And just like that, several days passed.

 

You were still lying on that crumpled bed, stained with patches of dried blood. Your vitals had stabilized a little, but you still hadn't woken up. Maybe from blood loss... or maybe something else. Your body was wrapped in bandages, and you just lay there quietly, like you were asleep.

 

And Zulema?

 

She'd unknowingly pulled through days of no sleep, dark circles under her eyes. She didn't even understand why she insisted on staying to take care of someone who might not even survive. Still, even when she was cursing you under her breath, she kept changing your bandages. Not exactly gentle... but honestly, that was her version of gentle.

 

She'd go to clinics miles away, buying antibiotics and all sorts of meds—whatever it took to stop you from dying of infection. The rest of the time, she locked you in the room alone to keep you safe.

 

She didn't want to admit it, but... she was actually worried about you. When she went out for medicine, she'd rush back like hell, afraid something might happen to you while she was gone.

 

At night, she sat by the tightly-drawn curtains, a small bottle of booze in hand, staring blankly out the window. Occasionally, she took a sip and turned her head to look at you.

 

She'd fall asleep to the sound of your breathing—then wake up in the middle of the night, like clockwork, just to change your dressing.

 

Sometimes, she even talked to you in a low voice. Even though you never answered.

 

Stupid. She thought. When the hell did I get this stupid?

 

Was it because of you?

 

After half a year together... was she actually starting to soften for someone else?

 

No. She couldn't let you change her. She needed to survive. She didn't need all this emotional bullshit.

 

"I'm not taking care of your half-dead ass because I give a fuck, alright? Don't you dare get the wrong idea. I still need you for that robbery job."

 

She sat at your bedside, sounding annoyed.

 

But she knew. Deep down, she knew exactly why she stayed. She just refused to say it out loud.

 

She was Zulema Zahir, after all.

 

But seeing you lying there so quietly, eyes shut, long curled lashes casting soft shadows over your cheeks... it made her throat tighten. Words caught in her mouth.

 

She was so used to your random, childlike questions. The way you'd orbit around her, talking about your past, or the weird little things you imagined. You'd been by her side every day and night, bringing a splash of color to her otherwise wandering, grey life.

 

Now it was just... silence. So quiet, she could hear her own heartbeat. The only voice left was her own.

 

Her eyes landed on your face. She frowned—but this time, her gaze wasn't cold and sharp like usual. It was... softer. Almost like she was looking at something precious. Something she couldn't let go of.

 

Don't die. You can't die.

 

She whispered it in her mind, but never said it aloud.

 

No one could see that kind of vulnerability in her.

 

Not even you.

 

......

 

It was raining. The sky outside was heavy, thunder rumbling in the distance. Raindrops tapped against the windows. It was already past 10 p.m.

 

Zulema stood in the tiny kitchen of the motel room, pulling yesterday's leftovers out of the microwave. She held a small glass bowl in one hand, a fork stuck in the rice.

 

She stirred it with the fork and burned her hand on the hot bowl, yanking it back quickly.

 

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath. She stabbed the fork back into the rice and took a big, ungraceful bite. Standing there in an oversized T-shirt and loose shorts, she looked nothing like the legend she was.

 

That's when, behind her, your finger twitched.

 

"Wake up! Y/N, wake up!"

 

It was like someone was calling you from the dark. A voice echoing from somewhere you couldn't see. You looked around the blackness, not sure who was calling. Was this your mind? Somewhere else?

 

Everything spun. Then a soft, warm light fell on your face, and your eyes fluttered open slowly.

 

The brightness almost hurt—you squinted, trying to adjust. Your head was spinning. Your body felt like it had been bolted to the bed, stiff and frozen. You wanted to speak, but your chest felt heavy. You tried to scream but couldn't. It was like your body wasn't yours yet.

 

Eventually, your eyes adjusted. You looked around. A small motel room—not fancy, but clean enough. Everything you'd need was there.

 

"The only thing that would make this leftover rice better is throwing that damn restaurant owner in the bowl too," came a grumbling voice from nearby. You knew that voice.

 

"Did he learn to cook from a dog or what?" the voice kept ranting.

 

You slowly started to feel your limbs again. It took effort, but you finally sat up, despite the sharp pain in your abdomen. That pain was real. But what shocked you even more was the fact that you were alive.

 

Zulema hadn't left you. She'd actually saved you.

 

Even though... part of you thought she would've.

 

You moved your legs a little, but you were still too dizzy to stand. Your throat was tight and sore.

 

Your voice came out rough, dry—like an old, broken record.

 

"...Zule?"

 

You turned slowly toward the woman standing in the kitchen. Messy clothes, wild hair.

 

Zulema froze, mid-bite. Her brow furrowed. She didn't turn around. Just stood there stiffly, trying to figure out if she'd finally gone mad from lack of sleep.

 

Zulema, you're out of your damn mind. You care too much about that girl. You're losing it. she told herself.

 

She didn't want to look. She was scared it was a hallucination. Scared of the disappointment.

 

So she ignored it. Pretended it didn't happen.

 

You, confused by her silence, tried again. This time, your voice was firmer. Clearer.

 

That did it.

 

Zulema turned around in an instant. A grain of rice still stuck to the corner of her mouth, cheeks puffed from not having swallowed yet.

 

You locked eyes.

 

Her dark green eyes widened. In disbelief. Staring at you.

 

You were awake. Alive.

 

The bowl hit the floor with a clatter, the fork clinking beside it. She practically ran to you, not even understanding why she moved so fast—her body just reacted. She sat by your bed, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

 

You saw it—just for a second—in her eyes: joy. Relief. But she didn't say anything.

 

Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Then her trembling hand reached out, like she was touching something fragile. She gently brushed your cheek.

 

"This isn't a fucking dream, is it?" she muttered.

 

You nodded slightly, a faint, shaky smile on your lips. Like you'd crawled back from death itself.

 

You hadn't expected comfort from her. Not really. This was Zulema. Just the fact that she didn't leave you behind was already a miracle.

 

But you had no idea just how much you really meant to her.

 

The next thing you felt was a hand gripping the collar of your shirt—and then she pulled you into a tight hug. So tight it nearly crushed the air out of you. But you felt it. The weight of it. The meaning.

 

She said nothing. Just held you like she didn't want to ever let go.

 

"You try dying again, and I swear to God—" she gritted her teeth. But her voice wasn't cold.

 

It was filled with something else.

 

Relief. And fear.

 

Relief that you made it.

 

Fear of what she'd do if you hadn't.

 

You sat there in her arms, wanting to say something... but the words wouldn't come. They melted into the warmth of the hug.

 

"Don't read into this, alright? I'm just drunk," she muttered, looking away.

 

Still, her arms didn't loosen.

 

That fake coldness made you giggle a bit.

 

"Don't scare me like that again."

 

Notes:

Long chapter again! (Sometimes I just write too much without even realising and then, thinking "should i cut it into multiple parts?" and then didnt know where to cut it and just post the whole thing)

Ok seems like Im making Zulema feeling a bit soft to y/n...but its a fanfic anyways, I will try my best to not make it ooc.

If you like it, please leave a comment or smt! So happy to see people reading the things I wrote.

Chapter 21: Would You Leave Me Behind

Days slowly passed by, and as your wounds began to heal, you started to notice a side of Zulema that wasn't known to most.

 

 

In your impression, she was the type to talk shit and blame you for getting hurt, but would still stubbornly put a Band-Aid on you while cursing, "You dumbass." She was someone who rarely smiled, but sometimes your jokes would actually make her chuckle, and then she'd curse under her breath. She had a filthy mouth, called you a "little stray furball" — and you had no clue why she'd call you that — but at night, she'd hold you close while quietly grumbling under her breath.

 

 

And this time, after waking up from a few days of unconsciousness, Zulema seemed to have been at your bedside the whole time. You could even vaguely see her in the middle of the night, asleep in a black plastic chair next to your bed. Her black hair was messily draped over her shoulders, and she was wrapped up in a big black hoodie, slouched in the chair like she might slide off any second. Her eyes were gently shut, but you knew if anything happened, she'd be the first one awake.

 

 

That night at dinner, she tossed you a piece of toast — golden and crispy with butter spread on it. "Eat. Don't expect me to cook you anything fancy," she said.

 

 

You were sitting in a chair by the window, a small reddish-brown table in front of you. It was raining again outside. You could move around now, though the wound still stung from time to time. Zulema stood in the kitchen, casually tossing the other burnt piece of toast into a plate.

 

 

You took a small bite of the crispy bread, letting the buttery flavor slowly melt in your mouth as the satisfying crunch echoed in your ears. You looked over and saw her still trying to figure out that half-exploded toaster.

 

 

"Fuck, this thing's straight outta hell or something," she swore, slapping the toaster in frustration. With a loud bang, it nearly fell off the counter.

 

 

"Hey, hey, take it easy, Zule."

 

You chuckled, slowly got to your feet, let your body adjust to the dull pain, and walked over to her. You held out the non-burnt toast to her mouth.

 

 

Zulema froze for a second, like she didn't expect you to come so close. "Are you trying to feed me?" she scoffed, turning her eyes away and continuing to mess with the toaster.

 

 

But your hand, holding the toast, stayed right there—still at mouth level. "Just have a bite. That burnt one of yours looks like a damn bio-weapon," you mumbled. "You don't have to keep all the good stuff for me..."

 

 

She paused. Like something you said hit a nerve. But she didn't look at you. Then she spoke—her voice rough, but kind of harsh.

 

 

"You're overthinking." That was all she said. You couldn't tell what she was feeling from the tone, but you could tell she was bullshitting. "Giving you the good stuff? I haven't even had enough myself. Don't act like you're so damn important."

 

 

She said that, but her hand on the toaster switch was trembling. And she pressed her lips together — her usual sign she's either lying or hiding something.

 

 

What made her hands shake wasn't just her reluctance to admit she was soft-hearted. It was the fact that no one had ever offered her food before. She used to scavenge through broken glass just to eat, hurting herself for even a sliver of comfort. She's always known depending on anyone would only end in a bloody mess.

 

 

But you— you —offered her, a bloodstained criminal, a damn slice of toast, like a kid would.

 

 

You looked at her, your hand still held out.

 

 

"...Alright, alright, whatever you say," you said, knowing damn well she'd never admit she was softening. So you lightened the mood, wiggled the toast a little as some crumbs fell off. "Come on, just take a bite? You haven't eaten anything all day. Don't tell me you're actually gonna eat that blackened garbage."

 

 

Your voice had a bit of affection and playful scolding in it.

 

 

She didn't say anything at first, turned her head away from you, still fiddling with the toaster; then finally, with a little sigh like she was giving in, she leaned over and took a bite from the toast you were holding. Seeing her eat it, you grinned like a kid who just unlocked a secret level.

 

 

But just as you were about to say something, she muttered in that cold, authoritative tone, "That toast isn't much better than the blackened one." Still pretending to be tough.

 

 

You laughed quietly—though deep down, you weren't totally convinced.

 

 

Maybe she didn't know: you, who always seemed innocent and harmless, actually had a complicated, layered mind. What you were most curious about now was whether, in the moment you got shot, Zulema had considered leaving you behind.

 

 

You weren't just something that revolved around her. Sure, you panicked when she disappeared, clung to her — but you were your own person. More self-aware than most people your age.

 

 

Were you naive?

 

 

You didn't know.

 

 

Maybe the moment your parents abandoned you, that innocence vanished like fog—quiet, without a trace.

 

 

But around someone who made you feel safe, you'd let down the cage that always surrounded you—just temporarily.

 

 

Do you love her? Of course you do. You love her so damn much. This past half-year, you've relied on her, but that doesn't mean you couldn't live on your own again.

 

 

What scared you, though, was this voice deep inside saying: you can't fully trust this criminal woman.

 

 

You had wondered, in the moment you got shot, if she had thought about walking away.

 

 

Standing there, a sudden, inexplicable wave of disappointment crashed over you like the sea. You didn't know why. It was just another Sunday. Your weak body leaned against the wall, one hand gripping the doorway so tightly your knuckles turned white.

 

 

Zulema didn't notice anything strange. She just pushed the finally-functioning toaster into a little slot by the sink—clang. She shook the water off her hands and turned around, only to notice how pale your face was, leaning against the wall. She froze. You'd left the toast on the counter nearby. She thought you'd strained your wound and frowned, walking toward you. Her voice had its usual complaining tone, but no real anger. "You better not die from tearing open your damn stomach just 'cause you fed me a piece of toast." She cursed under her breath. "Get your ass back to bed."

 

 

She reached out to grab you—but you suddenly stepped back. Your hair fell over your eyes, your gaze was blank, fixed on the floor. You didn't know where this weird, heavy emotion was coming from. But the thought that Zulema might've thought about leaving you behind stabbed your heart like a knife. Even if it was probably just your overthinking, just your head playing tricks — being left behind had always been your biggest fear.

 

 

Your breathing grew uneven, a dull ache rising from deep inside.

 

 

"What the fuck... what's wrong with you?"

 

 

Zulema finally noticed something was off. She reached out and tapped your arm.

 

 

But you didn't answer. You just slowly started walking back toward the bed. Limping, dragging yourself, like a gust of wind could knock you over.

 

 

She stood frozen, a crumb of toast still stuck to her lips. Her brow furrowed. She strode over and suddenly grabbed your arm. This weird, out-of-nowhere coldness from you made her uneasy. She could sense something was off.

 

 

"Have you ever thought about leaving me behind, Zule?"

 

 

Your voice sliced through the tense silence like a blade.

 

 

In that split second, something inside broke.

 

 

Her hand that was holding your arm loosened. Dropped to her side.

 

 

Silence again.

 

 

You could feel her breathing get heavier.

 

 

You guessed it right. She had thought about it.

 

 

Just for a moment, the idea of leaving you behind had hit her like a bullet to the chest.

 

 

You let out a long breath. Finally said the words that had been trapped in your chest — but what came wasn't relief.

 

 

It was more pain. More bitter silence.

 

 

You slowly sat back on the bed, your body trembling. The soft mattress sank under you, but all you felt was tension.

 

 

Your vision started to blur. Weird. You weren't the type to cry.

 

 

There wasn't really anything to cry about, but still, you felt this deep, hollow sadness.

 

 

Where did it come from?

 

 

. . .

 

 

She noticed you shaking, tears sliding quietly down your face.

 

 

She swallowed hard, quickly walked over to your bed, and without caring that your body was still healing, yanked you up from the mattress in one rough pull. You flinched, thinking she was mad, your whole body tensing up—

 

 

But the next second, you felt her calloused, rough hands gently cupping your cheeks.

 

 

You felt her skin, not cold, rubbing against yours. Your teary eyes locked with her deep green ones.

 

 

"If you had asked me that before, I wouldn't have told you shit," she said, and for once, her voice wasn't a cold, sharp knife — it was strong, tired, and full of emotion you'd never heard from her before.

 

 

"But it's different now. If I really wanted to leave you behind, you'd be dead already."

 

 

Her eyes stared straight into yours like she wanted to burn that sentence into your memory.

 

 

And she did.

 

 

Maybe even more than that, she carved it into her own heart. Because in this whole world, the only one still afraid of being abandoned by her, the only one who depended on her, who loved her—

 

 

Was you.

Notes:

Oh god look whos back. IM BACK. Went back to China, burning over here. A long lingering chapter huh. Thanksss for reading, if ya likes please leave a comment or smt. Thanks~

Chapter 22: "Our Little Home"

"Let's go."

It was a cloudy afternoon. Heavy dark clouds loomed over the whole motel, and inside, the only light came from a dim, wobbly yellow ceiling lamp.

Inside the small motel room, Zulema was in her leather jacket, slightly out of breath. She had just flipped over the mattress you'd been lying on when you were injured, trying to cover up the bloodstains. The room looked normal—no signs of anything. Even here, after running away, Zulema was still as cautious as ever. Even with you by her side, her calm, constantly-ready-to-run nature never once let up.

"I'm not wasting my time telling the motel owner you accidentally sliced open your stomach and bled all over the place," she muttered, cursing under her breath.

As for you, your body had pretty much recovered, even though the wound still hurt sometimes and left behind a scar. It was a near-death experience—you were lucky to have survived, and even luckier that you hadn't been wrong about Zulema.

Even if it was messy. Even if it hurt along the way.

"Zule, um..." You could finally stand up straight now, without stumbling around. You leaned lightly against the wall, wearing that hoodie that had been stained with blood but cleaned up by her. Your voice was small, but your usual spark, that bit of innocent energy, had come back.

"Our... our van, it's really gone?"

"Our little home... it got burned down, didn't it?"

Your voice was a bit stifled. You'd been thinking about it these past couple of days. That "home" you two had lived in for half a year—were you really the one who set it on fire? All the stuff inside... the pretty postcards you stuck on the fridge, your little bed, the small pillow she swore at you for making her buy, the cute little table, the chocolates and colorful candy you'd hidden away—was it all really gone?

Zulema's heart suddenly clenched when she heard your words. A jolt of surprise hit her.

She knew you'd eventually ask about the van. But she didn't expect that kind of question.

Did she miss that van? She shouldn't. She shouldn't miss anything. She always said those things were just "temporary shelters." Nothing in this world lasts. It's not like she missed that crappy little bunk in prison or anything.

But in the middle of the night, when it felt like she was the only one left in the world, the things she said "didn't matter" would always sneak into her mind.

The little bunk bed you two shared, the creaky sound when you climbed up.

The table where you'd put that tiny green vase you bought, with a few carefully picked flowers. She remembered how you wanted to tuck one behind her ear—she swore at you for that, but later stuck the flower in a notebook where she kept important stuff.

That fridge that always had your favorite orange soda. She thought it was way too sweet, but every time she saw it in the store, she bought some for you anyway.

That day you spent all day drawing a picture of the two of you on a piece of paper. It was all crooked and messy—she joked even a toddler could draw better—but she still stuck it on the fridge with a little magnet.

So many little things.

Saying she didn't miss them... might be a lie.

But she wouldn't dare admit it.

Because admitting any of those feelings meant she had changed. Meant she'd gone soft, sentimental, gentle—meant she wasn't her anymore.

And that would be dangerous.

So she wouldn't. And she couldn't.

But your words hit a part of her deep down that she'd tried not to acknowledge.

"Little home."

"Ours."

She repeated those words silently. But maybe that wave of emotion that crept in so suddenly made her annoyed—so her voice turned cold, all of a sudden.

"You care about that van? That useless piece of junk? It wasn't that important. Come on, let's go."

Her tone was impatient, but she didn't curse this time.

You pressed your lips together, like you kind of expected that reaction. You shoved your hands into the big hoodie pockets and stood up to follow her out of the motel room as she walked out quickly.

Even though you could tell what mood she was in—that cold, irritated kind of mood—she still slowed her pace so you could keep up.

The two of you walked out of the motel like nothing had happened. Zulema handled all the so-called "check-out stuff," and then you both left in a hurry.

The wind outside was fierce. Sand and dust were flying everywhere, stinging your eyes. You crossed your arms, trying to wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself.

"Ugh, seriously." Zulema's voice, as usual, was colder than the wind. "I'm gonna get the car we arranged. Stay right here, and don't move. I'm not cleaning up your corpse again."

She threw that line at you and left you standing there alone. The wind blew your hair into your eyes—you reached up and shoved the strands away, kind of roughly. For some reason, you felt a little suffocated. You turned and leaned against the rough stone wall by the motel entrance, lowered your head, trying to keep the dust out of your eyes, and waited for her to come back.

After a while—or maybe you'd already lost track of time—you heard the sound of a car engine getting closer. You lifted your head and looked around through the haze of dust, trying to spot the vehicle.

It was a small black car. Pretty tiny. Pretty busted. Scratches all over it in faded gray and white. You were kind of surprised it could even start.

The car stopped in front of you. You opened the door and quickly climbed inside. Then it slowly pulled away. The motel faded into the distance outside the window, and the only thing left was the low-quality music coming from the old car stereo.

Zulema didn't say much.

You could hear her chewing gum, but there was no rhythm to it—just a slow, irritated grind.

You could tell she was annoyed, though you had no idea why.

You sat in the passenger seat, quietly staring out the window, not saying a word.

That kind of silence wasn't unusual for the two of you.

But whenever it happened, at least one of you was definitely thinking something.

Neither of you planned to speak though.

The car kept driving, farther and farther away.

You slowly leaned your head against the door.

So... where are you going this time?

 

Chapter 23: Hidden in the Postcard

You guys had been on the road for days and nights. And somewhere along the way... something changed.

Was it the scenery? Or was it... you two?

There was no more teasing, no more laughter. No one talked about it. No one snapped. No one fought. But the silence—it was thick. Oppressive. Like something pressing down on your chest, but you couldn't quite say what.

That day, you pulled up at a gas station. The tank wasn't empty yet, but you were already deep into some remote stretch of land, and who knew when the next gas station would be. So Zulema decided to stop.

Quietly, she stood there pumping gas. One hand lazily resting on the handle, her face carrying the same cold, unreadable expression as always. Who knew what she was thinking.

You climbed out of the RV slowly, glanced at her, then turned and walked toward the little store attached to the station.

The weather wasn't cool. It was muggy—clouds hanging heavy above, trapping the heat. Kind of like the air between you two lately. Quiet. Heavy. Dark. But no storm.

"I'm gonna grab something," you muttered as you passed her.

"Mhm."

Her reply was barely there.

You didn't care. You pushed open the door, and the soft jingle of a bell rang out.

The cashier sat slouched behind the counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips, messy hair sticking out in every direction. A creaky old fan buzzed beside him.

He glanced at you once, then went right back to fiddling with some busted old phone.

You wandered through the aisles, eyes skimming the snacks and random supplies, not really looking for anything. Your mind was somewhere else. What the hell had happened these past few days?

Zulema once said you were sensitive. Maybe she was right.

Were you overthinking it? Why was she ignoring you all of a sudden? Or... had the vibe just shifted?

You didn't know.

You didn't know that you'd touched something in her—something soft, something she didn't even want to admit existed.

Your eyes eventually landed on a small rack near the register.

It was filled with postcards. Neat little rows. All kinds of landscapes.

And that's when it hit you.

—

It had been a breezy evening.

The sun hadn't fully set yet, casting the earth in a soft orange glow.

Zulema had wanted to stop for some smokes and beer at a convenience store by the roadside. She hopped out of the RV, light on her feet, while you had already run ahead inside like an excited kid.

The "24 Hours" sign outside flickered weakly, swaying in the wind.

Inside, something on a small display rack caught your eye.

It was a postcard with a sunset on the beach. The sand was golden-orange, the waves painted in a creamy white that seemed to roll toward you. It looked like pastel or oil crayon, almost unreal in its beauty.

You stared at it, entranced, fingers brushing lightly over its surface. You could almost hear the waves crashing in your ears.

You'd never been to the beach. Not even once. You'd only heard about it from grown-ups or seen it on TV.

This little postcard stopped you in your tracks. It felt like you could fall right into it.

"Hey, Chiquita. What are you staring at?"

Zulema's voice came from behind. She had a six-pack of beer in one hand and some packs of cigarettes in the other.

She stepped closer and noticed what you were holding.

The look in your eyes—that glimmer of wonder, that childlike curiosity—was something she hadn't seen before.

"It's so pretty," you mumbled, more to yourself, eyes still fixed on the card like you were trying to memorize every detail.

Zulema scoffed, dismissive as ever.

"It's just a damn piece of paper," she said, snatching it from your hand and tossing it back on the shelf.

Cold. As usual. But something in your face must've gotten to her. That tiny moment of crushed hope—she saw it.

And it stayed with her.

"Let's go, Chiquita. The sun's going down," she muttered, turning toward the counter.

But she didn't walk off right away. She slowed down. Pretending to count coins, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

She saw you go quiet.

Her mouth twitched.

She didn't say a word. Just grabbed the green plastic bag and glanced back at you.

"You coming or what?"

She frowned, not meeting your eyes. No way was she going to apologize. Even though she knew she'd hurt you.

Like always, she just tried to brush it off.

You followed behind silently, your usual spark dimmed. Lips slightly pouting. That postcard was only five euros, but you still couldn't bring yourself to buy it.

But God—it was so beautiful. You could still picture it clearly.

Zulema felt it too. That shift in your mood. She caught it in her peripheral vision, something tightening in her chest.

Still, she didn't say anything. Just climbed into the driver's seat of the RV while you climbed into the passenger side.

"Tch."

You heard her click her tongue and glanced her way, frowning.

Then she opened the door again and hopped out.

"Where are you going?" you called.

"None of your business. Forgot something," she snapped.

You watched her walk back toward the store. The sun was almost gone, casting a last orange streak across the RV windows.

How long did she take? You didn't know. You just sat there, dragging your fingers along the window, turning on the music she liked.

Propped your chin in your hands and stared into the distance.

Creak— the door opened again.

You turned. It was Zulema.

No soda in hand. No cigarettes.

But she did have something. You spotted the small piece of paper in her hand.

"...Huh?"

Your face lit up.

You reached for it.

It was that postcard.

Zulema's face stayed blank, but as she saw you light up, she gave you a quick side-eye.

For a second—just a second—you caught a flicker of softness in her eyes.

Gone before you could be sure.

"Just this once. If I didn't think the damn thing looked okay too, I wouldn't have bought it."

She looked away as she said it. But her lips curled slightly at your joy.

"Thank you, Zule."

You hugged her suddenly. She froze, clearly not used to it.

But she didn't push you away.

"Tch, okay, okay. Don't get all clingy," she muttered, frowning—but her eyes stayed on you, quietly content.

—

Snapping back to the present.

"What are you spacing out for? You look like someone just cursed you."

That cold voice yanked you out of your thoughts. You blinked and realized you'd been standing at the counter, lost in a memory, holding a postcard with a silvery-blue moon drawn in pastel.

Zulema stood beside you, a bag of beer or whatever in hand.

"Nothing," you murmured, letting your hair fall over your eyes.

Zulema shrugged, rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

She walked out of the store. You hesitated, then put the card back and followed.

Back in the RV, you climbed into the passenger seat. But something felt off—Zulema wasn't right behind you.

You looked around. No sign of her.

Maybe she went to the bathroom? you thought.

A soft breeze came through the open window. You leaned back, body relaxing. You were tired.

Sleep crept up on you.

Some time later—maybe a while—you were jolted awake by the sound of the door opening.

Zulema climbed in, a cigarette between her lips, black hoodie pulled up. Still grumpy as ever.

But something in the air... it had shifted.

It felt easier. Lighter.

Cool air brushed your cheeks. This was the calmest day in a while.

You felt your eyelids droop again.

Last night, you hadn't slept well. Tossing and turning on the backseat, nothing but Zulema's hoodie as a pillow.

It smelled like her.

Tobacco and something else—something only she had. You couldn't explain it.

She always slept in the front. Once said coldly, "Lying down's how you get killed in your sleep."

But sometimes you'd wake in the middle of the night and see her just sitting there, arm resting on the window, staring into the dark. Quiet. Still. Her black hair hiding half her face.

—

When you opened your eyes again, it was nighttime.

Zulema was in the driver's seat, eyes closed, head tilted to the side.

But her breathing wasn't steady. She wasn't asleep.

You sat up slowly, stretched with a yawn. The quiet had let you rest—finally. Even if only for a few hours.

You reached up to adjust the sun visor, trying to check your hair in the mirror.

Something fell.

A postcard.

It landed on your thigh.

You blinked in surprise, then noticed Zulema shifting beside you. She turned her face toward you.

You picked it up with trembling fingers.

It was that postcard. The one with the silver-blue moon.

Your eyes widened. The moon looked like it was smiling softly. Serene. Just like this night.

You could hear cicadas outside. The moonlight was faint but gentle, covering everything like a soft blanket.

Then you heard her clear her throat.

She sat up, emerald eyes like glass looking right at you.

Not cold this time.

She was Zulema. The Zulema you know.

And then she spoke, her voice rare with a touch of warmth and that usual teasing edge.

"You didn't really thought I was mad at you, did you, Chiquita?"

Chapter 24: Sleepy Sun

Zulema’s been busy these days.

 

She’d sneak out quietly while you were sleeping soundly in the backseat of the car.

 

You never noticed. Her movements were light. Super light and fast. That’s just her style — like a gust of wind, showing up and vanishing without a trace.

 

The only time you ever caught it was one night. She opened the car door and stepped out. It was raining. A loud clap of thunder hit, and you sleepily opened your eyes. You saw her shadow — just a blur of black — glide past.

 

“Where you goin’?” you mumbled, eyes still shut, voice sticky with sleep.

 

She didn’t answer right away, but you could feel her movements pause for a moment.

 

“Go back to sleep.”

 

You heard her voice — the kind that made you feel safe. Not her usual cold, sarcastic tone, but a rare kind of softness she reserved just for you.

 

Gentle. Like a breeze at night.

 

After that, you didn’t wake up again when she left.

 

And just like that, about two weeks passed. Life settled back into its rhythm — you teasing her, her snapping at you, you grinning behind her back. You stopped at gas stations, picked up snacks, and kept cruising along on your aimless little road trip.

 

Sometimes, you’d rob a place — usually a gas station or something small — but it was always just her. You two didn’t really work together much anymore. Her excuse?

“Don’t wanna see you drop dead again. You’re so useless you better just stay and heal. I’ll call you when something big comes up.”

 

So that’s how it went. Small-time heists. Quiet days.

 

At night, sometimes you’d talk. You’d tell her stories about yourself — kinda childish ones — but she still listened. Other times, you’d just sit there, doing your own thing. You’d be holding this old, beat-up book with yellow pages — one you swiped from some gas station counter. And Zulema would have a cigarette in her mouth, either counting money or scribbling something in that old little notebook of hers.

 

But you could feel it — she was planning something. You kept seeing her standing outside the car during breaks, cigarette hanging from her lips, chatting away on the phone to someone. And you'd press your face up to the car window, trying to eavesdrop, until she shot you a look sharp enough to cut through steel.

 

“Mind your damn business. You get dragged into this, you’ll die and not even know how.”

That was her warning.

 

And life just... kept going.

 

The sun would rise slowly. Then sink back down behind the hills.

 

“The sun’s going home to sleep,” you said with a childish grin.

Zulema would snort and look away, fishing out her lighter to light her cigarette, then tossing it back onto the car seat.

 

“You act this childish out there, you’ll be the first to get killed,” she said, taking a drag and blowing the smoke out slowly. The smoke curled in the air as she turned to you.

“Seriously, what the hell’s wrong with you? You’re like a kid who never grew up.”

 

You were sitting in the back, messing with your hair, trying to braid it into a loose plait. You had a hair tie in your mouth, your words a little muffled.

 

“But you’ll protect me, won’t you?”

 

“….”

 

Zulema’s eyes widened just a bit, then she looked ahead, leaning back in her seat, not looking at you anymore.

 

“Shut up. Always talking crap.”

 

She grumbled, but through the rearview mirror, you caught it — that tiny flicker in her eyes, the quick little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. And then it vanished.

 

“It’s late. Its time for you to get the fuck to sleep,” she finally muttered, opening the door and stepping out.

“Go dream your dumb little dreams.”

 

And just like that, you heard the door shut behind her. You peeked out and saw her standing outside again, phone in hand, dialing that same number she kept calling — and she was already talking. Again.

Notes:

Hey everyone, I know this is a kinda short chapter, it was suppose to be like a, a extra chapter. But its for the foreshadowing, of the next chapter. Alright, guys, Enjoy!

Chapter 25: “I wish I were your child.”

“Look, Zule, there’s a dragonfly flying over there.”

 

“…Tch, what’s so interesting about bugs?”

 

“It’s a flying bug, haha.”

 

“…Silly.”

 

—

 

It was a cloudy evening. Normally, the sun shouldn’t have been setting yet at this time, but the sky was just gray and overcast. But you noticed the dragonflies flying low, almost like they were floating right above the ground, gliding softly and quietly past the car window before disappearing not far away.

 

Thick, dark clouds covered the sky, hiding the sun. It was like the sky was throwing a tantrum, making the air feel damp—but still no rain.

 

“Hey, hey, don’t always keep that gloomy face, like a storm cloud.” You had secretly thought about Zulema like that before.

 

That afternoon, you were half-lying in the backseat of the little car, your back resting against the door, a book resting on your knees, reading with deep interest. Your fingers gently flipped the pages—one after another, then another.

 

Around you, the sounds of the car driving along the highway filled your ears. You were in the middle of nowhere—just dry grass, yellowing earth, and clouds of dust. Occasionally, a few pitiful little trees stood, their leaves all fallen, with bare branches that looked like they’d been there for hundreds of years.

 

Oh, and of course, the sound of Zulema chewing gum. A few days ago, when you were trying to take some gum out of her pocket, you accidentally knocked her last pack of cigarettes into a puddle. There were only two or three left, but they got soaked and useless. She’d scolded you a little about it, but seeing how guilty you felt, she gave up and impatiently said, “That pack was harsh on my throat anyway, no loss. Thanks for taking care of that trash for me.”

 

The car bounced a bit on the road; your back occasionally bumped against the door.

 

“Zule, where are we going now?” You asked without looking up from your book. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Zulema glancing at you through the rearview mirror. Hearing your question, she finally spoke, after being quiet most of the trip.

 

“To a friend’s place.” She said simply, her dark green eyes fixed on the road ahead. You didn’t think much of it, not noticing the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.

 

“A friend? I thought you didn’t trust anyone.” You said casually, with no sarcasm, remembering she once told you everyone she knew was just about business, but as long as the money was right, anything was possible.

 

Zulema snorted coldly at your question, a bitter laugh in her voice.

 

“Who said I trust that bastard? He still owes me money.” She rolled her eyes, one hand on the steering wheel, the other flicking open the car window to casually spit out her gum.

 

You looked at her and laughed, her words cracking you up. You caught a faint twitch and a slight smile at the corner of her lips.

 

The car kept moving, the atmosphere inside relaxed and warm. The heater was on, and you could feel the gentle warm air brushing your skin. The faint scent of Zulema’s gum filled the car—it was minty, fresh.

 

You’d asked her once what flavor gum she liked best. She’d shrugged it off, saying flavors didn’t really matter. But you’d slowly noticed she preferred mint first, then lemon, and lastly the common strawberry flavor.

 

You even had a little note in your small journal dedicated to it: “Zule’s gum purchases over two months—three boxes of mint, all finished and frequently chewed; one box of lemon, almost gone except a few pieces you accidentally threw away; one box of strawberry, barely touched, more than half left.” You remembered her once complaining, “Why’s this so sweet?”

 

But those were small things.

 

“Are we gonna get some kinda ‘benefit’ from your ‘friend’ today?” you joked, knowing full well Zulema wouldn’t randomly visit an old friend for some warm hugs. If anything, you were sure Zulema probably had a gun pressed to that guy’s chest.

 

Zulema kept her eyes on the road but laughed coldly at your words. Her tone was still sarcastic, like she’d heard a joke.

 

“Benefit? Looks like you’re slowly starting to get how this world works—no benefit, no friendship. Finally not acting like a little kid.”

 

And then she threw a jab at you. You rolled your eyes.

 

“I’m not a kid, okay? I know plenty.”

 

“You’re like a little duck, always noisy, following the mother duck around, never quiet.” She rolled her eyes and shot a sharp glance at you through the mirror. “Quack quack quack.” She teased. You hadn’t heard her joke around like that in a while. “But I’m not your mom. Watching you grow up would make me want to jump off a building.”

 

Hearing that, something flickered inside you for a moment. You lifted your head from your book, looked at her, and in your eyes, there seemed to be a strange little hope.

 

You hesitated a second, then quietly let the thought slip out.

 

“I wish I were your child.”

 

Your voice was soft, almost a whisper. You didn’t know if you wanted her to hear it, but for a moment, you thought, how great would it be if it were true?

 

She didn’t respond or say anything. You felt quietly relieved she hadn’t heard your silly words and wondered why you suddenly felt so emotional.

 

What you couldn’t see was Zulema’s brows tightening for a second. Your words hit her like a knife, striking exactly the place she hated to think about most: family.

 

She knew she couldn’t admit the feelings she had for you now—those impossible-to-cut-off feelings—because if she did, she’d have to face the pain of losing her daughter, and the helplessness of knowing she couldn’t protect you.

 

If she couldn’t protect, then she’d keep it hidden forever.

 

The car kept moving forward. You didn’t notice, but Zulema’s eyes quietly stayed on you through the rearview mirror. The clouds were starting to break apart, and a ray of sunlight cut through the heavy darkness, gently landing on her face.

Notes:

heeey im back! pls comment if u have any idea or thought about this chapter...enjoy!

Chapter 26: Return

The wilderness is quiet, the highway empty. When the car drives by, dust rises behind it, the engine’s growl sounding like a solo performance, breaking the stillness just a little.

 

This morning, Zulema woke you up early. Normally it’s just the ticking of your phone alarm, or you both sleep until you naturally wake. You don’t need to rush anymore—you’re just driving aimlessly, traveling through this deserted place. There’s still plenty of money left from the last heist, though you know Zulema isn’t the kind of person who’d quit just because she’s rich now. She told you this morning to get up early, that you two were going somewhere together. But when you asked where, she refused to say. You saw that mysterious look on her face—the same kind of look she wears when she says, “ I’ll take you somewhere nice, ” before dragging you into some gangster hideout with a mocking smile.

 

But you’ve never seen her like this. In your impression, she’s always the one who has every step planned out, always tells you directly where to go, like she’s giving orders to her crew.

 

“Are we gonna fight? Rob something? A drug deal? Or… something else?”

 

You’re sitting in the passenger seat, eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement as you ask. The car is racing down the road—you haven’t seen her this rushed in a long time. Where’s she in such a hurry to go?

 

Zulema doesn’t answer—same as always. If she doesn’t want you to know, or already said she won’t tell you, then you’ll never find out. That’s Zulema. Nobody pries anything out of her.

 

“If you could just shut that damn curiosity of yours for a second, and open those eyes that aren’t blind yet, you’d realize you’re practically leaning onto the steering wheel, idiota.”

 

Her tone is still as sarcastic as ever. She frowns lightly, one hand on the wheel, the other slapping your arm with a sharp smack. That’s when you realize—you really were leaning way too close, almost in her face.

 

“Sorry… I was just curious, hahaha.”

 

You tilt your head, laughing awkwardly. Your brows curve when you smile, almost goofy, innocent. Zulema glances at you, snorts, and lets out a cold little laugh.

 

“Mmm… it feels nice though, Zule. Why don’t you open the window? It’s so cool outside.”

 

Stretching like a lazy cat, you shift in your seat, then relax back comfortably. You close your eyes just a little, enjoying the breeze slipping in from the tiny crack in the window. It’s sunny today, but not hot. You can feel the warmth of the sunlight covering the world like a protective blanket. A lazy, cozy afternoon—the perfect kind for a road trip, you think.

 

“If we had a blanket, or maybe some food, we could have a picnic,” you suggest with a small smile, letting the fun little idea tumble out of your head. “We could buy some bread. Do you like butter rolls? Or maybe strawberry ones? Though you don’t really like sweets, right… But imagine—on such a warm afternoon, the two of us lying on the grass, taking a nap, and when we wake up, maybe some little animals would be gathered around us. Like in cartoons.”

 

You wave your fingers in the air as you talk, smiling that naïve, romantic smile, describing the fairytale you’re imagining. No wonder—just two days ago when you robbed that little shop, you’d stolen a battered old fairy tale book from the counter. Zulema laughed at you for it back then: “ Haven’t you seen the world already? How are you still this childish? ”

 

Your mind snaps back to the car. Zulema listens to your words, lifting her eyebrow like she’s about to mock you again.

 

“Should I buy you a princess dress too? Then you can lie there waiting for some prince to pop out of nowhere and save you from the monster—me?” she sneers, letting out a cold chuckle. “And then you live happily ever after?”

 

Her voice suddenly cuts off there, though. She doesn’t continue. You laugh at her jab and keep rambling about your daydreams. She wanted to say more, but didn’t.

 

There are no fairy tales. Only reality. You’re just two people trapped between good and evil. Two criminals. Two broken souls. One running from the police, hands stained in blood. The other running from reality, forever a child who won’t grow up.

 

There’s no salvation. No freedom.

 

Only two people surviving between the ashes and the sky.

 

But as she watches you happily describe your imaginary world, telling her stories like a child, dreaming of a future, she doesn’t interrupt you. Even though she knows she should. She knows your childish fantasies will only get you swallowed whole by this world. Being naïve never gives you anything good.

 

But… whatever. That’s what she tells herself. In a heartbeat, she pushes the feelings down. She’s not the type to dwell on small things.

 

You—this little kid who’s been tagging along with her for half a year—you’ve somehow made her, a woman cold-blooded enough to abandon even someone like Hanbal, soften for just a moment.

 

Forget it. She won’t say it. She’ll just let you stay inside the false safety she built.

 

At least, it’s the safety she chose to bring you into.

 

“Zule? What’s wrong?”

 

Your soft voice yanks her back from her thoughts. She had been staring at the road, lost.

 

“Tired? I can drive for a bit, if you don’t mind. Just tell me where to go.”

 

You offer.

 

But Zulema only frowns, shakes her head.

 

She doesn’t look at you. Just keeps her eyes on the road. She doesn’t say a word, but you see the corner of her mouth twitch.

 

—

 

The sky slowly darkens.

 

The breeze grows colder, and you roll up the window. Inside the car, the heater’s on, a warm yellow light glowing overhead, wrapping the space in coziness. You lean against the seat, feeling drowsy. The book in your hands hasn’t been flipped for a while—your thoughts long gone from its pages. The music in the car fades to a blur, and drowsiness washes over you again and again like waves. Your eyes start to close on their own.

 

“We’re here.”

 

Zulema’s voice suddenly cuts through. You sit up instantly, sleep gone. The car has stopped in front of an old factory. Out here in the middle of nowhere, it looks almost like a tiny village. The rundown place reminds you of one of the jobs you’d done with Zulema before… No. You don’t want to remember what it felt like being a hostage.

 

You set the book down, slowly climb out of the car—and almost trip in the process. Zulema shuts her door with a slam, a cigarette hanging from her lips. You quickly catch up with her as she walks toward a small side door behind the factory.

 

The sky is pitch black now, the night air biting cold. You shiver, pulling Zulema’s black leather jacket tighter around you. You hadn’t wanted to wear her clothes—otherwise she’d be left without a coat. But she practically threw it at you, saying, “ If you freeze your ass off, then I’ll be the one stuck taking care of you. ”

 

It’s warm, carrying that faint tobacco smell that always lingers on her.

 

You glance down, straighten the jacket, and when you look up again, you see Zulema standing a little ways ahead, talking to some guy. Probably another shady deal—you don’t bother going closer. Whenever it comes to things like this, she always tells you to hang back. “ Watch and learn, but stay the hell out of the way. ”

 

You know deep down she’s still a little shaken from the last time you were taken hostage. Not that she’d ever admit it—she’d just deny it and then insult you on top of it.

 

The night breeze brushes your face as you tilt your head up. There are stars, scattered across the sky. The moon just hangs there quietly, with no heavy clouds to cover it.

 

“Tsk. Let’s go.”

 

Zulema frowns, motions for you to come closer. You jog over obediently, but instead of heading back to the car, she follows the man. The three of you circle around the factory until you reach something like a garage. You and Zulema wait outside while the man picks through a set of keys, finds the right one, and unlocks the small door. He goes in first. You notice the glow of Zulema’s cigarette tip in the dark. The whole place feels so black, you find yourself inching a little closer to her.

 

Suddenly, a loud clanking noise. The garage door begins to roll up, rusty metal screeching as if it hasn’t been serviced in years. The sound echoes, harsh and heavy. And then—

 

Your eyes widen. You can’t believe what you’re seeing.

 

Scratched up, the front dented, headlights glowing, engine rumbling, even a string of cheap LED lights outlining the windows—that RV.

 

Yes. That very RV. The one you thought had burned down to nothing. Somehow, it survived. It even runs. It’s not perfect anymore, but it’s enough.

 

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock. Warmth rushes through your body like a wave of happiness. You can’t find the words—you just stand there, staring, like you’re dreaming.

 

The man grins, clearly proud of his work. And Zulema? She flicks away her cigarette butt, eyes landing on you. For a split second there’s a softness there—something like fondness, satisfaction. Her lips curve faintly, just like always. She looks almost like a parent watching their kid unwrap a Christmas present.

 

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

 

Her voice carries that usual mocking edge as she steps closer. The man leaves, disappearing into the dark. Now it’s just you two in the wide, empty garage. Zulema’s gaze lingers on you, silently saying: See? There’s nothing I can’t pull off.

 

And you—like a kid finding a lost toy again—slowly circle the RV, still in awe. Zulema watches you, lets out a short, amused snort.

 

“Not going in? Don’t you wanna check if all your useless crap is still there?”

 

She gives your shoulder a little push. You finally reach out, slowly push open the door, and step inside.

 

A warm yellow light flickers on. A tiny fridge hums, magnets still stuck on it—your doodles, some water-damaged but still there. The table, with its patterned cloth. A new vase. The little bunk beds, curtains mismatched—one probably burned or ruined before. Even the trash can sits exactly where it used to be.

 

“This is… this is what you’ve been making all those calls about? Running around so busy lately?”

 

Your voice trembles, choked with emotion. You never imagined Zulema would go through so much trouble—for you. Tears well in your eyes. “All of this… for me?”

 

Zulema leans against the window, hands stuffed in her pockets, lifting her brows slightly.

 

“Always so damn sentimental…” she mutters under her breath. Then, louder: “What, is it some law of nature that boring people always cry when they’re happy?” Her words are teasing, but her eyes… softer, not as sharp. You catch it. That tenderness.

 

“I’m not…” you mumble, quickly wiping at your tears, laughing awkwardly. “Ugh, I hate you… Always making fun of me.”

 

“Tsk, tsk. That’s my leather jacket you’re wearing. Cry if you want, but don’t you dare ruin my damn jacket.”

 

She frowns, says it like a scolding, but then steps over. She pulls two tissues from the table, brushes your hand aside, and wipes your tears herself—gently.

 

“Hahaha… I didn’t know you could actually wipe my tears for me…” you sniffle with a small laugh.

 

“…Shut up.”

Notes:

Long chapter! Finally got it done, finally got the RV back!!

Chapter 27: Love, or something else?

Notes:

Oh heeey! There is a little note first, so, for the dialogue at the end, the order is Zulema, y/n, Zulema again, and then y/n again, so on and so forth. Enjoy!

It was another late night.

Stars scattered across the sky, a thin crescent moon glowing faintly, wrapping the earth in a soft light.

 

And you—comfortably leaning back on the lower bunk bed, resting against Zulema’s pillow while doodling in a notebook. A lollipop stuck between your lips. At the little table, Zulema sat with a cigarette in her mouth. The window beside her was open, but the smoke still lingered in the air.

 

On the table in front of her lay four or five notebooks, filled with tiny, crowded handwriting. Some of them had stacks of cash tucked inside—bundles of bills just lying around. She was focused, counting the money, jotting numbers down without pause. It was quiet, steady. Her long black hair fell to one side, covering half her face.

 

“What are you working on so seriously?” you asked, curiosity pulling the words out of you as you set your pen down.

 

Zulema didn’t even lift her head. Her hand moved fast, scribbling another row of numbers, then sliding a €500 note into the pages. “My own business,” she muttered flatly, and kept going, flipping to the next notebook.

 

That only made you more curious. You hopped lightly off the bunk, bouncing over to her and dropping onto the chair across from her. Your eyes wandered across the notebooks spread out on the table. You couldn’t help yourself—you reached toward one.

 

Smack. Your hand stung, and you yanked it back.

“Why’d you hit me?” you whined, looking at her with wounded eyes.

 

Zulema frowned, exasperated, like she was dealing with a restless kid. “You should be grateful you know me. Otherwise, that hand of yours? Would’ve been gone already.” Cold, matter-of-fact.

 

You pouted, folded your arms, and slumped forward on the table, taking up half the space.

 

“Are you planning some big heist? A deal? Something?” You couldn’t resist poking her arm with your finger, testing her patience as you asked. “You haven’t lined up this much money in forever.”

 

This time, Zulema didn’t slap you away. She just rolled her eyes, as if she’d finally accepted she couldn’t escape your endless questions. Tossing what she held back onto the table, she stretched her arms and let out a yawn.

 

“There better be instant noodles in here somewhere. Yesterday I told you to grab a few packs at the store. How many did you buy?” she asked lazily, wandering over to the little RV cabinet by the bed, rummaging through for food.

 

“I don’t remember… three or four, maybe?” you said absently, laying your chin back on the table and watching her. Tonight she was in her usual oversized black hoodie and dark, comfy pants. Lately you both had seemed more relaxed, after everything that had happened.

 

It all felt like a dream.

 

Your gaze drifted from her to the postcard stuck on the fridge with a tiny magnet. The one of the ocean at sunset.

 

“Zule… where do we go next?”

 

You sounded like a kid asking a parent about the next stop on a road trip.

 

She arched a brow, tossing two packets of noodles onto the table and turning toward you.

 

“What, in such a rush?” Her mood seemed lighter than usual, less tense, less cold. “In your state, going anywhere would just be suicide. I’m not dragging you along just to get you killed.” She frowned as she broke the noodle cakes into the boiling water. One hand shoved in her pocket, the other stabbing at the noodles with a fork. Cooking wasn’t her thing. Sometimes you ate out at cheap diners, but in deserted places like this, it was boiled noodles, crackers, chocolate. Plenty to survive on.

 

“So you are planning on going somewhere,” you pressed, eyes narrowing.

 

Zulema didn’t answer.

“ Coño ,” you heard her curse under her breath as boiling water splashed onto her hand. She jerked it back, scowling.

 

You chuckled softly, sliding over to nudge her aside. “Let me do it,” you said with a little smile.

 

“What, you think I’m too stupid to cook noodles? Move.” She muttered low, embarrassed at looking clumsy in front of you.

 

“I’m not mocking you. Just let me. Go back to your papers, otherwise we’ll have no space to eat once this is done,” you told her gently, nodding at the scattered notebooks.

 

She rolled her eyes, muttered a few curses, but did as you said—tucking the notebooks with cash away into the cabinet, then tossing the less important ones onto her bed. “What, I’ve sunk so low I’m listening to a nag like you? Must be karma for all the people I killed,” she grumbled.

 

You only smirked, not bothering to fire back.

 

The warm yellow light filled the RV. A soft, cozy atmosphere. The little air freshener you’d hung earlier gave off a faint floral scent. Zulema had scoffed at it before—“kid’s crap, stinks”—but still tied it up on the curtain rod for you, since you couldn’t reach.

 

You took it in—the warm space, Zulema clearing the table for dinner, you standing by the pot stirring noodles—and the thought made you laugh.

 

Married life. That’s what it felt like.

 

Zulema noticed you laughing. She rolled her eyes, her sarcastic voice cutting through. “Seeing me like this, all obedient and pathetic—yeah, hilarious, huh?” Her sharp eyes fixed on you, though there was a teasing edge. You knew her real calculating stare; this wasn’t it. “In prison, that dumb little giggle would’ve gotten you killed.”

 

You weren’t offended. You just smiled and looked at her.

 

“No, I was just thinking… we look like a married couple. Don’t we? Mom’s cooking, the other mom’s tidying up.” You giggled, pointing at her.

 

She frowned, let out a short, cold laugh.

 

“Married? Please. I’d never be stupid enough to marry a naïve little thing like you.” She shot back, but then walked over, poked your forehead with her finger. “Dumb as hell, you.”

 

Her voice carried something else though—a tiny shade of fondness. The kind she rarely let slip. Maybe only with you. She was in a “good mood,” by her standards, tonight.

 

“Would you want us to be lovers?” you asked quietly, turning your head away, pretending not to look at her.

 

The question caught her off guard. You noticed her lips press into a thin line.

 

“You hesitated!!” you burst into laughter, but you yourself weren’t sure what you were laughing at.

 

Lovers? Was that really it?

 

You didn’t know.

 

Nights like these, sometimes curled in her arms, sometimes whispering together… it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

 

No. Not lovers. Something else.

 

Not romantic sweetness. You’d never even been in love, but you knew this wasn’t it. It wasn’t attraction.

 

It was beyond that—beyond love, beyond friendship.

 

It was the kind of bond where you handed every emotion over to someone, where you clung to them and whispered, “I can’t live without you.”

 

It tied you together, inescapably. You were each an irreplaceable piece of the other’s life. Even for Zulema.

 

Sometimes she wondered—what if one day you weren’t there anymore? After you got shot, in that dim motel room, she’d felt the loss looming over her. What if you had died right then?

 

Zulema never spent long on what she called “pointless shit” like feelings. In her world, money and power were everything. People could be sold out, feelings were just playthings. Weakness. The only true loss she’d felt was her daughter. But was that just maternal instinct?

 

You weren’t her child. You were just some girl who’d saved her life once. But you had barged into her world and made her face things she’d locked away for years.

 

Because of you, there were nights she lay awake in the lower bunk, staring at the moonlight from the little skylight, listening to your steady breathing above. Thinking: If I lose her, then what?

 

The sun would still rise. The moon would still set. When she lost Hanbal, when she lost Fátima, it was the same—she mourned, then kept moving, because she had no choice. Life in prison, running from the police, didn’t give her time to stop.

 

But now? Here in this fragile peace, hidden away safe from the cops for a while… the thought of losing you terrified her in a way she hated to admit.

 

It would mean nights without your breathing above her. Days without your footsteps, your laughter, your hugs, your whining.

 

She’d be alone again.

 

…

 

“The noodles are done, idiot. Turn off the stove before the water’s gone,” she snapped, smacking your shoulder.

 

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, rushing to shut off the burner, dumping the noodles into cold water, stirring with a fork to cool them down.

 

Zulema leaned back, her green eyes narrowing, and for a moment they held only you. A thousand unspoken thoughts flashing through.

 

But she said nothing.

 

“What are you spacing out for? Sit down, eat. Not that hot anymore. You want seasoning on yours?” you asked, waving your hand in front of her face until she blinked.

 

You both sat down at the little table, plates of noodles in front of you, eating quietly, like always.

 

Peaceful. Warm. Comfortable.

 

—

 

“Eat, then go to bed. It’s late.”

 

“Nooo, Zule. It’s only like eleven.”

 

“You need sleep. Otherwise you’ll keep me up all fucking night.”

 

“You’re one to talk! You snore!”

 

“…Impossible.”

 

“How’s it impossible? I’ll record you tonight!”

 

“You fucking dare.”

Notes:

This is just a experimenting chapter, thank you so much for reading, so if you like it, pls leave a comment or anything, or like it. Thank you again, so so much.