I don't know why.
I am ashamed when I see the hurt in my father's eyes. I am torn. I want to feel happy, but right now, all I feel is that the ground is about to give way beneath me at any moment. And Javi is the one I lean to.
He has been my source of comfort and pain for so long now. Perhaps it is just conditioning, but it doesn't make it less real. I want my father to understand that. But it is clear he does not.
I try to read the unspoken messages that linger between them. Awful silence fills the room as they look to each other and then me.
Dad instructs us to take a seat on the couch while he sits in his usual chair. The chair that has been empty for so long.
I have so many questions.
"Where have you been?" I ask.
And now it is me who is unable to hide the hurt. It might not be rational, and I never realized it until now, but a part of me has blamed him for his absence. A part of me has been so angry with him for leaving me.
"Isa, I am so sorry," he answers. "Something went bad on a job. It wasn't meant to happen this way, but it did, and I'm sorry for the pain I have caused you."
"That isn't good enough," I tell him, swiping away the fresh wave of tears as they fall. "You've been gone for months. I need to know where. I can't accept your canned responses anymore. I need to know what happened to take you away."
He sighs and rubs his forehead.
"I was in South America," he says. "Our convoy got hit by a rebel group, and they took us hostage."
I search his eyes, trying to discern whether he is telling me the truth. But the reality is, I don't know. I have always accepted whatever my father told me without question. Only now, I am not so sure.
Regardless, it doesn't matter where he was. He could tell me whatever he wanted to, and I wouldn't know the difference. He could be spoon feeding me agency scripted dialogue, for all I know.
The important thing is that he's home. And he's safe. This is what I try to tell myself.
"There is much to discuss, my dearest Isabella," he continues on. "But we have all the time in the world for that. First, I must know. Are you okay?"
He glances at Javi again as he asks.
I swallow and nod. It doesn't look natural, but I really do feel okay. Dad isn't buying what I'm selling either though. His eyes are roaming over my scratched face and arms.
"They are nothing," I assure him. "I'm okay, Dad. I promise. I'm just so happy to have you home. I thought … I thought I would never see you again."
My voice cracks and he reaches out to take my hand in his, squeezing with reassurance.
"I am okay, Isa," he assures me too. "I promise."
I choke back my emotion to give him a watery smile. Beside me, Javi squeezes my other hand. A gesture of comfort and possession. I glance at him and smile too. He wraps his hand around my knee, staking his claim on me in a way that provokes my father even further.
"Isa," my father commands. "I would like to speak to Javi alone."
Javi sneers, and he does not break eye contact from my father when he tells me it's okay. I rise to give myself distance from both of them.
"No."
"No?" they both ask in unison.
"I said no," I reiterate. "I'm done with the secrets. With the lies. Whatever has happened between you, I deserve to know the truth. The whole truth. And I'm not going anywhere until I do."
My father shifts in his chair, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and rubbing at his throat. Javi is still calm, but now his eyes are on me. Concerned. I don't like it. But it only makes my point that much more valid.
My father does not miss Javi's concern, and he seems to relax if only a little.
"Would you like to start, Javier?"
Javi scoffs at him and then paces the length of the floor.
"You would like that," he says. "You would like me to be the one to hurt her this way. Because you are a coward."
My father does not answer. His easiness is gone now, and all that remains is the flint in his eyes.Neither one of them is backing down from this silent war of wills. Javi moves towards me and tucks me back into his side.
"This is where we stand," Javi says. "Bella has been with me for the duration of your long absence. Much has changed since you were gone. Because she has been with me, and she has fallen in love with me."
The guardianship in his tone and body language can't be denied. Even his stance is fierce. Protective. For some reason, he feels the need to safeguard me from my own father. But his eyes are soft and warm when he looks in my direction.
"And I have fallen for her, as well."
My father shakes his head in disgust, but I can only focus on Javi's words.
He just admitted that he's in love with me. In front of my father. I don't know what this means. But my stomach won't stop fluttering, and my head is all fuzzy. I'm smiling, and I can't help it.
Even though my father's face is tomato red. Even though he looks so disappointed in me right now. He curses in Italian and scrapes a hand through his balding hair.
"I suppose you feel as though you have served your just desserts then."
"I will not deny that it is precisely what I set out to do with Bella," Javi admits with shame in his eyes.
"It doesn't matter," I tell them both. "None of that matters now. It's the past. Dad, you are back home now. And Javi and I … we love each other."
"What have you done to my little girl?" My father howls.
His eyes are teary when he looks at me, pleading.
"Isa, he is a dangerous man. Whatever he has done to you... we can get you help. Whatever you think you are feeling for him right now, it isn't real."
Javi argues before I can, speaking in his native Spanish tongue, which my father understands but I do not. My head hurts as they continue to bicker, and I realize that maybe this wasn't the best idea after all.
I can't understand their words. But body language has no barrier. They hate each other. It is clear as day.
I still don't understand what happened between them. But despite the obvious tension in the room, I'm on a cloud of euphoria right now. It feels as though the storm clouds have finally lifted away and the sun is shining again.
Javi loves me. And my father has returned. The rest will have to work itself out. The rest, we can figure out later.
My father segues back to English, and Javi follows suit, answering him so that I can hear.
"I have hurt her," Javi says. "As I set out to do."
The tone of his voice threatens my haze of blissful ignorance. Something is off. Something is wrong. Javi is withdrawn. His eyebrows pinched, his shoulders tense.
He looks so ashamed. So guilty. And worse, he looks so far away.
"I learned from the best," he continues. "I had every intention of coming here to thank you, Ray. For guiding me. For showing me the way. For teaching me how to destroy the fragile minds of people who are not like us."
My father's face pales, and a cold sweat forms over my body. I don't know what he's saying. That my father did this to him? That he did to Javi, what Javi did to me?
I look up at Javi and see nothing but genuine sincerity on his face. He reaches out to touch my face, and for a moment, I forget everything else and focus on him. On the light in my heart. The one I thought long since extinguished, which now burns bright.
"My Bella," he whispers. "I wanted to be selfish. I would give anything to be selfish if I did not know that there was only one possible outcome from all of this."
My heart stops beating. My lungs stop taking in air. And I'm shaking my head before he can even say it.
"What do you mean?"
"Isa."
My father's voice is harsh. Harsher than it's ever been with me, and he's looking at me like he doesn't know me at all right now. Like I am no longer his daughter, standing here in the house that I grew up in.
"What Javi is trying to say is that the things you are feeling right now, they aren't real. And in time you will see that. You will understand that when you've had some time to heal. To contemplate the reality of your situation."
"No," I tell them both. "Don't try to tell me what I feel. I love Javi. And it's real. I will always love him."
My father sighs and Javi looks away. I don't like this. I don't like where this is going. I won't let him leave me behind, and I tell him so.
"I need a drink," my father says. "Will you get us a drink Isa, please."
His bar is still stacked against the wall where he left it, so I don't have to leave the room. It gives me the opportunity to clear my head. To digest everything that's happening.