. pensándote

[benicio otero]

CURRENTLY: out of his mind

Benicio

Part of him wishes she would stay, defy his presumption. A fight back would be a fight for this. That part of him was what kept him coming back for more, blind to the flags and drawn only to the sickly-sweet hope that comes with being a lovesick fool. And that part is silenced by one last look at her before she turns away, doing just as he knew she would, the body language of a goodbye more powerful than either spoken one. The rest of his drink tips back into his mouth, crunching the plastic in his palm and sending it toward the garbage in a flash. Benicio doesn’t know when it became like this between them, when the dates and late-night conversations disintegrated into battles over texts, raised voices in front of her building. When the fun had turned into fuel, neither willing to concede what the other asked, small battles fought across each of their frontlines. Do not apologize. Do not go after her. Do not prove Monica right. Every stubborn, thinning nerve of his vibrated with the choice. The Puerto Rican paced near the base of her tower, eye following her figure toward the exit, realizing the haste of the heartbeat reverberating in his skull. Never knowing his up from his down when she was around, upturning the ways he normally operated. Willing himself deeper backstage, his body in apparent defiance leading him back in her direction with a quickness, shouldering past the people and down the stairs to where the sunlight could reach them, landing on the soft grass of the festival grounds. Continuing to be a fool. "Rosie!"

[rosie de la cruz]

CURRENTLY: ON FESTIVAL GROUNDS

ROSIE

”What happened?” Nora’s words are muffled in her ear, still ringing with the synth of the speakers and the adrenaline pumping through her body. It makes her steps that much more rushed, navigating through the crowds that continued to linger, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. It felt final but in an uneasy way, her eyes darting back just once, Beni’s form absent from where they’d stood. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until they pass the gates, filtered back on the main grounds and into what she thought was safety. Until she hears her name again, illusion shattered before it was ever fully built. “No.” Rosie spins abruptly, arms crossed against her chest, frustration finally spilling over in waves. “It’s done, Beni. I’m done, let it go.”

[benicio otero]

CURRENTLY: exile

Benicio

The grass dampens the sound of his hectic footsteps, shouldering roughly against strangers trying to catch the girls. As predicted as this way, it was still difficult to watch her walk away, wondering if there was anything he could say or do to keep her for a moment longer. Always prolonging her leave, words and moves too calculated, like he’s a different version of himself trying to court the pinned-up one of her. Some good could come from fighting: resolution, discovery, making up. But all they will get is that haunting silence and uncertainty what, if anything, ever, will come next. The look on her face is enough to truly silence Benicio when she turns. An honor to hear his name from her lips one last time, avoiding the daggers Nora stared, both languages drying up in his throat. What could he possibly say or do to fix this? Apologize for the words that had just left his mouth, beg for a chance to explain, drop an irrevocable word in an act of desperation? This loop they were stuck in would get the best of them today, perhaps finally reaching a head. And Rosie seals it, continues on her way, doing what they both expected--what she wanted, and what he told her to do.