. devuélvemelo

[benicio otero]

Benicio

Benicio doesn’t know how long he stood there, watching Rosie's curvy outline recede into the crowd, rendered tongue-tied by the battle between his pride and his guilt. It seemed a fitting punishment to witness the eventual interception of a stranger, something he could have quite literally prevented had he moved or acted a moment sooner, changed the sequence of events by making a choice. Then he read the body language between the group, figured out this was anyone but a stranger; Benicio gathered him to be the ghost of her past, there to catch Rosie as soon as she’d slipped through his own fingers. How fitting, he should laugh instead. It was time he stopped trying to keep a grasp on her. Easier said than done. The festival weekend had come to an end. The talent was eager to celebrate, nobody wishing to acknowledge an impending week. Separating from his sister for the night, Benicio caught wind of several after-parties, spending a little while at Bodega before realizing his black hole of a mood wasn’t conducive to partying. It was rare for him to feel like this, suddenly immune to the distractions and temptations. While he saw a feast of skin and beauty and women to claim—even the flash of Stassi to what he presumed was the kitchen—after a drink he saw his night ending in the studio instead, a clear channel to his feelings. Gathering himself into a car and relishing the silence of the blocks sliding past the windows, he’s surprised by his driver’s voice breaking the air. “Your girl texted me,” he said in clipped Spanish. “Where is she?” Beno asked without hesitation. “Three blocks away.” “Go get her.” For three blocks he counted his prayers, drifting into the shadow of the opposite door as soon as the car rounded the intersection and he knew from which side she would step off the curb. Without Nora. When the door opened, he offered up his palms, trying to shrink himself as the streetlight illuminated the backseat. A lucky ambush or coincidental meeting, he couldn't commit to say. “Please hear me out. No tricks, no jokes, all serious. I’ll get out at the next stop, then we’re done.”

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

It genuinely felt like this was one of the longest days of her life. Work hours paled in comparison to the emotional whiplash she'd experienced, the fun of the festival falling to pieces between the anger of one and the heartbreaking, continued recognition of another. Having to snarl and then smile, hold back her tears until she could finally have a moment of peace, just one second, barely remembering the rest of the shows they'd witnessed or Nora's attempts to get her to smile. Bless that girl she never stopped trying all night, still stuck by her side at their favored dive bar they'd ended up at to decompress. Finally it had reached a rational time to leave, Nora's attempts at persuasion to stay falling by the wayside once Rosie realized her conversation with a mutual friend had started to skew a little flirty. It was her perfect cue, sending a quick text to the driver they'd been using all day to come take her home, ready to do nothing but bury her head under her covers and fall blissfully asleep. It's only when the car pulls up to the curb that she gets the strangest feeling, putting together enough pieces in her buzzed state to tug open the door and poke her head in first. She knew it. Benicio is shrugged against the other window, palms up as if she was encroaching on his space. As if this wasn't more salt in her wounds, eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “No means No in both languages, right? Great. Still my answer.” She slams the door right back shut, quickly pulling up her Uber app and vowing to never contact anyone else's drivers ever again.

[benicio otero]

Benicio

There’s never a good time. With or without warning, on her ground or otherwise, it always felt like he was on hostile territory. It’s always a risk, or at least that’s what it feels like in Rosie’s presence. Weighing his next actions and words on a scale against her judgment—if he tips it one way then she leaves; a different way, she falls apart. A precarious balance to achieve, a gamble with explosives of varying octanes on both sides. The cabin door opens briefly to light her features, detailing the disappointment expressed at his presence, simultaneously hinting at a lack of surprise, like this type of ambush was expected rather than convenient. Benicio slinks to the other side of the seat, catching the door with his elbow before it could fully close on the seal, apologizing to Jose at the chaos. “Ok, one minute then?” he tried instead, bargaining for her time like he always found himself doing. Scheduled around meetings and pilates classes, invitations sent to her calendar to be declined or edited. She had never been freer yet never harder to chase down. “What do you want, for me to get on my knees?” he asked from the ajar door, drawing a few eyes from the sidewalk. It was New York City, they could live with a spectacle. “Come on, Rosie,” he persisted, knowing she wouldn’t have listened to him before at the festival. That that instinct would annoy her now, too. “Give me a chance.”

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

Rosie knows that people would die to have someone fight this hard for them. But she also knows that what she feels right now is exasperation, completely floored at the prospect that he thought this was an alright thing to do. As if anyone wanted to get in a car these days and encounter someone they didn't expect, the late hour and her loneliness and the still clamoring, but quieting street, coming into focus. Her eyes shift nervously back to the bar, trying to gauge if she had the willpower to run back inside until his pleas get the best of her. “I don't want anything from you,” she snaps, grimacing at the fact that she'd also have to give these people a show. Knowing he'd probably care less, another opposite staring her brightly in the face as she crossed her arms. “I said it then and I'll say it now. Especially now that you...you...followed me here?” It's wild to even say out loud, throwing her hands in the air before they came down sharp against her side. “What the hell do you even have to say?”

[benicio otero]

Benicio

“You might not want it but you deserve to hear it,” Benicio resolved himself to admit, fighting off the urge to roll his eyes at her theatrics and assumptions. Not that it wasn’t all warranted given his desperation as of late. “I didn’t follow you. I was already in the car,” he defended, propping the door open, standing to his height in its shadow. With his driver as their sole witness, Benicio thought twice about his words, especially in the less-preferred language. “Look, I’m no good at this. I’ll be honest, I don’t like saying sorry and I don’t do it often…” he started, realizing the sound of it, hand shooting out in recovery. “Sometimes it feels like I’m apologizing for being myself. But I realized it’s not that—my ego got in the way. I see I hurt you. I pushed you. I was harsh and it was wrong. I’m sorry, Rosie. I am.” To Benicio, it was important that there was a good time. He tried to be a person of good humor and easy fun, a brief escape from an otherwise harsh world. Growing up he was the clown, the comedian, the entertainer, sparing friends and family from reality. It was a challenging reckoning when anything else was demanded of him, a stark contrast to his usual role. “I feel terrible about earlier, I wish I could do it over. If this is the last thing I get to say to you, I hope you can forgive me. I lost my temper but I wasn’t mad at you—I was mad at myself. I could see I was fucking it up and losing you and I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” he continued, running the tape through his mind. Such a simple fix that he was yet incapable of, but willing to learn and try. “I need to learn how to shut my mouth,” he admitted with a pitiable chuckle, chewing his lip. With seconds to spare, if she was counting.

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

What she expects is not what she gets. Rosie waits for him to analyze more on her life, demand more because she gave less, pick more at the nothingness he seemed to find with her day to day life. Instead she hears those fabled words, the only time she'd ever heard him apologize. And she'd thought about it before, several times. With Nora, with their fight while she was away, even here - it fell strangely, like the pronunciation was wrong even if it was correct. Which meant it really was as rare as he was saying. Rosie shifts in silence, eyes flicking once to her phone as he finishes. Reaching for the corner of the car door as she motioned to him to back up. “Get in,” she finally asks, moving to follow suite and tugging the door behind her. In all honesty this was her fastest route home - another car would be too long, taxis impossible. If she wanted this quick and efficient and private it was her best option, putting her seatbelt on and angling herself near the door. Mulling his words over, trying to find her own as she sighed. “I think you need to realize that I'm not the fairytale we joke about.” It's an intriguing place to begin, tracing the interiors as she focuses her thoughts. “We met, and we were different and that was fun. But then...and this is how it felt, to me... that wasn't enough for you. It was as if I was more like you, then I'd be enough. And you were hurt when I pushed back, or didn't want to be, or even couldn't be. I hate to speak harshly of myself, but I'm not as deep or outgoing as you're convinced I am. I'm just different.” Rosie lets out a long breath, gaze drifting to the whipping highway they headed down. “So, I accept your apology. But I stand by what I said. I don't think this works anymore.”

[benicio otero]

Benicio

Sometimes it had to be pointed out to him before he realized it. In the moment with all senses at full intensity it felt like everything to him, the kind of attention that he both supplied and desired. Things that fully swept him, driving his muse, blinding him, briefly redefining his entire world—until the song or album wrapped and he was on to another. Only after getting to know Rosie and comparing her to his initial assumptions about her could he understand the magnitude of an ask that was on her, directly opposing so many ways of her being. Perhaps too different to be anything good, as he was reminded hours ago. But she relents, blindsiding him again, Benicio half-prepared with another speech that dies in his throat as he sidled across from her against the door, telling Jose to go before she changed her mind again. He listens to her from their short distance, eyes finding hers in the darkness, savoring his own silence. “I’m sorry it ever felt like that,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always been more than enough for me. Just different,” he agrees solemnly, like he could lend some of his too-muchness and they might even out. “I don’t wanna fight with you like that. I don’t want to hurt you or be hurt either,” he braved uneasily, mocking up a half smile worn in innocence. Apparently they both bore wounds from their exes, his less realized until they came roaring out in manifestation of the past. “I know my good intentions don’t always win over bad actions. I’ve been too greedy and impatient, if I pushed you too far then I have to accept the consequences.” Slackening against the seat, staring out the window, his lips pursed in consideration. She accepted his apology... "I'm glad. I understand. But I disagree."

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

It wasn't like she was fully in the wrong either. Often quick to snap, to be vague, to avoid talking about something that still hurt until she'd finally let it tumble a while ago. It's maybe why she's taking this all a little harder to heart, having given what to her felt like a mile in the periphery of her life, and him brushing it off as an inch. Another page they'd missed, another degree of incline in this impossible uphill battle. “And I'm sorry I chose to get angry, or cagey instead of explain things to you. Or at least say how I was feeling - that I could have done, and I didn't.” At this point all Rosie has left is honesty, exhausted in all ways. If she closed her eyes right now she'd likely fall asleep, the hum of the highway and bright lights of Brooklyn sweeping by as they looped around town. But she can't end this conversation like this, not when she's trying to reach some form of finality. Not entirely unsurprised when he's unwilling to find it himself. It's only then does she let her eyes flutter shut, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose as she sucks in a breath. “Agree to disagree, then. I have nothing left in me to keep fighting and I've made my choice.”

[benicio otero]

Benicio

He doesn’t expect an apology in kind but it is nice to hear nonetheless, Benicio nodding from the seat across from her, wishing he could reach out and bridge the divide as they crossed over from Brooklyn. But they were too far apart in every sense of the word, her taking two steps backward anytime he pushed one forward, the gap now too wide to close, literally heading to her destination before his own. Another timer counting down, knowingly losing her, powerless to stop it. “Agree to disagree,” he echoes in repeat, a satisfying hum to the words. They could do that without anything tail spinning further; simply acknowledge the opposition and move forward despite it, or part ways to finally let go. Be different, think differently, and still be ok with that knowledge in the end. “Yeah. That’s all it has to be,” he murmured comfortably, wedging an arm behind his head, settling into whatever this was now that all the novelty and adrenaline had worn off. At their lowest battery, after a long day running the gamut of emotions, it was as honest and real as they could get. “It’s ok. I’m done too,” he sighed, palm landing face-up on the seat between them. In how much innocence now, he didn’t know.

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

Her eyes shift briefly from the window back to Beni, trying to discern the sudden comfort he’d seemed to have found in her response. Unable to figure out if he’d misunderstood or chosen to find hope in her anyway, looking back to the window in muted silence. She couldn’t help someone who wanted to believe their own truths. Watching as he extended a lifeline back on the leather chair, her hands tucking deeper into her sides. She couldn’t entertain it, not tonight, wrung out from the long day and the hot sun, the feelings she’d had to acknowledge up and down the specter. Elation and anger and defensiveness and shock and sadness, facets that had dulled in the darkness of night. “I can’t give you any more hope,” she finally murmurs, glancing at his hand again, then his face. Knowing the only thing left in her was exhaustion, and defeat. “It’s not fair.”

[benicio otero]

Benicio

Rosie was a first in many ways, so different from his usual that he ended up flying too close to the sun. Perhaps it was a lesson that Benicio was not ready to enter a relationship, that he strayed too far from a path he should not leave. At first the mystery and frustration were exciting, challenging, sexy—but he could not recognize what they were anymore, far flung from an easy beginning in a bar on a wintry night. Still just as cold, too. Beno looked over at her, eyes dropping to his open palm, rolling his eyes before turning it over and sliding it back toward himself. It wasn't an invitation this time. The acid of angry words rise up in his throat, tempted to tell her off, call her out, but knowing how it would be received. Was it ever fair? Instead he wishes he could have wrung the hope from his heart months ago, stopped himself from seeing things that weren’t there. Reminded of their conversation the last time he saw her, about losing something so suddenly you wonder if you ever had it all. Imagining something that wasn’t true or real. “Earlier today, when you left,” he started, arm moved to rest along the seat back. “That was your ex, wasn’t it?"

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

Maybe this was a sign she wasn’t ready, either. To step past her well-tended comfort zone and try to fit something different into her life. Something that challenged her, forced a different perspective or way of life she didn’t always consider. For Rosie it had always been keeping her head down, blending in, vying to belong no matter the circumstances. In this he’d pushed against the grain, and instead of the possibilities she’d found herself shying away. It happens, she reasons. It’s ok. But the decided slice of his hand pulling away sends her mind spiraling again, knowing there’d been another falter. An impossible list of them tallied before her, Rosie finally set on calling it for what it was, a loss, until he surprises her. Eyes sliding open in curiosity, willing her expression to stay clear with the last of her wits. Another loss. “You saw that?” She finally dares, studying his expression for a hint of where he wanted to go. But his eyes were too dark and frankly she’d never been able to guess with him anyway, drawing her eyes back shut as her head tipped against the leather cushion. “Yes, it was. My lucky day.”

[benicio otero]

Benicio

“You saw that?” Arrested by the look on her face, Rosie was already mid-retreat and irretrievable. Benicio watched her disappear into the crowd, taking to the stairs that led backstage, briefly granted a better view he wishes he hadn’t turned back for. His hands on her face, their alerted friends, a dangerous proximity. A jarring reminder that their timing was off because he had arrived too late to this story—after Tate, when she was afraid to take a step forward, still drawn to the person who broke her in the first place. Staring straight ahead, Benicio’s eyes were lazy across the sights through the windshield, his profile lit by the blocks scrolling past his window. Fishing a weed pen from his jacket pocket, he exhaled the smoke into the cabin, amusement on his lips. “Poor princesa,” he tutted teasingly, certain there was a fairy tale example of this very scenario if he thought about it. “You’re so popular.” But it didn’t matter how long or hard he thought about something, there was always an angle that he missed and she slipped through the unforeseen cracks. “That's irony, no? Walki—” he stopped short suddenly. Apparently also popular, his phone would not stop vibrating from his pocket. Annoyed by the interruption, he checked his notification tray to see he was being blown up by his sister. "Adri," he said with the phone to his ear, face screwing up as he tried understanding her on the other end. His tone shifted from curious to concerned, defaulting to Spanish, looping in the driver too, wondering how close they were to her Chelsea dropoff. "I have to go. My sister's drunk and lost."

[rosie de la cruz]

ROSIE

Again it wasn't what she expects. Watching his expression curl from curiosity to blatant amusement, Rosie's heart immediately bracing for impact at the coldness. Unable to help himself after all, Beni's apologies now fall flat as she turns back to the window and wills herself to be anywhere but here. She'd take the confrontation with Tate again if it meant she hadn't stepped foot into this car, ducking her head at what felt like his mockery. Resigned to spend the rest of the ride in silence Rosie's saved by a ringing cell phone, understanding the flip to concern the second it crossed his face. Her own heartbeat jumps as he mentions his sister but its overridden by the familiarity of the area of Manhattan she finally recognizes. The towering buildings of the Financial District are all but her second home, Wall and Fulton and Broadway a welcoming grid before her eyes. He could go find his sister, she could get out... A quiet “take a right here,” is lofted at his driver, knowing that they'd swing by the water and Goldman Sachs' opulent lobby would come quickly into view. “My office is open all the time, I'll wait for another car inside.” It would be the only time recently she'd be glad to see that building but so many things had changed, eyes cooly flitting up and down his frame. “I hope your sister's alright,” Rosie finally offers, all but ready to shove at the door handle when the car glides to a stop.

[benicio otero]

Benicio

There had been an off switch all along. Unfortunately it took destruction to find it. He wasn’t going to stop her this time. And when the car slowed to a stop, he didn't move to help her with the door either. He would not be wishing her sweet dreams or bidding her a safe return home or asking to hear from her tomorrow. It all hurt too much, every word feeling wrong somehow, syllables to be thrown back in his face, misinterpreted, corrupted. Everything suddenly was a weapon. After this, he will stick to his language and women he can understand. Dark gaze stationed ahead, Benicio nodded his assent, not budging to look her way, a steady breath draining at this decision. He can only watch her walk away so many times; the sooner he forgot her face, the better. “Bye Rosie.”