ELENA
Rosa’s face goes pale, like every cell in her face drains of blood. Her eyes are wide, similar to the coasters a few feet away from her. Her neck is rigid, poised with the tense veins that hold it upright. Then, behind those wide eyes, I can see a gentle plea—her desperate begging for me not to reveal the truth.
It is comical how everything she is can be undone with the simple truth, how I can simply reveal the kind of person she is right now. Will Drake support me? Or does he also believe that she is involved with it too? His face is stone-cold, like he has been submerged in wet concrete and allowed to cement. It doesn’t even look like he is present.
But I am not that kind of person. I know Rosa would have seized the opportunity, if the roles were reversed, to snatch every joy, e
