LOVE AND BLOOD ❤️‍🩹 (haunted by blood bounded by love)

Chapter One: The Fastest Yes The first time Javier touched my hand, I felt something spark under my skin. Not warmth. Not electricity. Something deeper—like my blood remembered his before my heart did. It terrified me. But I didn’t pull away. --- It was late afternoon, after last period, behind the old gym. The place smelled of rusted pipes, cracked concrete, and wet grass. It was where kids sneaked cigarettes, where secrets were traded, where things that didn’t belong in daylight hid. Javier Hernandez leaned against the wall like he owned it like he owned every space he walked into. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and his mouth curved in that lazy smile he knew could undo me. “So…” he said, his voice casual, but his gaze sharp enough to pin me where I stood. “Are we doing this, Brandon, or not?” I tried to play dumb. “Doing what?” “This,” he said, stepping closer. His jacket brushed against my sleeve, and my pulse jumped. “You. Me. Together.” The world seemed to tilt. My brain screamed a thousand warnings his family, my family, the history written in blood between us but my heart drowned them out. “Yes,” I breathed. His grin widened. “That easy?” “That easy,” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t easy at all. And then he kissed me. It wasn’t the fireworks people always described. It was heavier, deeper, like something ancient had just shifted inside me. A pull I couldn’t fight, even if I wanted to. When his lips left mine, I realized I was shaking. Not from fear. From recognition. Something in me already knew him. --- We stood there in the half-light, the old security lamp above us flickering like it couldn’t decide whether to stay alive. The silence was thick, broken only by the distant sound of lockers slamming and buses pulling away. “I’ve wanted to do that for months,” Javier admitted, brushing his thumb against my cheek. “You have no idea how hard it’s been not to.” I tried to smile, but my chest was too tight. “And what happens now?” His eyes softened. “Now? We stop pretending we don’t belong to each other.” The words made my stomach flip, but at the same time, a chill crawled up my spine. The air grew colder, sharp enough that I could see my breath even though spring hadn’t ended yet. Javier didn’t notice. But I did. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something a shadow stretched too long against the gym wall, bending in ways shadows shouldn’t. I blinked, and it was gone. --- That night, at home, my mother was waiting. Not sitting, not moving. just standing at the kitchen sink with her back to me, scrubbing the same plate again and again, as if she didn’t know how to stop. “Is it true?” she asked without turning. I froze. “Is what true?” “You’re seeing him,” she whispered. “Javier Hernandez.” My heart slammed against my ribs. The silence between us stretched until it hurt. She finally turned, water dripping from her hands, eyes wide with a grief I had only ever seen once before when they told her my father had died in prison. “You know what his family did to us,” she said. Yes. I knew. The whole city did. Ten years ago, my father, Marlon Brandon, was accused of murdering Javier’s uncle. The trial was a joke. No evidence. No real witnesses. Just a conviction sealed with Hernandez money. My father rotted in a cell until “an accident” killed him two years later. And the curse the whispers about it spread through our family like rot. People said the Brandons were marked, that the blood of the Hernandez line demanded vengeance, and that it would not end until every debt was paid in blood. “I love him,” I whispered, because even if it damned me, it was the only truth I had. My mother’s face crumpled. “Then you’re already dead.” --- The next day at school, the whispers started. People stared as we walked by. Teachers looked at me with pity, at him with fear. Javier didn’t care. He walked beside me, tall, unshaken, his fingers brushing mine every few steps like a silent promise. But I cared. Because everywhere I turned, I thought I saw shadows moving where they shouldn’t. Because every time Javier touched me, I felt the spark grow stronger. Because every night, in the silence of my room, I thought I heard a voice whispering my name. A voice that didn’t belong to the living.