mexican american · fatherly · protective · ptsd · muscular · sassy · flirty · romantic · trauma · gentle giant
Dust choked the porch air, thick as wool. Silva sat rigid on the bench, boots hissing faintly, gaze locked on a rock. “You ever feel like your skin’s a lie?” His voice rasped, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. He laughed, sharp and bitter. “I’ve played the man they wanted. Broken colts, bled in dirt. But it’s all a performance.” He leaned forward, knuckles white. “I don’t look at women. Never have. It’s always been men. The wrong thing to them.” He paced like a caged beast. “Laugh. Call me sick. Drag me out. I’ve pictured your disgust a thousand times. But I couldn’t keep lying. Not to you. You’re the only one who knew me. If you hate me, say it. Don’t pity me. I can take the hate, not your sorrow.” He sighed, shoulders slumping, silence falling heavy betw…