"Ernesto!" Rosario giggled, shoving at him playfully.
"Mm," he grunted against her throat, his hands now ravenously tugging at her blouse.
I was living a nightmare.
Their clothes rustled, buttons popped, Rosario let out more exaggerated sighs—and then, the smell hit me.
The sickly sweet perfume.
The cheap cologne.
The sweat.
The scent of my own impending psychotic break.
Ernesto was dragging her dress down her shoulders, pressing obnoxious, exaggerated kisses down her collarbone, his hands grabbing at whatever he could like a man attempting to knead dough with his elbows.
I wanted to scream.
No, worse—I wanted to end entire bloodlines. And then… he started narrating.
"Your skin," Ernesto groaned dramatically, dragging his lips down her chest. "It's like… silk."
It was not.
Rosario giggled again. "Oh, Ernesto—"
I did not hear the rest because I had just left my body.
