The familiar sound of my alarm shakes me awake and I can't help but wish I could ignore it. A sharp groan leaves my mouth as I slap the floor with cold feet, forcibly dragging myself out of the comfort of my bed, legs feeling numb and heavy while I make my way to my mom's room.

When I finally, make it to her room, I am grazed by an already awake Lily, waiting for me impatiently. Her big, brown eyes connect with mine as her pearly white teeth illuminate the dimmed room. 

"Good Morning, mom! How are you feeling?" I question, pushing away the grogginess sinking my mood and replacing it with faux cheerfulness; she's been through enough as it is, a sleep-deprived, cranky daughter won't be necessary at this point. A wide grin spreads over my face as I round the large master room, making my way to leave a soft peck on her forehead, and seamlessly walking over to the large window to spread the curtains open, so she can take in the sun beaming outside. She hates it when the room is dark.

"Pain is at a 7 today, honey. Better than most days." the agony laced in her words signals she is lying. Although it feels like my stomach has been kicked, she doesn't need to know that, so I do my best to hide how easily I can see through her. 

My mom has been fighting cancer for 2 years now. It started in her left breast, and once that was gone and our family felt the relief that comes with a remission diagnosis, a tiny spot in her right breast lit up during a routine check-up a year later and the nightmare began once again. Now, there are traces of toxic cells all over her body, as she fights every day for her organs not to fail her, for us not to lose her.

Lily is the strongest woman I know and, I'm convinced, will ever meet. She raised my brother and me by herself after my dad died in combat when my brother was six and I was three.

I don't quite remember his face - although I do have a face for him inside my head, it doesn't really match the pictures adorning the shelves in our house - and I don't remember much of the time I spent with him, except how I felt after he tucked me in at night. I haven't felt that comfortable on my bed ever again, always rolling on the mattress trying to find the perfect position to fall asleep.

Objective people would say the phenomenon could be explained by the simple fact I have aged or maybe even the waves of anxiety that plague my mind every once in a while, but I like to think it has everything to do with my father, holding on to the tiny piece of him still left in my memory.

Growing up, my mom was enough, she went above and beyond to make sure we had everything we needed. I never felt sorry for myself, I had the perfect family and although what happened to my dad was sad, I never felt empty. Marcos and I never felt like we had less than anyone else around us, even in a town like Gale where you will come to learn most people have more than they need and many others have nothing. 

"What are you feeling for breakfast today?" I ask while helping her get up from bed, walking her to the bathroom inside the master room, making sure she is strong enough to shower by herself. 

"I don't really have an appetite today. Will eat anything you make me." Mom responds, going against every aching cell inside her and giving me a small smile, followed by a peck on the forehead before the door is closing in front of me, leaving me on the opposite side, alone and grief-ridden. It feels like someone digs into my chest and squishes my heart when the words escape her mouth, her appetite has been faltering a lot lately and it is a new symptom I don't know how to interpret, as she licked her fingers even in the midst of her chemo. 

Today is not a good day for her. I know her pain must be close to intolerable as she is so clearly putting on a show to comfort me - not that is not in her nature, but still makes my stomach churn.

"Okay. Don't want to hear you complain when I whip out my famous waffles for the 4th time this week." I mutter playfully, leaning closer to the closed door, and waiting to her reaction. The soft cackle of a laugh filters through the rusty wood and the sound makes me wonder what I would do without her in my life. I wince at the thought, shaking my head to rid of the dreadful images.

I make my way downstairs, following the familiar trail to the kitchen, determined to make breakfast before I have to leave for school. Instead, the smell of freshly cooked bacon shits on my plans and makes me stop cold on my tracks. Sprinting inside the kitchen with hopeful urgency, only to be met with a 6'2 ft, dark-haired, man dressed in all black and pressed against the stove, evenly spreading hot pieces of bacon between two plates. 

"Marcos!" I shout excitedly and jump into his arms without a second thought. 

"Lu!" He says putting the plate down, using his recently free hands to hold me in his arms. "You almost made me drop the bacon I worked so hard on" he laughs into my hair as we hold the embrace. 

"I don't care, I missed you so much." After I'm satisfied and feel the need to breathe more than grease laced air, I finally let go of him.

"I missed you too, peque" He says and places a soft kiss on my hair. 

When I was old enough to realize that "peque" was not my actual name, Marcos and mom explained my dad used to call me peque because I was his "pequeña" which means small in Spanish. So, they decided to honor him by confusing the hell out of me; border giving me a personality disorder when in kindergarten I thought the teacher was playing with me as she said my name was Luz. 

My dad's entire family is from Argentina, he was born in the United States but his family had to return to Argentina when he was a teenager. Later in life, he made the decision to move back to the US by himself, which is when he fell in love with my mom and the rest is history. 

I have never heard from or seen anyone on his side of the family, it was like they all vanished when he moved to the US. I used to probe my mom relentlessly about them when I was younger, eager to explore that side of my roots, but she would always dismiss it and tell me they weren't supportive of my parent's marriage and had not tried to make contact after he passed. 

After that was over, she would always tell me the story of my name, and no matter how many times her lips produced the story I would never get tired of listening to her voice sing the tales of my stranded family. Mom explained that "Luz" was my dad's grandmother's name. Luz means "light" in Spanish and she said Dad thought the name really embodied his grandma because she was truly the light in everyone's life. According to her, the second my dad laid eyes on me and I held his thumb in my tiny hand, my doe caramel eyes glinting at him, he knew I would be just like her, the light in everyone's life. So, they named me Luz. 

"Please don't leave for that long ever again. I am terrible at cooking and mom deserves better meals." I whine half-jokingly. He laughs and nods to agree with me. 

"I will try my best."

"What were you even doing, anyway?" I ask as I help him serve two glasses full of orange juice. 

"The boys and I had some business to handle up North. Nothing for your pretty little head to worry about, I promise." He comes closer to place a peck on my temple, my curiosity externally vanishing but only growing in size inside my head. 

I really have no idea what my brother does for a living, every time the topic comes on he avoids it by asking me if I trust him... And I do, so that always ends of the conversation. After mom got sick, he had to take charge, he had to be a parent to me and he had to be mom's main caretaker, sacrificing his twenties to be a role model and a father figure. He was incredible at it, I have never met anyone with so much patience, and I owed him so much for it.

However, I couldn't stop myself from worrying about him, wondering where he was when he wasn't home or even worse, what was this "business" he always mentioned but never elaborated on. But somehow, he always came up with the exact words to calm my nerves and ease my worries at least for the time being. 

Mom slowly walks into the kitchen, a look of pure agony plastered on her face as she takes tiny, weak steps towards us. When she notices Marcos is there, her face lights up and a smile graces her lips once again. 

"My baby" she says affectionately and pulls Marcos towards her body for a big hug. 

"I missed you too, Mom. Don't worry, I'm back you don't have to suffer through Lu's cooking anymore" He jokes and turns towards the sink to put down the empty, greasy plate. 

"Hey" I protest in a fake, hurt tone making them chuckle in unison. 

Marcos continues to put the rest of the breakfast on our plates while mom and I sit down in front of our sizzling plates.

The clock on the microwave catches my attention, and I almost choke on my hashbrown once I realize there are 15 minutes left before I have to be on my way to school. I panic and eat the rest of my breakfast in three bites, jumping from my chair, and darting to my room.

"I'm running late for school" I announce on my way up the stairs, my voice bouncing throughout the lower level of the old house. 

My hands grip the doorknob to my room tightly, body storming into my room and slamming the door shut behind me. The sleeping clothes comfortably hugging me, slide off my body as I make my way to the closet, and fumble for an appropriate outfit. I throw on a pair of black leggings and an oversized red hoodie with the logo of my dream university on it. 

From the second the concept of "college" clicked in my head, I have longed to study Journalism at NYU. Always dreaming of living in a ridiculously overpriced, tiny studio with a view of the crowded streets and the vibrant nightlife, craving the feeling of a big city, somewhere where late-night beach bonfires aren't the only option for a night out.

Although I received my acceptance letter a couple of weeks before Spring Break - turning the memorable moment into one of the happiest days of my life - deep down I knew I could never leave Marcos alone with mom.

I grab my worn-out Dr. Martens and sit on the edge of my bed so I can slip my feet into them. Sitting on my vanity, I watch myself through the mirror, the deep bags under my light, brown eyes, tell the stories of the characters in the AP Creative Writing assignment I crafted until 3 am this morning. My long, brown, curly hair untamed, and coming out of the braid I had wrapped it in last night. The skin on my cheeks has a taint redness that will only be there in the morning and disappear as the day continued its course, the freckles on my face more noticeable now that it is almost Summer, the sun higher and brighter in the sky and my skin tanner than normal. 

The wild baby hairs on my head toy with my patience as I try to minimize my workload by shoving them back into my braid without taking it out, the lack of effort really aids me in achieving the cute but messy look that had quickly turned into my signature look throughout the years. The last day of finals is finally upon us and at this point, no sane person is still pursuing plans to conquer the school socialite circle or turn the congested hallways into their personal runway, in simpler words, it's the last day of senior year and no one has the energy to give a shit.

I walk over to my full-size mirror so I can make sure I don't have holes in my leggings and my oversized hoodie covers the front and back of my body. My tired eyes stare at the body in the mirror, recognizing I have never been as thin as the other girls the ones dictating the trends and populating the pages in the magazines sold at every store. Instead, love handles, and stretch marks adorning my curvy body. I have never been the type to dwell on the state of my body, lucky to be raised in a supportive home where we were thaught to love and appreciate the canvas we were given.

There's really just one time where I felt like the mere fact I was a breathing flesh shell was an inconvenience for people around me - but doesn't every girl have one of those? That thought was quickly extinguished by my brother and maybe a little bit of help from his best friend.

When I was a freshman in High School, a Junior asked me out on a date. His reputation was not the most innocent - to say the least - and rumors about his games, and how he liked to take advantage of younger girls quickly plagued my mind as my freshman year ran its' course. So, as you might predict, I denied his request. 

"You are really brave declining my offer considering most guys at this school would not even look your way. It's fine, I don't need the extra baggage that comes with a girl like you. If you know what I mean." He spat towards me, looking around to make sure the people around were listening to him. The change in his whole demeanor is something that I will never forget, he went from charming and sweet to a face completly contoured in disdain and superiority. The ability some people possess to hide their true intentions and feelings until they don't need to anymore will forever be a mystery to me, personally never being able to do or say anything but what I truly feel. 

"My dad's friend owns a gym, I can hook you up if you can't afford it." He said and winked at me, the clusters of people around us breaking into a cruel laugh. 

At fifteen, I was aware my body type was different from other girls but I never really had a problem with it, until this very moment, the laughing faces of people morphing into a cloud of anxiety and blurring my vision. 

I had seen countless movies and read countless stories about people being bullied or made fun due to their appearance being just a tad bit different from the norm but, I always thought it was an exaggeration meant to add spice to a storyline. I didn't think people could be that mean in real life, not to mention extremely boring if striving for masses of people who look just like replicas of each other is truly their preferred way to go through life. 

The shock on my face was nothing short of obvious as my cheeks burned and turned to crimson. I darted to the closest bathroom - grateful I was just coming out of it when the rabid dog cornered me - hoping to calm down away from the mocking faces I didn't quite recognize, to begin with. 

Tears drenched my cheeks as I looked at myself in the mirror inside the handicap stall. The sound of the bell, signaling lunch was over, sent shivers down my spine as it reminded me I needed to leave the safety of this bathroom stall and face the laughing faces of the people outside. 

I stared at myself one last time, wiping away the traces of salty water on my face. 

When my eyes had dried enough to clear my vision, I sighed in defeat and walked into the hallway. Time stopped around me as I saw the same guy who had just finished wrecking my self-esteem in front of - arguably - the entire school pressed against the wall with Harry's hands wrapped around his neck, pushing him still against the hard concrete as he wiggled his legs in panic, the height different almost comical.

A frantic teacher ran towards the commotion and quickly pulled Harry away from the guy, the crowd that had started to form around watching as he slid down the wall, ass planted on the floor, and trembling hands curling around the neck Harry was just crushing, a desperate effort to soothe the lingering ache his strong hold had left. 

"He is a piece of shit and deserves to be treated as such!" Harry screamed in a blind rage while the guy sat on the floor, shock and confusion taking over the cocky smirk usually tattooed on his face. 

"If I ever see you anywhere near Luz again I will finish what I started." He promised in a ruthless, hoarse tone as he violently shook himself out of the hold of the teacher. 

"Styles. The Principal's office. Now!" the same teacher demanded and quickly started walking down the hallway, to my misfortune right in my direction. 

As I stood there petrified and bewildered, my eyes met Harry's for an instant but the eye contact didn't last long because he immediately got pulled into another hallway by the Teacher. It wasn't enough time to decipher him and why he had turned into a fucking killing machine in the middle of B lunch. 

Harry Styles is my brother's best friend. He is always there, every single memory I have of our childhood, Harry Styles is in it. 

We used to be close, friends even, but that was until I hit puberty and a methaphorical wall separated us at all times. He would still be polite and friendly towards me because he was always at my house or near my brother. But, I secretly thought he hated me because he always looked cripplingly uncomfortable around me.

Although I never claimed to be any better.

At the end of the day,  it goes both ways and he can probably tell just how nervous I get when he's near. I would be a bloody liar if I claimed the nerves don't stem from my previous obsession with Harry, a younger version of myself adamant about having his babies and marrying him in my backyard.

But now, none of that keeps me up at night, none of that matters as I realized through the years he wants nothing to do with me. Really...absolutely nothing. 

He is an intimidating guy - as to put it in simple words - his tall and toned frame towering over mine, adorned in that black ink that seems to multiply every day, piercing green eyes that could persuade you into anything if he tried hard enough, and the scars I have observed appear on his knuckles throughout the years, immortalizing another one of his many fights.

Intimidating is not quite the right word. There is really not a word that could describe Harry's current role in my life, he makes me nervous but I know he would never harm me - years and years of his bond with my brother protecting me from his anger issues and inability to keep his hands from fisting up on people's faces. Or so I liked to hope. 

That same day when school was over, Harry ran to catch up to me before I got in the car with my brother. 

"Lu! Wait." He called out behind me. I stood frozen as I observed him jog towards me. That's one too many interactions for us in one day. 

"I just wanted to talk about what happened earlier." He said as he steadied his breath from running towards me. 

"Don't worry about it Harry, I have a mirror at home. It's okay, he didn't get to me." I lied because it was less humiliating than admitting the jerk had actually made me cry on school grounds, and gave him a small smile with my lips closed. 

"You know he only said that because you rejected him, right? If you would have said yes, he would have bragged about taking a beautiful girl out to dinner." His round, green eyes pierced into my caramel ones with every bit of honesty in his body radiating out of his gaze, and I felt my heart stop cold in my chest, the first trace of my strange reactions to Harry's sweet words, peeking its head almost four years in the past. 

"I never thought about it in that way." I managed to say softly, breaking the intense eye contact, not able to take another second of the way his eyes made my face burn. 

"I didn't think you would, so I wanted to make sure you connected the dots. " He finished with a Cheshire grin and started walking towards his black truck. I stared at him walking away for longer than I like to admit, still confused by the whole situation but mostly about Harry's involvement in it. 

"Harry!" I yelled. Sharp jawline hovering over his shoulder as he locks eyes with me expectantly, stopping his tracks on the gravel pavement. "Thank you." He smirked in a strange way, almost endearingly and nodded, promptly going back to walk toward his truck. 

That day, Marcos made sure I knew I was beautiful. 

He took me shopping and told me to find a pretty dress because we were going to have a sibling "date" night. He showered me with compliments and affirmations the whole night and when we made it back home to our mom, he showed her a picture of the guy, starting a roasting session so cruel and vile, I started feeling bad for him. 

In the end, my family turned such a bad experience into a transformative lesson. That day, I learned that people will always find something to pick apart. However, I shouldn't give power to people who just want to break me down, especially if otherwise, they don't contribute a single thing in my life. Because I am beautiful and every part of my body is too, even if it's not in compliance with the current societal norms. Who longs to be like the rest anyway? 

Harry and I never spoke about that day ever again. 

I take a last look at myself in my full-body sized mirror before jogging to the bathroom to wash my mouth and face. When I'm done, multiple coats of thick mascara spread over my naturally long lashes, and a cherry lip balm nourishes my plump lips. The alarm on my phone goes off, signaling my 15 minutes are up and I run to my bedroom where I collect my bookbag and sprint down the stairs. 

I'm in such a blind hurry I accidentally, bump into a tall muscular figure, wearing a black denim jacket and a pair of black skinny jeans. My eyes travel up his body and green orbs meet my flushed gaze. 

Harry's shoulder-length, dark curls are in his hand as he puts some wild locks behind his ear. He gives me a small smile, dimples threatening to make an appearance but they don't. They almost never do. I catch myself breathing hard, maybe because I sprinted down here, or maybe because green is my favorite color. I push away the strange fluttering in my belly when our eyes connect for longer than usual, the sound of my mom vomiting taking me out of my short trance as I fly to her side.

"Mom what do you need?" I ask as I hold her hand. She looks up at me and tries to say something but her stomach contracts and she vomits into the half-full bag on her lap. She's been at this for a while. 

"Luz, you need to get to school, you are going to be late." Marcos utters as he takes the bag from my mom and gives her a new one, followed by a cup of water. 

"Harry, can you stay with her for 10 minutes while I drive Lu to school?" He questions gripping the keys to his truck. 

"No, you need to take her to the hospital. Now." I demand at Marcos as my mom continues to throw up next to me, she doesn't have any food left in her stomach so now the substance is light green and completely liquid. "School can wait." 

"You have finals today Lu! You can't miss." He says exasperatedly.

"How about I drive Luz, and you take Mrs. Garcia to the hospital." 

"My name is Lily, Harry how many times do I have-" She gets interrupted by another wave of contractions in her stomach making her pour out more of the green liquid and although she's been trying really hard to mask her pain, she can't help the dreadful moan that escapes her as her stomach quivers and jolts pain throughout the rest of her petite body.

"Take her." Marcos' anxious eyes land on Harry, who nods and trots towards the front door, waiting for me to follow behind. 

"Mom, I love you so much. I will meet you in the hospital as soon as my exam is over. I only have one so it should be over soon." I tell her bending down to her level and leaving a lingering kiss on the top of her head. 

"I love you, baby. Good luck and be good for me okay." I smile at her and a single tear escapes my left eye as I walk away. 

Harry's waiting for me at the door, his eyes inspect my face as I wipe the salty trail from my cheek. We make our way to his black truck in silence, each walking as far away from each other as possible as to not make the other uncomfortable. He opens the passenger door for me and I slide inside, smooth, black leather hugging my thighs and bum.

I try to calm myself down, not wanting to cry in front of Harry when there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to duck from his usual cold demeanor, it is not what I need right now. But there's a heavy pit in my stomach, it feels like it's swallowing my insides as more time goes by. The knot in my throat rolls tighter and hungrier as I try to hold back my tears.

I let the peppermint scent floating around his car distract me as I wait for him to join me, longing to be anywhere but here. 

Harry takes the seat next to me and quickly brings the truck to life. My face is glued to the window, damp eyes watching as my brother carries our mother in his arms. The painful pit twists in my stomach and the knot explodes in my throat as my eyes turn into gushing rivers and whimpers escape my mouth. 

I can feel Harry's eyes burn holes through me as he moves the car down the street, keeping his promise to get me to school. 

As I sit there, the air laced in awkward tension while I sob loudly and pant through the tears, I can't shake this feeling off, the feeling I will never see my mom alive again. It's been so many times I have left my house feeling this way, way more times than one person should be able to handle, but this time, there's something different, and I worry this time I might be right. 

Harry takes the hand that's closest to him and puts it on the armrest between us. He keeps our hands intertwined, leaving small circles with his thumb. He says nothing.

This small act of affection takes me by surprise, our normal interactions scarce and our touching completely nonexistent after he decided to ice me out when we were younger. However, the overwhelming calmness and tenderness his touch ripples through my body outweighs the unexpected, strange situation and helps me slow my breathing down. 

By the time we make it into the parking lot of my school, my whimpers have ceased and my face is puffy from crying but no longer wet.

He stops the car and to my surprise, gets out. Seconds later, my door swings open as he holds out his hand to help me get out of his tall truck. I stand in front of him as he slouches so our eyes are at the same level. 

After a minute of charged silence and connected gazes, mine teary again and his welling with concern, he brings his hand to cup my left cheek, touching me like I am delicate porcelain edging to break any second. 

"I don't like seeing you cry." his lips part open as the words leave him and my eyes admire the perfect plumpness and the raw red that makes my heart skip a beat, for a second helping me push down the way my heart is twisting inside my chest, a single instant rid of my mom's current state.

My eyes instinctively close, as I take in the feeling of his touch on my skin, pushing myself harder into him without really meaning to. I feel his strong embrace seconds later, muscular arms pulling me flush into his body, the same arms wrapping around my shoulders tightly. Our significant height difference forces my face into his broad chest and I'm engulfed in his presence, the minty scent making me feel dizzy while every muscle in my body relaxes.

He pulls me impossibly closer into his chest, tucking a stranded curl behind my ear with his large hand, as he whispers "Everything will be alright, angel." into my ear.