Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  Through all of this, I ignored the part of me that wanted to find love; knowing, even years later, that I’m not ready to give myself away the way I did before.

  In my life, Elijah is a phantom; something I know exists but don’t dare disturb, for fear of the repercussions.

  After my meeting with my potential publisher, I step outside, onto the busy city street. I don’t mind being swallowed whole. I don’t mind the way I’m forced to move with the ebb and flow of people.

  I don’t even mind the familiar brown eyes that stare back at me when I glance up at one of the billboards.

  Phantoms find me in the city.

  There is no sadness in my bones. There is only the warmth of familiarity and the sad sigh of times long gone.

  I set out on a walk, determined to get lost. I head down one street, cross another. There are colors, scents, and sounds everywhere. People who stop, people who move with anger and swear under their breath, people who smile.

  I get a hot dog at a vendor, just for the authenticity of the experience. I purchase an “I Love New York” T-shirt and mugs for my mom and dad and shove them in my bag.

  The sun is starting to go down, but I’m still exploring.

  I must’ve walked this block at least ten times, so I take a different route. A left instead of a right.

  My left was right.

  There, right in the middle of the crowd, is Elijah. He’s surrounded by security as he steps away from the car I assume he just got out of. He’s headed into a building. One look at it tells me he’s performing tonight.

  Do celebrities not use back doors?

  Or is he just that needy that he requires this validation?

  I thought there was no anger left but one look at this living and breathing man has me right back to the hurt place I was when I left him.

  He looks fine. Gorgeous. Strong.

  There are no women around, save for the fans who accost him.

  And, damn the universe, something in the wind must tell him to look my way because he does.

  His smile is frozen as his eyes squint.

  My hair is shorter, and the ends are blonde now, but yes. It’s me.

  The one you said you loved but you left.

  The one who molded into anything you wanted, just to be with you.

  The one who never asked to be your world, even though that was all she’d ever hoped for.

  The one you’re about to sing about on that mess of a fucking stage.

  I’ve heard the new songs and I hear myself in them.

  I turn away from him and curse him as I do.

  I hope your show goes well. I hope you see my face in every woman there. That when they sing along with you, to lyrics you wrote for me, it haunts you.

  I hope you reach for me when they’re all gone.

  I hope those empty hands of yours make you remember how full of me they used to be.

  And I hope that when you reach for me, I finally have the strength to turn away.

  I am but a mere Gemini, succumbing to the universe, torn into two.

  He’s a brutal Taurus; the bull who has no problem brutishly bucking my defenses away.

  Even when he has no idea that this is exactly what he’s doing.

  My vice has no idea of his power.

  I hear my name, over the wind, over the people, over my own heartbeat. My heartbeat that sounds like it’s in my ears, as if my heart and brain have somehow converged in an attempt to get me to smarten the fuck up.

  Let’s join forces to increase our chances of survival, I bet they said.

  Hands touch me and I know they don’t belong to Elijah.

  I’d know his hands anywhere.

  “Ma’am?” A man in a black suit appears in front of me. “Mr. Williams instructed me to give you this.”

  This stranger hands me a lanyard with a backstage pass attached to it.

  “I’m going to take it from you because I’m not rude. But please inform Elijah that I won’t be in attendance tonight,” I say.

  The man in front of me reaches for me but I step back and shake my head.

  “I don’t like to be touched by strangers. I have no idea what energy you carry, and I don’t need it muddying my own. I’m on a healing path.”

  He stares at me with bored eyes and I let my hands fall to my sides.

  I sound like a fucking hippie these days, but I stand firm on what I feel. No matter what.

  “Right. Well, thank you, sir. But no thank you.”

  I look past his shoulder. Elijah isn’t there but I swear I can feel his eyes on me.

  As soon as I turn away, I call Miley.

  “He’s here.” My voice is in full panic mode as I speed-walk back toward our apartment. “He saw me and gave some security guy a backstage pass to give to me.”

  “Okay, okay.” Miley pauses. “What do you think? How did he look?”

  “Healthy,” I tell her on a whimsical sigh. “And beautiful.”

  “And how do you feel?” she presses on.

  “Angry. And sad. But I do miss him.”

  Miley’s quiet on the line as I work through my feelings.

  “I think about him every day,” I say.

  Miley hums before saying, “I know you do.”

  “And I catch myself wondering why I haven’t heard from him if he’s doing better,” I add.

  There was tabloid talk of rehab stints. Some that didn’t stick. Those stories scared the shit out of me.

  And then, as if by some act of divine intervention, there were no more racy pictures. No more rumors of binging and no more women crawling all over him in the articles I saw online.

  He wiped his Instagram clean and I decided then that it was time to stop stalking him online.

  “He literally chased you into a closet and showed up at your apartment a bunch of times. He scared the shit out of you so many times.” She chuckles. “Maybe he doesn’t want to do that anymore?”

  I roll my eyes as she continues.

  “I’m just saying. He clearly wants to see you. And you both have had plenty of time to grow. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Ac…”

  “Yeahhhh, maybe don’t answer that one,” she says.

  We are mistakes and missteps. Elijah and I could never forget the muddied past we created, each of our hands dirty.

  I can hear myself telling him to starve his fears, as I nurse and coddle my own.

  MY BOOTS HIT the pavement with quick little clicks that make me think I’m headed to tap on the universe’s door.

  The lanyard around my neck swings in time with each step and before I can hesitate, I walk right up to the entrance and show my pass. I’m almost an hour late, having talked myself in and out of this, but I’m here.

  I figure, I can at least see if he’s doing okay.

  The woman at the door smiles a little too big. “We’ve been waiting for you,” she says, before picking up her walkie and speaking into it.

  I don’t catch her words as a few people around me start to push.

  But when I see a familiar face, I perk up.

  “Miss Morales,” George says, a few grays around his temple.

  I’d be willing to bet that Elijah put them there.

  “How are you, George?”

  “Better now that I’m seeing you. Our boy’s been wondering when ‘the universe’ would bring you two back together.” He lowers the hands he’d used for air quotations and smirks at me. “I bet he got that from you.”

  I don’t say a word, but my smile speaks for me.

  “Now, we’re doing things a little differently this time. Elijah’s going to perform, but he’s also got a live Q&A going on with his fans between songs.”

  Music plays in the background and the song playing makes me smile again. I know this one.

  “Enjoy the show,” he tells me as he settles me inside one of the boxes in the theater.

  I’m alone, but I don’t mind as I hear his velvety voice sing the wor
ds to his newest single.

  I got a girl back home,

  sweetest one I ever met,

  did her wrong,

  bet every time she sees my face, she feels regret.

  He’s cut his hair shorter and his body looks thicker in a way that tells me he hasn’t only been eating but is working out again.

  Sweat slides down the side of his face as he belts out deep tones and falsettos that cause me to shiver. Only someone meant to do this could make an entire theater full of people sway and feel.

  The song ends, and he sits on a stool, making jokes and talking to fans. It’s surprisingly intimate; a far cry from the shows he used to do.

  “Are you single?” a woman asks.

  His laugh makes my heart hit my toes.

  Are you?

  “I am. But I’m not looking,” he says.

  The crowd reacts, from some ladies groaning to others oohing.

  “What does that mean?” somebody yells.

  He glances around the room, scanning the crowd before moving his gaze up to the balcony seating. Then the boxes. First the left side. Then the right.

  His eyes meet mine and he wipes his brow with a towel left for him next to a bottle of water.

  There’s a smile on his face that speaks of nerves.

  “Ahhhh…” he starts, still looking at me. The crowd attempts to cajole him into a confession and he shrugs as he focuses back on them. “Fuck it. All right. You guys ready for story time?”

  When the crowd yells “yes” he pushes the stool back and sits on the edge of the stage, his feet dangling.

  “Get comfortable, because it’s a long one. And you might hate me at the end of it.”

  They all laugh and one girl yells, “I could never hate you!”

  “The first girl I ever kissed was my soulmate,” he starts. “I was ten years old and she was the strangest mix of fearless and afraid. Intimidating. And beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

  He wipes his brow again and glances in my direction for a second before continuing.

  “I just knew I had to have her in my life. I played whatever role she wanted to fit me into, just hoping for the day I’d finally get my chance.”

  Our stories sound so familiar.

  “And, of course, when I finally got my chance, I fucked it all up. Every chance she gave me, I fucked it up.”

  Some of the crowd members make sympathetic sounds and I find myself leaning forward to catch his words.

  “But no matter what, when I needed her, she was there. And I always knew that if I showed up, she’d let me in. She knew it, too, so she’d try to run away to save herself from me.” His voice is thick with emotion. “But I chased her, you guys. I forced my demons on her and she danced with them the best way she knew how.”

  There is a pain that lives inside my body, that steals a bit of my blood every day to continue thriving like a parasite.

  I do my best to keep it at bay, but here in this concert hall, it wakes up and presses against my chest, causing tears to form.

  This pain came from years and years of living with an unresolved hurt in my heart. It kept me from loving another, from completely moving on.

  I starved it; I ignored it. It still lived on.

  “She’s here right now,” he says.

  People start turning and looking around and Elijah stands.

  “Nah, nah. Let her be. I’ve disrupted her life enough.”

  I wipe away my tears and grin at the boy I befriended, the teenager I liked, the young man I cared about, and the man I love.

  He paces the stage, trying to find the words to say. “But there’s something I wanna say to her, and I need you guys to keep it calm and quiet in here so I can tell her.” He spreads his arms out. “We got a deal?”

  Different answers come raining down and he shakes his head.

  “If y’all don’t figure it out, I’ll just leave, and you guys will be the reason we don’t work out.”

  I’m laughing now as I sit back, not wanting to be seen.

  The yeses range from normal tones to damn near screams.

  “All right.” Elijah’s pacing the floor, the towel in his hand. He wipes his face as his back is turned. And while his back is turned, he continues. “I’ve been clean for a year. Three hundred and sixty-five days today.”

  When the crowd cheers, he holds up his hand, waiting until they’re silent again to continue.

  “I almost died and…you were there when I couldn’t even be there for myself. You told me to starve my fears, and at first, I didn’t get it.”

  The room is still as he pauses.

  “But the moment I gave more of myself to my happiness and acknowledging my blessings, I had no more room for the poison I was feeding my body, just so the world would fade away.” He chuckles. “It’s such a beautiful world!”

  He turns around, slow, and lifts his eyes to mine.

  “Thank you. I truly believe I’d be dead without you.”

  I shake my head, but his truth is his own and I only have to listen to him to know that this is what he feared most: Death.

  “I more than love you. I live you. I breathe you. I take you in my body and hold you there for as long as I can. My greatest days were only possible because you made it so.”

  My hands come to my face as I try to cover my tears.

  But this is us, naked and vulnerable, so I let them drop.

  “I’ve been in love with you for most of my life. But I never really took the time to learn how to love you.”

  I hold my breath as he continues.

  “Let me learn. Please?”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m not good at this part. I’d argue that I’m not good at any of this, but I have this need to tell stories and so far, eight books in, I have no desire to shut up.

  This story kinda killed me to write. There was no easy way to write it. I just had to sit and bleed.

  So, for those who helped me patch myself up (especially after that last twelve-thousand word stretch), I’m grateful.

  My alphas: Talon, Misty, Daniele, Sophie, and Danielle. You guys were the best early audience ever. Thank you for cheering me on because writing is such a lonely business.

  Amanda Cuff, I don’t even really know what to say. I didn’t know what to expect when I sent you the first part of this story. The way you fell in love and offered your thoughts when I was worried I wasn’t getting it right…man, you are an angel. Thank you for giving me your time.

  Jen (J.R. Rogue), you are the sweetest and bestest and thank you for formatting this story. I want to keep you in my pocket.

  Christina Hart, the best damn editor there ever was. You always SHOW UP AND WERK, QUEEN, and you always let me drive you fucking crazy. Thanks for kicking my ass to get off the phone and get writing.

  Mary Ruth, we took a premade and made it extraordinary with this cover. You are exceptional.

  Thank you to the ladies at Give Me Books for putting up with me and promoting this novel. You all are efficient and amazing.

  Teófilo Torruella, I have a distant memory of your booming voice and dark skin. Most of what I learned about you came after you passed away. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I wanted to make sure your family left a piece of you behind.

  For my parents, who deeply inspired Pedro and Milagros. You two made sacrifice and hard work look natural.

  To the boys and the men I’ve loved who carved Elijah’s pain into perfection.

  To every version of myself I’ve ever been. And every version of myself I put into this book.

  To my depression and anxiety, which has evolved alongside me, I no longer hide you or shove you in a corner. I exist with my flaws and love every single one.

  Lastly, to the music.

  It can set you free.

  Cynthia hates writing her own bio. In her down-time, you can find her watching movies, ranging anywhere from classic to action flicks (she has a weakness for Marvel adaptations), and reading any novel she can ge
t her hands on.

  She loves hearing from her readers! You can reach Cynthia at cynthia.a.rodriguez6@gmail.com.

  Playlist: https://spoti.fi/32lrBkH

  Pinterest Board: https://bit.ly/2S71Y28

  BOOKS BY CYNTHIA A. RODRIGUEZ

  Crashing Souls

  Souls Collide (Crashing Souls #2)

  The Sound of Serendipity

  EVOL

  Folie à Deux

  THE LOST CHAPTER

  TATTOOS

  “Why do you want to get these again?” Elijah asks as the needle digs into my skin.

  I try not to wince because I don’t want to look like a chicken-shit in front of him. This seventeen-year-old is fearless, after all. “It’s too hard to explain.”

  How he lights me up on my darkest days and how sometimes we feel so far apart from each other but I could not exist without him.

  “If I’m getting that on my body, you should at least try,” he says.

  The buzzing stops as the tattoo artist wipes the ink away, showing me half a crescent moon.

  “Because. I’m the moon and you’re the sun. I’m the dark and moody one and you’re the one smiling at everyone and being charming,” I say.

  “I don’t smile at everyone,” he tells me as he peeks at the progress below the inside of my elbow.

  His brows are drawn, and I try not to notice how his skin seems to glow under the lights.

  “You smile more than I do,” I point out.

  “But you don’t need to smile. Then people will think you’re too friendly.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to keep from explaining to him that he likes his girls too friendly and that this is a double-standard.

  But I let it go.

  “Think we’ll ever regret this?” I ask. Matching tattoos could definitely be something we end up looking back on and dubbing ourselves idiots.

  “Are you kidding me? I love you, girl.”

  He walks away after saying it, like the words cost him nothing.

  But they sit deep inside me.

  I’ll never let them go.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page