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La Sangre Llama
It can only mean one of two things when the phone rings at three am. Either someone is dead, or someone wants sex. Either way, it isn't a good sign. Wiping my eyes, I reluctantly roll over and answer on the third ring.
"Hello?" I whisper, trying not to wake Frankie my boyfriend, who is sweating profusely, blabbering in his sleep.
"Hello?" I murmur once again, quietly slipping out of bed.
"Cecelia, remember me?" A deep foreign voice echoes from the across the line.
Quickly escaping in the bathroom, I gently shut the door and begin to tremble as the flood of yesterday rushes over me, resurrecting a life that I thought ceased to exist-yes darling, I remember. Carved in stone, you are a part of my soul for eternity.
"Mi amor, I'm back," he says in a strong Spanish accent. Suddenly, he appears in the flesh and takes my hand as I gaze deep into the eyes of a killer.
"After all these years, I'm finally ready to tell you everything," he mutters. "La sangre llama."
I drop the phone on the cold tile floor and collapse.
The life we envision is never the life we live. Not. Ever.
