tagInterracial LoveHurricane Ch. 02

Hurricane Ch. 02


Authors Note: Well guys, it's only been two years in the making! I first of all have to apologize to anyone who was waiting for a follow up. School, work, faulty computers and life in general all seemed to conspire to get in the way of my writing! But, without further ado, here's chapter 2 of Hurricane! Saturated with my blood sweat and tears! Enjoy it and tell me honestly what you think! Comment! Vote! Subscribe! all that good stuff!


"Look what this girl done did to me, she done cut me off from her good good love.

she told me that those days were gone.

Now I'm sitting here going half crazy, cuz I know she still thinks about me too.

And it ain't no way in hell, that I can be just friends with you." - Trey Songz

So much had changed in the almost three years since Alejandro Delgadillo moved to Los Angeles. Thinking back, he could actually pinpoint the exact time his life had been altered. It was the moment he stepped off the plane. The airport was way too crowded for his mood at the time, and he found himself glaring angrily at everyone. They were all too happy or else faking it well, with their spray tans, bleached teeth and bleached hair. He longed for things to go back to the way they were before when he and Sean were nothing but happy. Back when all they had was each other and that was more than enough.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball in his hotel room and never leave. Just sleep until he became a new person. He hadn't slept in days and out of sheer exhaustion he almost did on the plane, but that too was thwarted by the loudmouthed couple sitting behind him. They proceeded arguing about any and everything they could think to argue about. At one point they argued about the air-conditioning and who it was blowing on, then they argued about the leg room and whose legs were longer.

The only thing that had him even slightly intrigued was the fact they were speaking in Spanish. And not the American or even south American Spanish, proper Spanish like back home. He found himself becoming nostalgic, and missing his family even though they were partly the reason he was on this plane. So when everyone de-boarded the plane in Los Angeles and he found them at the ticket agent arguing yet again, this time over their connecting flight, he decided to help.

"Alguien que hable Ingles!" the man yelled, clearly frustrated that no one was understanding him.

"Si!" he called to them as he made his way over. Repeatedly he asked himself why he was doing this. He took a good look at the tall and skinny man with thin hair, graying at the temples. His thin tan colored v -neck sweater was carefully rolled up to his elbows, showcasing forearms that looked strong yet he could tell from his cream linen slacks and matching loafers that this was a man who was meticulous about his appearance. Typical of most spanish men he knew. He didn't even bother looking at the woman; after his ordeal in New Orleans he couldn't bring himself to look any woman in the eyes. The only thing he did see was long flowing hair and a backless sundress and turned away.

"Thank you! They're saying we aren't even on the flight list, stupid fuckers! We paid for first class seats! And this is what our money gets us!" the man yelled in Spanish.

Alejandro turned to the ticket agent who was turning redder and redder by the moment.

"I speak perfect Spanish!" she fumed. "I know exactly what they said about me, and I'm about to refuse them both!"

Alejandro took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He was too tired for this.

"Are either of them on your list?" he asked as patiently as he could muster.

"Yes, they both are! I never once said they weren't but they are not in first class! There is no first class with this airline! Everyone flies coach, they're not going to Honduras for vacation or something. They're flying right into La Macabre!"

Alejandro turned his tired, heavy, sleep deprived head and looked at the two spoiled brats and suddenly remembered why he left Barcelona. Because of pompous buffoons like these.

"There is no such thing as a first class, so there's no way you paid for it. Just shut up and take the damn seats they've provided before they too are no longer available to you!"

He turned and walked briskly away. As much as he'd missed speaking in his native tongue, he regretted that conversation immediately. Rich assholes like them had no idea what the world was really like. Looking back, he realized the reason they angered him so much was because they were a mirror image of himself ten years ago. He didn't know why they were flying into Ma Macabre and he didn't care, he just hoped they got the reality check they deserved when they landed.



Gregory Daniels waved Alejandro over and rose from his seat in the directors chair with a smile.

"Come on over and take a look. What do you think?"

Alejandro took a seat and watched the playback for his last last take. He had to admit; it looked fantastic. He couldn't believe his own eyes; that was him running through all those explosions, narrowly escaping death,and in Ferragamo shoes no less. He didn't know he had the cojones, he never ever dreamed he'd be here. Okay that's a lie, he'd always dreamed he'd be here but never thought that dream would come to fruition.

Now here he was, on the verge of superstardom.

"Its amazing!" Alejandro cried, eyes glued to the tiny screen in front of him.

"Absolutely fantastic!" he said turning to his director who was smiling just as hard as he.

Alejandro slowly eased himself out of the director's chair and walked to his marker. He knew without asking that they were going to try for one more shot. Even though the last one was as near perfection as it probably could get, he knew Greg would want absolute perfection. So he steadied himself, evened out his breathing in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He waited quietly, eyes closed and patiently tried not to think about how he was risking his life for a stunt. He tried not to think about the pre-laid explosions awaiting his heavy footsteps to go off once again and attempted to empty his mind.

It was always then though, in the quietest and calmest moments that she would come to his mind. It was more like she dominated his thoughts at those times. It would start with a single image of her opening her eyes in the morning and smiling at him, or her stretching as she got out of bed and looking over her shoulder at him. He'd see her laughing, dancing, zipping up her black dress, putting on her earrings in the mirror as she looked up at him, slowly sliding off her pumps letting it glide along the arch of her foot until it finally slips from her hands onto the floor, her slowly unzipping her black dress as she walked to him and finally letting it fall to a heap at her feet. All of it was too much. He tried his absolute best to keep her out of his head. He'd usually thwart any and all thoughts of her before they even became one because they'd only lead to self destruction. His life was way too good now, on the verge of becoming something exceptional if he let it. He had no intentions of going back down that well worn path, so he'd close her off and reserve thoughts of her to times of self reflection. Now it was like she consumed him like a flash fire and he was powerless to stop it. He was being ridiculous; it had been nearly three years since that night; nearly three years since he watched her leave. Her suitcases dragging behind her. Nearly three long years since he closed off his heart and vowed to never, ever let another woman have so much of him because there was nothing left over in the end.

He'd begun constructing himself slowly but surely again to try and find the man that flew into New Orleans and try and remember his dreams but that man was gone. A completely different person was what remained and he just had to learn to deal with who he was now. He could still feel her burning in his veins, and he waited for his need for her to subside, for her to fade. She didn't. It was almost like he could smell her now in the desert air, the spicy sweet scent of her.

Something told him to open his eyes and he hesitated, listening to the sounds of the crew setting up the charges for the next shot. He needed to get it together, and stop thinking of her so damn much. Three fucking years? And you still can't stop thinking of her? He thought back to the day in the LAX airport. He just wanted to get to his hotel. He wanted to close out the Californian sun, he wanted to buy a very large bottle of Jack Daniels and not leave until he could form a thought that didn't end in her. A sentence that didn't revolve around her. An anything that didn't have to do with her. He was walking briskly towards the baggage pickup bumping into people here and there; he didn't give a damn. This was her fault! She discarded him like yesterdays news, paid him off, gave him one last piece of ass and disappeared. How could she be so heartless? Like everything they shared together was nothing? And the last little bit about her not wanting to break up his family? She knew! She knew there was no family to break up! His parents cared more about public image than him. And a son who gave up the opportunity to become a very rich business mogul to follow his "dreams" didn't fall into the image they were trying to portray. The relationship was broken long before a hurricane. And long before a fucking voicemail was left.

"Excuse me!"

Alejandro turned to see the man in the tan get up, rushing towards him. Shit! He turned and began to jog away from him. He could honestly only take so much. If he had to go another round with him he was sure he wouldn't be able to contain himself, he'd had his fill of pomposity for the day.

"Wait! Please, just wait a second!"

His hand was now on his shoulder. He was apparently a lot faster than he looked. Alejandro shrugged out of the strange mans touch and turned back to face him. He was smiling a pleading smile and Alejandro let out a defeated breath.

"Yes?" he asked in English.

"This may sound like an absurd question, but are you an actor?"

The first thought that entered his mind is that no one was who they said they were. The confusion must have been written all over his face because he smiled again and put his hand up in explanation.

"I had to be sure it was you, I mean you are Alejandro Montez Delgadillo right?"

His eyes turned to saucers. How the hell did this man know his name? His father? He was obviously from Barcelona, and judging from the Gucci shoes he wore he was apparently not hurting for money.

"Okay before you start thinking up some grand scenario in your head about me, I shall explain all. But first I need a drink."

He began to walk towards the airport bar, realized that Alejandro wasn't following and turned back. He looked at him for a moment like he was going to say something, waved him on instead and disappeared into the bar. Alejandro thought about just checking into his hotel, but his curiosity led him into the hotel bar.

It wasn't until after he gulped down the cheap whiskey and had another one placed in front of him that the strange man who identified himself as Ramón Arroyo, explained that he had been looking for him for a few years and couldn't believe his luck when he just got on the same plane as him. He'd written an entire film with him in mind. It was called Esperanza, and it was about a man who drives across South America to rescue his wife from kidnappers. The film was to be as much about South America as it was about the kidnapping and he planned to both showcase the beauty of the countries as well as the danger. It was perfect for him; he got to get even further away from here, star in a film, and to make it even better, the part was written just for him.

"It looks as if you've made up your mind then," Ramón stated.

He shook his head.

"One more question before I do this," Alejandro paused and finished his drink. He could feel the warmth of his first drink spreading through him. He wondered if he'd be allowed on the plane if he continued to drink at this pace.

"You said you were looking for me?" he asked pushing away his empty glass and sliding two twenty's on the bar.

"Yes, I asked your father about you but-"

Alejandro put his hand up to silence him.

"Say no more."


"You ready to go again cowboy?"

The sound of the thick southern drawl brought him directly out of his reverie. He opened his eyes and surveyed the red markers signifying the explosives.

"This is all the bomb juice I got left so you better make it good sugar."

He stared at Vicky as she walked away. She turned and winked when she saw she had his attention. He grinned at her, knowing what his grin did to her and turned his attention back to the task at hand. As soon as he did his mind was flooded with images of her. Again. It was her damn perfume. Someone here was wearing her perfume and it was making him insane.

"Alejandro are we ready?" Greg called out bringing a collective hush to the crowd. He nodded his consent.

"Okay, roll playback!"

He took a deep breath and steadied himself, once again trying to banish her from his mind. Focus. He had to focus. Just focus.



"Cut! Cut! Beautiful baby, beautiful! That is a wrap guys!"

Loud cheers broke out all around him but he couldn't take part. That last take had almost been the end of him. They moved the charges and didn't tell him. He almost ran directly into it. Fucking imbeciles! His heart was beating so fast he felt like it could leap right out.

Gregory came up and clapped him on the back in congratulations.

"Great job man, great fucking job! That was the take I was looking for," he turned around to the crew, "We are wrapped People!"

More cheers and hollers. Alejandro walked away from them towards the trailer because if he didn't someone was going to get a mouthful of his fist.

And that's when he spotted her.

His eyes had to be deceiving him. That last explosion must have knocked his brain around a little or something was loose because he was hallucinating. He closed his eyes and counted to five.




He was going crazy.



He opened his eyes again and there she was. Except this time she was walking towards him. She looked completely different. First her hair; that long thick curly hair that he loved was all gone. It was straight and styled in a really short cut that suited her face so well; he wondered why she'd never done it before. The short pieces were swirling upwards in a sleek yet sexy way and left her face completely open. She wore no make up at all and he was sure she had never looked more beautiful than she did in that moment. She'd put on weight too. A good 15 pounds of it and God it went to all the right places. But he had to say the most striking thing about her was color. She was wearing color for the first time since he'd laid his eyes on her that day in Louisiana. It was a bright yellow dress that tied at the waist and stopped just above mid thigh. She looked like sunshine, as tired and cliché as it sounds. She was pure sunshine.

He couldn't move, and he couldn't contain his heart that was once again drumming the samba in his chest. There she was in the flesh; the only woman he'd ever loved and the only woman he'd been completely open and honest with. The only one he'd ever given his everything to and the only woman who'd broken him. She'd destroyed him, left him as less than half a man, took everything of worth and gave him a plane ticket in exchange. And now that he'd finally put together some semblance of a life, now that he'd become a success here she is. Knocking the air out of him again.


She was less than ten feet away, and he could smell her; Ginger and honey. He steeled himself. He wouldn't let himself fall into her trap again. He couldn't fall for her again, she was bad news. Bad news in a '67 chevy convertible. This was like the synopsis for a terrible movie: bad chick, baaaad car, bad news. Except he already saw how this movie ended. The guy just gets his heart stomped on; end scene, roll credits, that's it. The good news is that guy no longer had to be him. He'd changed just as much as she did. Maybe not physically, but on the inside he was a completely different man than the one that boarded a plane from New Orleans almost three years ago. That man was long dead and the man that stood before Sean Williams today was a stronger, wiser man. One that wanted to know where the fuck she gets off showing up like this out of the blue, trying to disrupt the serenity in which he lived his life.


Her greeting was barely a whisper and she wrung her hands nervously as she approached him. He made no move. He didn't extend his hand, didn't shift his weight, just stared. She looked away from him at the now setting sun. She swallowed long and then turned back to him, a look of anguish on her face.

"You look..." she looked down at her toes and then back up at him. "You look so, good Alejandro. I... I hope life is treating you well?"

He continued to stare. He couldn't give her the small talk she was looking for, the 'how've you been' song and dance. All he could give her was a single nod.

"That's good! I'm glad. I uh... I came here to see you-"

"Why?" he asked abruptly, finally finding his voice.

She looked down at her toes once again and chewed her bottom lip. The dimple in the bottom left corner of her mouth became more pronounced. She was trying not to cry.

"Cause... because I needed-" She turned away and sucked in a breath. Alejandro started daggers into the back of her neck. She must've felt it because she began to massage that exact spot trying to regain her composure. If she thought for one second that she'd find sympathy here she was dead wrong. That ship had long sailed and he had nothing but hard feelings.

"I needed to see you, that's... what brought me here. I needed to see you for myself. I needed to know if you... damnit!"

She was crying and Alejandro wanted to slap her. The nerve! Coming back here after all this time and for what? To see if he still looked the same? Felt the same? Well of course he felt the same! He had the same burning anger in him, that same hurt she left him with.

"Save it."

Alejandro walked past her in the direction of the trailer. Fuck her and the horsepower she rode in here with. He needed a shower, but more than that he needed to get a clear head and as he stalked off, he realized there was no chance in hell of that happening.


He stayed in the shower well after the water had turned cold and only left when it became painful. He wiped away the remaining steam on the mirror and stared at his reflection. He had no clue what he was going to do. How long was she here? A week? Two? Could he put up with her for that long? God she looked good! No, she looked beautiful but what did that change? He still spent almost three years nursing his broken heart because of her. What did she expect coming here like this? That he'd greet her with open arms? Too many questions were left unanswered. The one question that kept popping in his head was the most important: what was he going to do? Did he still have feelings for her? He looked down at his left hand, the hand her tears fell onto as she kissed him goodbye. He closed his fist and stared at it. Of course he still had feelings for her, but he couldn't allow himself to go back there. To try and find the depth of those feelings again because if he did she would surely be his undoing.

His thoughts were interrupted by his cell ringing. He rummaged though his pockets until he found it.

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