Take Over
I saw him later that night inside my dreams. I think my mouth formed a slight upward curve even when I slept. He looked just like he always does, but this version of him was better. I feel horrible saying that, but it is true.

When I saw him again he wasn’t sitting with his usual group of friends on their bikes. He was sitting all to himself, on his front steps. I could have sworn he was waiting for… me. Because when I looked over to him I saw his mouth curve into a crescent moon, and his eyes grew bigger than the blaring sun in the sky. He was beautiful.

I can’t remember what came next, but he was holding my hand as we walked into my house. Well, it wasn’t actually my house. It didn’t look anything like my house on Mango Street. It was nice and pretty and the walls were stained with expensive paint instead of bricks that chipped as time faded away.

After that is fuzzy in my memory too, but I remember feeling… light. I felt like my skin was made out of paper and I remember he touched my cheeks with his hands and pressed his lips on mine. And my bones felt like they ignited with flame and I loved that feeling for some odd feeling. Is that what love-struck moms and dads feel like when they kiss each other? He swore that he that he loved me. I was speechless.

My memory goes blank again after that, and I remember being on the floor, a few feet from broken glass and I looked up and there he was. He was still beautiful. It felt wrong to think that at the time. I stood up off the floor and my knees vigorously trembled and the side of my face was numb. I walked towards him and it took a moment to realize the blood on his clenched hands. I tried to say something but I couldn’t. “You’re mine now, because I love you,” he said.

But it was wrong, it was all wrong. He smiled at me real big and wide, but his eyes didn’t smile with him, and the way his words left his mouth made my stomach churn inside of me. I took a step back as he tried to pull me into his embrace. But, he hurt me. Just like those women I swore I would never be like on Mango Street. But, he swore that he loved me. I let him do this to me. I deserved the purple swelling he left on my arms and neck. I stormed out of the house faster than the tears could leave my eyes.
I tried not to look back, but I did anyways. I turned to see what I thought was the beautiful house that he brought me to, but it was different. The bricks were chipped and a sign outside the building said Mango Street.
Then I am awake. I wake up and I am more relieved than I should be. My arms not purple and my face isn’t numb. I still live on Mango Street and Sire never loved me. Everything, I guess you could say is ok again.