"What?" he snaps, already irritated.
"Look what Raul has."
Her hand closes around Diego's arm before either of us can stop her. "Come, Mijo."
She drags him out, and the room swallows the sound of her footsteps.
Then it's just me and Dad.
Silence stretches between us, thick and ugly.
He turns the pills over in his hand, studying them like he's deciding whether I'm worth the effort of being angry. "Are these yours?"
"What's it to you?" I spit back.
His eyes harden. "Mijo, I'm your father."
"Since when?" I say, louder than I mean to. "You barely showed your face after Mom died."
His jaw tightens.
"Raul."
"No," I snap, and something in me breaks loose. "Don't 'Raul' me like you have any right. I'm the one here. I'm the one who had to figure out how to live in this house while you disappeared whenever it got too real."
"You're just a kid," he barks.
"Since when?" I shout back. "Since when am I supposed to be a kid? I'm left alone, trying to survive this place. I'm trying to enjoy anything I can before it all gets worse."
He crosses the room fast.
Before I can move, he yanks my backpack off the bed and dumps it open. I lunge for it, but he shoves me back hard. My shoulder hits the mattress, the springs groaning under me.
He starts pulling bags out one by one.
One.
Two.
Three.
My stomach turns cold.
He holds them up, disbelief flashing across his face. "Are you serious, Raul? You're selling?"
"So what if I am?"
That gets his attention.
He slams a fist into the wall so hard an old snow globe rattles off the shelf and hits the floor.
When he looks at me again, the shock is gone. What's left is worse. Recognition. Calculation.
"You think you're grown?" he says, voice low now, dangerous in a way shouting never was. "Fine. Then you're going to help me."
I stare at him. "Help you?"
He gives a short, humorless laugh. "What do you think I've been doing? I'm making money any way I can to keep this house afloat and keep myself alive."