Scene: "Rain, Lies, and Lime Hair"

The rain was slamming down like bullets on the roof — sharp, constant, cold. The windows trembled with every gust. Shadows danced in the corners of the small room, and the dim orange lamp flickered like it was nervous too.

You were standing in the middle of it all — exhausted, freezing, angry.

"Put it on, Sigio!" You shouted. Your voice cracked a bit. Not because you were weak. Just tired of this damn fight.

He sat cross-legged on the old rug, arms crossed, the lime-green wig limp across his lap. He looked at you with those same sad eyes you used to love when ya'll were kids. But now? They made you furious.

“It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“No, what’s stupid is you getting caught with your real hair and your real voice and your real everything! Do you wanna get turned in?! You know what they’d do to you!”

“You don’t know that,” he shot back.

“You’re a trillion-dollar target, Sigio!”

You stepped forward, tense. He flinched.

"Put the damn wig on."

He didn’t. He pouted, lips trembling — and then stood up fast, shoving the wig off the couch like it disgusted him. “I’m not a freak.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You didn’t have to.”

And then he ran toward the hallway.

That’s when it happened.

BANG. BAM. BANG!!!

Three knocks. No — punches. The front door trembled like it had been hit with a battering ram. You swore the damn wood was about to explode.

You spun toward the monitor. The grainy screen lit up with static — and then cleared.

Cash.

Of course it was her.

Soaked to the bone. Standing like a statue of violence outside my door. Hood down. Hair flat. Eyes dark.

You exhaled slow, then turned to Sigio. “Go. Hide. The good spot.”

He hesitated.

“Go!”

He disappeared down the hallway.

You counted ten seconds. Then opened the door.

“Why are you here?” You said flatly. “You could’ve called.”

She didn’t even answer. Just shoved her phone hard into Your chest.

Twelve missed calls. Eight unread messages. Two voicemails.

She stepped inside and slammed the door so hard the picture frames trembled.

Her soaked boots squished against the wood floor. She peeled off her jacket and tossed it with a wet slap onto the ground.

“You wanna die, mami?” she said, switching to Spanish halfway. “¿Estás estúpida o qué?”

You rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

“You left me on read, again. I thought maybe you were dead. But nah, you’re just hiding secrets.”

“I’m hiding nothing, Cash.”

She got closer.

"Really? 'Cause I got something real interesting."

She threw a photo up on the wall from her phone.

It was Sigio — outside. In full disguise. Wig on. Dress. Heels. Looking soft. Delicate. A fake girl in a dangerous world.

“You wanna tell me who this puta is?” she asked with venom. “Or should I go find her myself?”

Your mouth went dry. “That’s not—”

“Don't even.” Her voice dropped lower. Her rage, scarier than ever. “You think I’m stupid? That ain’t no girl. That’s a boy.”

She took a step forward.

You backed up.

Her voice followed you. “A boy. In a dress. Lime hair. Expensive as hell. And you hid him.”

“I didn’t hide anything—”

“You insult me,” she cut in, her tone sharp and hurt all at once. “I broke skulls for you. I bled for you. And you keep secrets like I’m just some dog you own?!”

She grabbed a vase and threw it against the wall — it shattered into glass dust. Then a chair tipped. A stack of books went flying. She was tearing the place apart.

“Where is he?! ¿Dónde está, huh?!”