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Seven Aguilar is an average Mexican pan senior. Loved by all for her humor and uplifting personality. Coined as the 'comedic relief character,' Hates reading, says whatever is on her mind (even if it's embarrassing) and loves tattoos, she has more than you can count. Silas Adler, the exact opposite. Coined as the 'mysterious bad boy.' Doesn't talk much, is serious 99% of the time, loves reading, and has a lot of tattoos. Both with different interests yet both find it in them to love the other. TW: talk of self harm, sexual content, body image issues, alcohol, drugs, abuse, and suicidal thoughts. !PLEASE BEWARE!

Romance / Humor
Age Rating:


seven's pov

Sometimes I feel selfish for wanting to die. I’m not going to bed hungry, both of my parents are still together, and I have three friends, three friends who are fucking great.

Sure, life could be better, but everyone's could, I’m not special. No one has a perfect life- maybe on the outside but not actually, and that’s a fact.

For example, my mom could be there for me and not paint me out to be this terrible person who only thinks about myself.

My dad could actually take time to talk to me, and not side with my mom all the time, which in turn makes him think I’m some ungrateful, fucked up child.

My younger brother, Alejandro, could be nicer and not hang my parents favoritism over my head.

But besides all that, I’m living in luxury. We’re not rich, quite honestly, the furthest from it- but we’re not poor either. Not like we were in Mexico.

I was born in Guadalajara, Mexico, the poverty there is crazy bad. Our house was a mere room, dirt floors and nothing but rocks to play with. My dad was never home, always doing odd jobs in order to feed and clothe us.

My mom stayed home and kept what little we had tidy, cooked, made sure my little brother was comfortable, and fraternized with some of the other people near us.

I was never home either. I didn’t like being around my mom and brother, it was like Cinderella, my mom the step-mother, my brother the spoiled step-children- except we're all related.

Instead, I spent my time with Lupe, an elderly woman who always made baked goods for the poor, walking street to street to deliver the concha's, coyotas and other types of treats. I remember holding the little woven basket following her like a stray puppy, eager to feed everyone.

She even taught me some English when she could. I’m not really fluent, (English is my worst subject) but I know enough, and I know basic words. But if you try to use big vocabulary around me, I have no clue.

I treated her like my grandma, and she practically was.

It’s been two-ish years since I’ve seen her. We moved to the states when I was 15 years old, and I just turned 18, September, 1st.

There's really no reason I want to die either. I just do. I don't think I'm suicidal though. I'm more of a 'I want someone to put a bullet through my head' want to die than a 'I'll just overdose' want to die.

I don't want people to know that I'm 'suicidal' I guess is what I'm trying to say. The only thing that actually brings me happiness is tattooing. I suppose my friends also make me happy, but sometimes its hard having to be 'funny' and light-hearted all the time.

I just want to sit still and breathe, but then again, I get bored and always have to do something, literally anything. It fucking sucks.

See, I'm selfish. I was able to move somewhere where other people would kill to be. Is America great? Fuck, no. But Mexico was so damn bad.

Here, I can go to Walmart and just buy shoes. There, we would get a set of clothes, and a pair of shoes that were to last us for a year until the next time it happened. Fuck, I don't think I'll ever miss that.

“¡Seven! ir a limpiar la cocina.” Seven! Go clean the kitchen. My mom yells from the kitchen, her Mexican accent thick as it bounces off the walls. Her screaming snaps me out of my depressing thoughts.

I don’t know why she’s yelling so loud, the kitchen is like, two meters away, I could hear her if she whispered.

I sigh, sitting up in my twin sized bed already wanting this day to be over. I have absolutely no energy to do anything.

Of course, my very capable little brother, Alejandro, doesn’t have to lift a dainty little finger, such bullshit. In fact, he’s probably still in his room sleeping.

I swear I do more in a day than what he does in a month.

I get off my bed and put some headphones in and plug it into my phone, wanting to listen to something while I clean.

The second someone tells me to clean all my joy immediately leaves. Not that I was too happy before that- but now I’m just, eh.

“Lo siento mamá. Limpiaré la cocina ahora mismo.” Sorry mom. I’ll clean the kitchen right now. I apologize, not wanting to anger her further. My parents don’t know English so it is up to me and Alejandro to translate.

She stands in the middle of the small kitchen, her arms crossed and a dark eyebrow raised. She’s wearing a black short sleeved shirt and some cropped jeans. A rosary sits on her tanned skin.

“Sabes que no me gusta despertarme a una cocina sucia, pero aún esperas hasta el último minuto para limpiarla. Es como si quisieras molestarme.” You know I don’t like waking up to a dirty kitchen, but you’re still waiting until the last minute to clean it up. It’s like you want to bother me. She nags on in her native tongue, somehow having a lot of energy to yell at only 8 in the morning.

“Mamá, apenas son las 8 de la mañana, sabes que lo habría hecho eventualmente.” Mom, it’s only 8 in the morning, you know I would have done it eventually. I say hoping to calm her down a little bit.

“Exactamente, eventualmente. Dices eso y luego lo haces cuando la mitad del día se ha ido y se acabó con, chica perezosa,” Exactly, eventually. You say that and then you do it when the middle of the day is gone and it’s over with, lazy girl. She chides, walking out of the kitchen leaving me to clean the mess.

I don’t even know why she hates the word eventually so much. Like, you’ll do it, it might take a while but it will happen. And, isn’t that good enough? Hell, it is for me.

I sigh, yet again, and take my rings off so they don’t get all mangled by the dishwater and harsh cleaning products. Is that even the right word? Oh well, I’m too tired to care.

I turn on my phone and shuffle through my downloaded songs.

‘I Could Fall in Love’ by Selena comes on, one of my many celebrity crushes. My mom was going to name me after her, but didn’t for some reason. Would’ve been a lot better than ‘Seven.’

I look around seeing that the kitchen isn’t even that dirty. I mean there’s obviously some dirty dishes in the sink and pans on the stove. But, it isn’t ‘Oh my god, we live in a pigsty’ dirty. Nothing bad enough to get her as annoyed as she was.

I quickly start cleaning the kitchen, making sure to wash all of the dishes and rinse the sink of all the food when I’m done. Squatting, I open the cabinet under the sink and get the countertop cleaner.

I spray it onto the counter and wipe it with an old rag. Just as I’m finishing up she walks back into the kitchen. She looks over it, inspecting my work. I watch as she walks up to the counter and slides her finger on the surface and looks at it, checking to see if it’s properly cleaned.

“Está bien, es lo suficientemente bueno, supongo.” Okay, that’s good enough, I guess. She states while I throw the rag in the washer, which is conveniently in my kitchen. In my old house we didn’t even have a washer, we did everything by hand in a bucket of water. We don’t have a dryer now but it’s not like we have ever had one to miss in the first place.

I slide two of my rings back on just as she starts again, “Tal vez quieras mantenerlos apagados.” You might want to keep them off.

I stop and look up at her, “¿Por qué?” Why? I ask her, slightly confused.

“Necesito que hagas unas tortillas,” I need you to make some tortillas, she says, crossing her arms.

“¿A mí? ¿Quieres que haga tortillas? Sabes que no soy muy bueno cocinando, ¿verdad?” Me? You want me to make tortillas? You know I’m not very good at cooking, right? I ask her puzzled, she has seen and berated me for messing up so many recipes yet still wants me to make tortillas.

Lupe never let me help her bake. She always let me stir, but never anything else. Plus- she always said that I would do it for too long, but who the fuck wants lumpy batter- not me, that's for sure.

“Sí, Seven, créeme. Pero necesitas aprender. ¿Qué vas a hacer cuando tu futuro esposo vuelva a casa después de un largo día en el trabajo, cansado y hambriento, eh?” Yes, Seven, believe me. But you need to learn. What are you going to do when your future husband comes home after a long day at work, tired and hungry, eh? She retorts, her face scrunched up angrily.

Little does she know that I’m bisexual, and could very well end up marrying a girl. Honestly- I may be pan, but it took me way too long to label myself as bi, so I’m just not going to go into that.

I like who I like, and that’s good enough for me. If Harry Styles doesn't need a label, then why do I? He is also one of my celebrity crushes.

I would never tell her though, or my dad. That’s like asking to get disowned and I like having a roof over my head.

The only member of my 'family' who knows is Lupe. I had told her right before we moved. I cried, and she cried, she hugged me and told me she’d always love me, which resulted in me crying even harder.

“¿Probablemente no le cocinaría nada, porque ambos volveríamos a casa del trabajo.” I probably wouldn’t cook anything for him, because we’d both come home from work. I voice out confusedly. I don’t know why my mom thinks we’re still in the 1950′s.

Back in Mexico a lot of the wives had jobs, but that was because they needed two incomes. I honestly have no idea how my mom managed to stay home. She probably sold her baked goods, though.

In my personal opinion, if someone wants to stay at home and play that role, then by all means do it. I just don’t think a person should have to stay home and be a homemaker when they don’t want to.

“Tonterías, el hombre es el que trabaja. Es tu trabajo quedarte en casa y limpiar la casa, cuidar de tus hijos y cocinar.” Nonsense, the man is the one who works. It’s your job to stay home and clean the house, take care of your kids and cook. She explains, making me want to jump off a fucking cliff.

I sigh, realizing I do that a lot in her presence and take the rings I had on, off again.

I just nod reluctantly, not wanting to fight about this, “Sí, lo siento.” Yes, sorry. I open the cabinets to get out all of the tortilla ingredients, praying I don’t fuck up.

A long 2 hours later and my misshapen tortillas are done. I’m not even sure if it takes that long to make them but as long as they’re edible, I’m good.

I slide my rings back on and go to drag myself the short ways to my room. I open it and practically throw myself on my bed. I sit up to grab my phone from off my nightstand, laying back down I turn it on, ‘11:08’ it reads. Fucking hell, there goes my morning.

There’s literally nothing for me to do. Summer ends today since tomorrow is the first day of school, so no homework. No chores left. And I don’t have work on Sundays, so there’s nothing to keep me occupied. Picking up my phone from off my chest, I decide to bother my friends for entertainment.

“lets hang out? im boredddd” I send to the group chat, hoping Parker, Quinn and Ameena will be able to do something since I need entertainment.

I met Ameena in 9th grade right after I moved, we shared a homeroom together. I had a slight crush on her and desperately needed a reason to talk to her. I didn’t know what the headscarf she always wore was for, so I used that as a conversation starter.

She was extremely shy, (and still is) but told me that it’s a hijab, and that she wears it for religious reasons. I was confused because in Mexico, at least where I’m from, there are no Muslims, none of which wore a hijab I suppose. Most people were either Catholic or something else. I’m not very religious- I mean, for one, I’m bi.

She then told me about her life in Syria as she moved when she was 13, and I told her about my life in Mexico before I moved.

We both grew up extremely poor and understood each other’s struggles.

And from then on, we became really good friends, my crush on her had lessened and I saw her only as a best friend.

Ameena, Quinn and I had all shared a history class the second semester of 9th grade, I cracked a joke about something stupid, which made them laugh. We talked the rest of the period and from then on two became three which then became four as Quinn introduced us to her best friend Parker.

Me and Parker bonded over our dislike for our first names. Her complaining that Parker is a ‘boys’ name and she’s (in her own words) “clearly a girl.” And me upset over the fact that I was named after a fucking number.

All of us have pretty much been inseparable since 9th grade, now we’re closer than ever.

Finally, I get a text back from Ameena, “I would love to! Quinn? Parker?”

“great” I send. Quinn responds shortly after. “yea, sure.”

“I’m down” Parker sends, texting the details shortly after. “Let’s meet at Beachwood Café, at about 12.” We all send replies in confirmation.

Already clean from my shower earlier in the morning, I decide to get dressed. Since this is a casual outing, I put on a dark green sweatshirt, high waisted mom jeans, and dark green converse.

I fluff my dark brown hair up a bit in the bathroom and separate a few of the curls. My hair is the longest its ever been, coming down to my lower back.

Normally, I do a full face of makeup but I decide some light makeup will do just fine. I put on some minimal-coverage foundation, a quick swipe of blush. Wait- to do eyeliner or not to do eyeliner is the real question.

Oh, fuck it. I grab the black liquid liner and several failed attempts later, both wings are even, along with the liner on my waterline. I add some mascara and put on some pink tinted lip gloss, and I’m as good as a 23 on a scale from 1-10.

Checking the time on my phone, and seeing it is 11:49 my eyes widen. God damn, those wings took a lot longer than I thought.

I exit my room phone in hand. I make my way over to my mom’s room to tell her I’m leaving. “Quinn, Parker y Ameena me invitaron al café, ¿puedo ir?” Quinn, Parker and Ameena invited me to the café, can I go? I ask, she nods and looks back at her phone screen.

Luckily, my mom doesn’t mind me leaving the house with them. Sometimes, I feel like she likes them better than me. She probably does, honestly.

I walk to the front door and go to my car parked in front of our house. It’s some run down car made before Jesus was born but it still works, and that’s good enough for me.

I bend down so I don’t bang my head on the top. I’m not 5′4 like my mom, somehow, I was given a lovely height of 5′8 making me one inch shorter than my dad.

This car makes me wish I was shorter though. The amount of times I hit my head on the top is too, too many.

Situating myself in the car, I turn up the volume on my phone, I can’t do shit without something to listen to. Pressing shuffle, ‘Criminal’ by Natti Natasha starts playing.

I don’t only listen to Spanish music, I just have a shit ton in my phone, and it’s fucking Natti Natasha, you can’t skip her.

I pull up to the café after several minutes. Unfortunately, the poor side (where I live) is in the fucking boondocks. I step out of the car and shut the door. Walking up to the entrance door, I see Quinn through the glass door, 4 drinks on the table, my iced coffee being one of them.

Iced caramel coffee is a god tier drink. You can't beat it.

This is why I’m friends with her.

I open the door and stroll over to her, “You are a beautiful person who deserves all the love in the world!” I exclaim, a large smile on my face as I sit in the seat opposite her.

Her black hair is in it’s natural pin straight form, cascading down to her waist. She’s wearing a white cropped camisole, with a light blue sweater, and a matching blue mini skirt.

“Yeah, yeah. Since you guys weren’t here yet I took it upon myself to order for you three. You’re welcome.” She states as she takes a sip of her hot drink. The door chimes a second later, and Parker walks in, wearing the most purple outfit I’ve ever seen in my life.

She’s wearing an oversized purple jacket over a purple crop top and some purple straight leg jeans, with platform purple converse, her hair done in long box braids with little purple jewels.

Don’t get me wrong it’s cute, the purple looks great against her darker skin, it’s just very teletubbies-esque.

She walks up to us and sits in the seat to my right, adjusting her dark purple jacket.

“I have never in my life seen so much purple in one place, and on such a small body.” I voice out in awe, clasping my hands together as I look at Parker’s outfit.

“Shut up, I got new clothes for school and I needed to wear some of the pieces, and this was my only opportunity,” she explains as she takes a sip of her frappe.

“And you couldn’t wait ’til tomorrow?” I ask her, amusement taking over my features.

“No,” she answers back seriously, causing me and Quinn to laugh.

Shortly after, Ameena walks in, sporting a pretty champagne colored hijab, and a matching sweat shirt with white loose fitting pants.

“Hello! Ooh- Parker, I love your outfit.” Ameena exclaims smiling. Quinn hands her her sweet iced tea since she doesn't like coffee, and she smiles back gratefully.

“Thank you. At least someone appreciates it,” Parker says, sending me a pointed look. I smile back widely.

Quinn rolls her eyes, “It’s not ugly, just very purple.” I nod in agreement, Parker could wear a fucking burlap sack and still look hot. She has that hourglass figure that everyone and their mom wants, including me.

I have always struggled with gaining weight. People think it’s great, but I’m not curvy skinny, I’m box skinny, and it sucks. But, what can you do- fucking nothing.

“I’m so not ready for senior year,” I say, grimacing at the thought.

They all nod, “Neither am I, but I think it will be fun,” Ameena says, looking way more excited than she should be for school.

Quinn starts laughing, “You ready to wear that fur suit?” She asks me, referring to the school mascots uniform; a bulldog, the most generic mascot ever.

I shake my head, “Fuck no. That thing is so uncomfortable,” Ameena frowns at my choice of words, “But what can I say, the crowd loves me.” I shrug, a not-so-humble look on my face.

I flip my hair back dramatically.

At our school, the seniors nominate who they want to be mascot, kind of like prom king and queen. I was chosen since I’m pretty much cool with everyone.

They make it out to be this crazy cool popular thing, but in reality, being the mascot sucks. I had to go cheer practice to have an idea of what the routine was, and that bitch gets so hot, I almost passed out. Not even joking- I almost had a god damn heat stroke.

The only good thing about it is the fact that Quinn is a cheerleader so I had some wanted company.

“Oh, shut up. You’re ego is making me gag,” Parker says, pretending she’s about to throw up.

“Hey. It’s not an ego if it’s the truth,” I say, wanting to rile her up. She rolls her eyes.

“I still can’t believe the majority of the senior class wants you to be the mascot.” Quinn chuckles, shaking her head at the thought. She, like everyone else, thinks its an honor, it fucking isn’t.

Ameena pipes up, “Seven will be a good mascot, we wouldn’t have voted for her if we didn’t think that.”

“Ameena, sweet, sweet Ameena. I suck at being the mascot,” I tell her seriously, "I have absolutely no flexibility, and I don’t remember anything about any of the choreography."

Quinn nods, “She’s not wrong, Coach told her to do a cartwheel and Seven looked at her like she was speaking a different language.”

Parker smiles widely, “You don’t know how to do a cartwheel?”

“Nope, didn’t even know what that was until, like, a month ago,” I shake my head, I had attempted it and I almost broke my damn neck.

Ameena smiles, “It’s alright, it’s not that big of a deal.” I smile at her appreciatively, even though I wasn’t too worried in the first place.

Forty minutes later, with empty cups and tired smiles we say goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow, it’s a good thing we have a few classes together.” Quinn says yawning as she stretches her back and grabs her empty cup. I pick up my trash and throw it away.

“Yeah, for real. I would've fucking boycotted or something. Anyways, I’m going to go home and take a nap,” I say while I push my chair back into the table.

Parker rolls her eyes, "All you do is sleep."

I raise an eyebrow, "What else can I do," she shrugs, "exactly."

“Bye! I’ll see you three tomorrow, and make sure you wear something cute. It’s our last year after all.” Parker says as she gets up and throws her cup away and pushes her chair in.

Parker is the ‘fashionista’ of the group, she was the one who helped me buy clothes that weren’t just leggings, sweatshirts and jeans. She also showed me how to accessorize which gave me a mild ring obsession, but it’s mostly harmless.

Ameena, Quinn and I nod, all of us walking through the exit and to our respective cars. I get in my own, and play music, ‘Sadderdaze’ by The Neighbourhood comes on as I start my car, one of my favorite songs.

After the long ass drive, I finally make it home. I grab my phone, get out and practically sprint to my room. Even though I don’t like running, I like naps. You win some, you lose some.

Reaching my room, I bust that shit open, take my shoes off and toss myself on the bed. I haven’t slept, since like, 7 am. Too long, too fucking long.

Eight hours later

I sit up lazily from my longer than necessary nap as my room is dark, damn what time is it. I grab my almost dead phone and see the bold white numbers read ‘8:10’ well shit. Who the fuck takes seven, or eight hour naps. Me, apparently.

It’s like a super power, once I fall asleep, I stay asleep.

I sigh, my mom didn’t even bother to see if I was hungry or something. Luckily I'm the type of person who can fall asleep really quickly.

Deciding I should probably eat something before I go to bed, I walk to the kitchen. Both of my parents are sitting on recliners in the living room watching some random show. Both not bothering to talk to me.

I grab the bag of everything bagels (my favorite food, ever) and pop them in the toaster. Bagels are versatile and take seconds to make, perfect for my lazy ass.

When they’re done I take the whipped cream cheese out of the white fridge and a butter knife and evenly spread it on both sides.

After eating my bagel, I walk into the hallway bathroom to get ready for bed.

I quickly do my business and wash my hands.

I brush my teeth and retainers and then put them in, unfortunately, I was not born with naturally straight teeth and had to suffer for 2 years. I wash my face and put on extra acne product since my dumbass slept with foundation on.

Once I’m done with that I change into some shorts and an oversized gray t-shirt.

Then I apply some lotion to my arms and legs so my tattoos are nice and moisturized.

Finally done, I’m more exhausted than before and turn on about 10 alarms so I don’t accidentally sleep in. Quickly letting sleep overtake me and dreaming about something I’ll forget right after I wake up.


the spanish might not be 100% accurate. im not a spanish speaker. im currently failing it as its hard to learn online. LMAO. feel free to correct me.

ameena is also a new character. love her and her sweet natured self. i felt like i needed more middle eastern rep and here she is.

also was fun learning about muslims and educating myself on something i had no real understanding of.

first chapter of eight is up! im extremely excited to write about seven and her character and about her and silas’ dynamic. i love her sm and i havent even really explored her character arc.

about seven and her mom, it is based off of me and my moms relationship. i don’t want any readers to feel like im playing into the stereotype of how some hispanic moms prefer their sons over their daughters. obviously not every mexican and/or hispanic mom is like that. thats just how mine is. and thats what i want to write about since i’ve never read about it. just want to clear that up.

anyways, this chap was just an insight to her family situation and friendships.

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