TW: This chapter includes mention of drug misuse.

“Good morning, Gordita!” cheered Pablo as he barged into the room.

“Good morning?!” I groaned. “It’s almost sunset!”

Once again, he’d left me all alone, all day, with not a single crumb of food to munch on, aside from what he’d left rotting on top of the vanity.

I’d spent the better part of the day going around in circles like a lion in a cage, doing squats and jumping jacks to get my blood flowing; crouching up on a corner of the vanity so I could stare at the view out of the window, and waving goodbye to the last remnants of my sanity.

And here he finally was, walking into my room with a brown paper bag, mud caked on his boots, reeking of farm animals and their shit, and with a dumb smile smeared across his face.

“Where were you?” I asked.

Pablo grinned. “Horse riding.”

“And you didn’t think of hopping over to bring me some breakfast?”

“No, why?” he frowned. “Did you call me and ask for some?”

“I thought you’d at least think of me.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, and dropped the paper bag he’d been carrying on the floor beside him.

“Well I can’t think of everything, can I?”

I blinked in disbelief.

“How many other young hostages do you have to keep company to?” I muttered.

Not that I was jealous. I didn’t need his attention. Honestly, I would have much rather been doing yoga while Kait and June called me fat, than have to spend a single minute more with this asshole’s presence in my vicinity.

“Thank God, it’s just you,” he sneered. “I don’t think I could stand even one more.”

“Then how fucking hard is it to come and throw me a piece of bread in the morning?” I hissed.

“How fucking hard is it to be grateful?” he snapped, aiming right at me with his pointed finger and an enraged spray of spit. “Some of your little friends are still down there, in the basement, sitting in a puddle of their own piss, with their hands tied in their back, because their parents don’t care enough about them. And you’d be there too if it wasn’t for me.”

He briskly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he stepped away from my face. I curled my fingers up and bit my lip to stop them from trembling.

“I saved you,” he continued. “The least you could do is to not be such a bitch about it.”

“Well I’m sorry,” I mumbled, lifting up my chin so I’d look stronger than I really was, “but I didn’t ask for any of this. You chose to keep me here.”

“Then what is it that you want from me?” he yelled, dramatically throwing his hands up in the air.

Anger distorted and discolored his face. His fists were tight and twitching, his neck so tensed I could see his veins throbbing. It was like watching a tornado roll in when you know you have nowhere to hide. All you can do is stand there, staring hopelessly at the window, just waiting for it to touchdown and tear everything apart.

“Can you at least pretend that you care about me?” I blurted out, as my blood finally boiled over. “I have nothing to do, nothing to eat, nothing to dress in. This room is getting disgusting. I don’t know what to do with my old clothes, the glasses, these dirty plates, and even the chicken bones that have been rotting in here for days.”

“I’ll get you a maid,” he muttered and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need a maid. Is it really that hard to just grab the platter and take it outside? I mean throw it away for all I care but–”

“Fine!” he exploded, slamming his palms down on the table.

The rattling of the silverware hadn’t even finished echoing around the room, that Pablo had already stomped over to the window. He all but tore the handle off, whacking it open. His hands shook in rage as he snatched everything off the vanity and threw it out the window. The silver platter, the porcelain plates, the cutlery, the finely-cut crystal glasses–everything but me and my chair–smashed together and blew into pieces even before he sent it flying three stories down, where it all landed with a thundering crash.

He turned to me, nostrils flared, huffing like a beast, wiping shards of broken glass off of his hands, as his face twisted into a smug, evil grin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I cried.

Pablo leaned in dangerously close to my face, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin, close enough for me to be staring at nothing else than his dark, bloodshot eyes.

“Can you stop complaining for two fucking seconds?” he yelled. “Because for someone with such a shitty life you sure do have some high standards!”

I stared at Pablo in silence, stunned and frozen by the violence of his explosive temper tantrum. Sighing, puffing, and blowing off some steam, he walked back over towards the opposite side of the vanity and bent over to pick up his paper bag.

I watched him carefully, my chest still shaking with rapid breaths. He pulled out the contents of his bag and nonchalantly threw them onto the table. A box of crayons, and two DVDs: Finding Nemo and the first Shrek movie. I gave him a shy, lopsided, quivering smile.

“I got this for you,” he mumbled. “I thought it would make you happy.”

His arms now hung loosely down the sides of his chest, while his brow furrowed and his lips pouted ever so slightly. He looked like a child–a sad one, an upset one, a kid who’d just been told there was no more birthday cake for him. It was endearing for a second, and then absolutely frightening–how could someone go from blind rage and violence to this, in mere seconds?

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, as he awkwardly bent over to grab them back. “I’m sorry. This sucks. I didn’t get any paper or a TV. You can’t do anything with these. I’ll get rid of them.”

“Don’t worry,” I answered, softly laying my hand on his wrist. ” It’s fine. I’ll keep them. I can shove the crayons up my nostrils, that’ll be fun.”

He blew air out of his nose and gave me a faint grin. I smiled back at him, and finally, my heart rate lowered, along with the tension in the room. Exhale.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he added, pulling something out of his back pocket. “I also got you this.”

He threw a tiny little plastic pocket in front of me, and inside of it, was the smallest piece of paper I had ever seen. It wasn’t any bigger than a quarter of an inch on each side.

“Thanks!” I chuckled at the absurdity of Pablo’s gift. “See, now I have some paper to draw on with my brand new crayons.”

His eyebrows raised up, surprised on one side, mocking on the other. “Seriously, you don’t know what this is?”

“A very small stamp?” I said, bringing the small bag closer to my eyes so I could inspect it.

“It’s LSD, Gordita.”

I hastily dropped it back on the table, as if touching the paper could have poisoned me through my fingertips.

“Pablo, I would really just prefer a normal breakfast,” I muttered.

“The trip is amazing,” he explained excitedly. “It can literally make you travel. It’ll keep you busy. Come on–it’s like a little escape.”

I pinched my lips, as I stared down at the little square of paper. A little escape. Pablo sure knew how to choose his words with me.

“What do I do with it?” I asked.

“Just let it melt in your mouth.”

“I’m not sure I–” I started to say, leaning away from the table.

“It’s fun, I promise,” he interrupted, resting his warm hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I’m really sorry, but I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What about breakfast?” I cried, but he was already hurrying back to the door.

“Take the LSD and you won’t even think about being hungry, trust me!” he answered, and he disappeared through the door.

The lock turned shut, and I was alone again. All alone, in a one-on-one, face-to-face date with a very bad decision. It was right in front of me, in its little transparent bag, the world’s smallest sheet of paper, and it could help me escape.

“That’s ridiculous,” I told myself, out loud, because the sound of my own voice made my empty room feel a little less lonely. “Too good to be true.”

I pushed it away from me with the tip of my finger and sighed. I’d seen what drugs do to a person. I knew what happened when you gave in. I’d seen the shakes, the cold sweats, the fears and the tears that came when you tried to stop. I’d seen how people spiraled down into a world of their own, and how, blinded by their desire to reach an unattainable high, they became consumed by selfishness and started to hurt those around them.

But there wasn’t anyone around that I didn’t want to hurt. And I would have given anything just for a few hours, a few minutes, a few seconds away from here. No one that I cared for, no one that cared back.

I grabbed the bag and gently opened it. It didn’t smell like anything. It didn’t look like anything. What was the worst that could happen? The paper was so small that a bit of sweat and static was enough to make it stick to my fingertip. It was tiny. Blank. Pure. Innocent. I placed it on the tip of my tongue.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I was disappointed nonetheless. It was bland, pasty and fibrous, almost tasteless. It was just a little bitter. I was a little bitter. Other than a dull pain in my empty stomach, I felt nothing more than stupid for willingly eating a small piece of paper.

I went to lay down on the soft bed, waiting for something to happen. I closed my eyes and waited some more. Where were the hallucinations? The pink elephants, the flying unicorns? Why was I still hungry? Where was the fun? And most of all, when would I finally escape?

And then, up came the come up. At first, it was just a tickle. The hairs on my arms stood up on end, and I could feel static-like tingles running up and down my skin.

The satin sheets around me started to glitter, shining with a faint iridescent light. The sunlight that slipped in through the small window diffracted on the edge of each fold in the fabric, and the more I moved the sheets around, tracing shapes on their surface with the tip of my finger, the brighter the colors became.

Soon, it looked as if I was laying on top of a pale rainbow. It was soft, beautiful, and peaceful. I laid there, with a smile on my face, stroking the sheets, back and forth, back and forth, watching the colors flow across the bed like an oil slick in a shallow river.

I slowly sat up on the bed, so I could put my feet down on the wooden floor. I felt every knot, every crack, every bump, every single speck of dust under my bare soles. And as I steadily stood up and walked towards the window, it was as if the ground came back alive.

Branches grew like a forest, rising up from the chopped-up, varnished slats, squeaking and creaking and sometimes even lifting me off the ground. I hopped up on the vanity to get out of their way, and watched as the lines, the swirls and the circles in the wood danced about in the whole room.

It took a while for me to pull my eyes away from the floor. But the real treat was outside, through the open window, right above the jungle. The leaves on the trees swayed not with the breeze, but with my own breath. They reached towards me as I inhaled, stretching their branches like a thousand loving hands, and pulled me to them as I breathed out.

It was an invitation to come dance on the treetops, in the spotlight of the day’s last rays of sun, with the hundreds of red, green and blue birds who flew around. They whispered their songs in my ears like a mother rocking her child to sleep. I laid down on the vanity, with my head hanging over the side and my dreamy eyes looking straight up, out the window and into the sky.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but it was as if the walls around me had crumbled down. No more old vanity beneath me, no lavender walls imprisoning me, no more ceiling above my head. There it was, my escape.

It wasn’t just the house I’d escaped from. It wasn’t just Pablo. It was all the pain, all the sorrow, all the fears, insults and self-doubt that I burdened myself with. For years I’d begged the little voice in my head to stop talking for a second. Today, for the first time I could remember, she’d finally shut up.

I basked in the peace and the silence for a while, breathing in the purest air I’d ever breathed. I could feel it filling my lungs, I sensed it in every single one of their alveoli. I could feel my whole body. Every churn of my empty stomach. Every pulse of blood rushing up and down my veins. Every electric current running down my nerves. Every muscle, every bone, each and every hair on my skin. And yet, not a single thought.

Quiet. As the wind settled down and called it a day.

Quiet. As the birds stopped singing and tucked in for the night.

Quiet. As the sky turned from a deep amber, to a dark red, to a gloomy purple, and finally to pitch black.

Quiet. As the stars came out, blinking softly, and I winked back.

As good as it felt, my escape didn’t last. Tonight, just like every other night, when the world fell asleep, the house came alive. The floorboards started to shake to the sound of music. The echoes of songs and laughter bounced off of the edge of the forest and shot straight into my room. They popped my bubble, and woke me up from my dream. I sat up on the vanity with a gasp, almost toppling over the poor old lanky piece of furniture.

I felt light and empty. Maybe just lightheaded, really. No, wait, I felt outright dizzy. The floors, the wall, my limbs–everything was warping, moving, falling, swaying like blades of grass in the wind. My legs felt longer, and my arms like rubber.

It’s as if the whole fabric of reality was bending around me. I didn’t feel human anymore. Gravity felt different. One minute I was floating, the next I was pinned to the ground. I felt like a chimp in a spaceship.

Grappling onto the back of the chair, I slowly slid down to the floor. Maybe if I walked on all fours, I could hold to the real world for a little longer, and the room would stop moving so much.

“Never should have done this,” I whispered over and over as I tried to figure out where to go next. “Never should have done this.”

Maybe this is what Pablo wanted. For me to be confused, disorientated, and scared. I was absolutely helpless. Worse even, I was defenseless. I didn’t even know where my own hands were, so there was no chance that I could use them to push someone away.

It finally dawned on me. Far too late, unfortunately. Pablo had drugged me to take advantage of me.

There was no escape, nowhere to hide. The ground shook to the beat of the loud music. Or perhaps to the beat of my panicked heart. Or maybe to the sound of footsteps, approaching in the hallway.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, over and over, holding my breath as I strained my eyes to find a place to hide in the midst of this technicolor blur.

With my heart beating fast, palms sweating profusely, and brain slowly turning into a liquid mush, it was getting hard to even think.

“I’m never doing drugs, never, ever again,” I moaned.

The footsteps disappeared in the cacophony. Maybe they turned around and walked away. Perhaps they never even existed. Whatever it was, I knew I didn’t have much time before I’d hear them approach again. I needed to clear my head.

I crawled to the bathroom and slithered out of my bathrobe. A cold shower would do the trick. I stumbled towards the bathtub and over its edge, landing on my back in the soapy, murky water that had been stagnating in the bottom since my last shower. Sliding and slipping, I tried my best to climb up against the wall, struggling to hold on with my fingers to the wobbling lines between the avocado-green tiles.

I finally managed to flip up the lever and turn on the water. I tumbled backward when the cold flow smacked me in the face. For a moment I felt sober, and could see the tiles straighten and align again. But then the water turned warm, and soon unbearably hot.

I cursed Pablo, I cursed myself, I cursed the little piece of paper, I cursed everyone and everything that had brought me to this point. Thanks to all of them, I would die boiled alive in a shower, and my well-done corpse would be buried in an unmarked grave in the jungle, left out for the gourmet critters to eat.

“Ah, fucking hell!” I cried as I fought an upstream battle with the shower faucet.

And then I heard it. Faintly, barely audible over the roaring of the boiling water and the desperate squeaking of my feet against the enamel of the tub. A knock on the door.

My time was up. All I could do was attempt to stop him from getting in. I jumped out of the bathtub, leaving the steamy shower to flow freely. My foot slipped on the satin robe, sending me sliding around the bathroom like a bar of soap on the shower floor.

Out of breath and stumbling like a newborn foal taking its first steps, I finally made it to the bathroom door.

But I was too late.

Out the Window

0 Comments