“Are you thinking of him again?” asked Mafer.

“No,” I lied. “Why?”

She frowned and clicked her tongue.

“I can see his name on your lips.”

Thunder rumbled outside the window. I clenched my teeth and sighed. It had been one week since the incident, and not one hour had passed where I hadn’t thought of him. The last words he’d said to me, his enraged stream of insults, and most of all the hateful tone in which he’d spoken, still echoed in my head. I dreaded what he would be capable of, what he was planning to do. It was only a matter of time before I would find out, he couldn’t just leave me here for years to rot. Could he?

“Did he come to see you last night?” she asked, as she drew a small cross on a page of the notebook she’d brought.

I nodded in silence. Although I hadn’t been able to speak to Pablo for the past week, he had still graced me with a visit, time and time again.

The first night after my attempt at an escape, I’d woken up to the sound of Pablo stumbling into the room. He looked drunk and disheveled, maybe even more than usual, but he didn’t crawl over to my bed. All he did was sit on the chair and glare. I pretended he wasn’t there, and that I was still asleep. I didn’t dare to speak, fearing that whatever words came out of my mouth might be the wrong thing to say.

The morning after that, when Mafer showed up with breakfast on a silver platter, I didn’t tell her about what had happened, I brushed it off as “just a nightmare”. Instead, I told her everything about me, and she told me everything about her.

That’s how I found out Mafer was only nineteen years old, and that she had two sisters and three brothers. She worked as a maid because that was what paid best, but her dream was to one day become an interpreter. I also learned that Mafer had an unhealthy obsession with sticking her fingers in my dimples every time I smiled at her.

The second night, I woke up to the sound of the rain, and to the vision of Pablo’s silhouette, fast asleep in the vanity chair, with his arms crossed and his chin tucked in against his chest. I’d gone back to bed, hoping that it was just another bad dream, and when I woke up he was gone.

Later that day, I told Mafer what I’d seen, and she said it was creepy. So we spent the whole day telling each other scary tales and ghost stories, as dark storm clouds started to fill up the sky.

On the third night, I didn’t see Pablo, but when I woke up in the morning, the chair had moved from the vanity to the foot of my bed.

The rain started pouring early that morning and never seemed to stop, and the weather became unbearably humid and hot. Mafer had an old rusty fan in her room downstairs, and she brought it up to my room to help me cool down. She also brought with her a small notebook so that we could play Tic-Tac-Toe, and a pack of cigarettes that I could smoke when I sat by the window.

The night after that, Pablo came back. Our eyes met in a flash of lightning, but the sight of his dark, soulless gaze froze me to the bone, and I couldn’t get a single word out of my mouth. On that day, I beat Mafer twice at Tic-Tac-Toe, and for the first time, I skipped out on my daily jumping jacks.

On the fifth night, when Pablo walked in, I whispered his name, hoping he’d answer. But when he heard me, he turned around and walked straight out. Then Mafer and I shared a sandwich for lunch, and for dinner, we ate pasta.

On the sixth night, nothing happened, and my day went by as usual. I feared that Pablo had gotten bored, and was now fed up with me. After Mafer left, when her working hours ended, I fished out a crumpled page of her notebook that had rolled under the bed. There, between half a dozen grids of Tic-Tac-Toe where Mafer’s crosses had beaten my circles, I wrote a small note.

Please talk to me.

I’d left it on the vanity on the seventh night, and when I woke up this morning, it was gone.

“Pay attention Seño, I’ve won again,” said Mafer, smirking as she drew a line across the grid. Her soft voice pulled me out of my daydreams, but never for very long.

Thank God for Mafer, I thought. She was the polar opposite of Pablo. She brought me food, she spoke to me, she held me company for most of the day, and she always knocked on the door before she walked in. She was warm, she was loving, she was comforting. She was like a fluffy blanket on a cold day, like the steam that rose from a freshly baked cake. She was the ray of sunshine I needed on these stormy days.

But outside, the sound of thunder rolled with no respite, and the rain roared as it poured down on the forest. Every time a power surge knocked out the lights, the small fan would rattle to a stop, Mafer would sigh, and the room would fill with sweltering hot, suffocating air. And in those moments, I’d crave the cold chills that ran down my back whenever Pablo was around.

Lightning struck right outside the window, and the bedroom door whacked open. Both Mafer and I jumped, startled by the tall silhouette of the man in the door frame.

“Wow,” chuckled Pablo. “Ominous.”

I smiled, because I could tell by his childish grin and the way he rolled his sore wrist, that he had been standing outside for a few minutes, with his hand on the doorknob, waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

I smiled, because I’d been waiting seven days to see him, and not just his shadow.

I smiled, because although I expected him to walk in with a gun in his hand, ready to end things and get his closure, he had just walked in holding a fresh bouquet of red roses.

“Privacy, please,” he said, turning to Mafer as he flicked away a few raindrops that were dripping from his messy hair.

Within a second and without a word, she shuffled out of the room, leaving me alone with my lover and captor. I slowly walked towards him, nervously tugging on the skirt of my little blue nightdress. He awkwardly handed me his flowers, but the bunch was loose and too big for my arms. A rose or two tumbled out of my grasp and onto the floor.

“Sorry, it’s not a proper bouquet,” he apologized as he bent over to pick them up. “I–uh, I just picked them on the side of the driveway.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Thank you,” I said softly, laying the pretty flowers on top of the vanity.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he chuckled nervously, flicking away a leaf that had stuck to the back of his hand. “Now it doesn’t sound as meaningful.”

“No, no, it does,” I smiled. “You made it yourself. It’s sweet.”

I tried to remain calm, but a little alarm inside of me was going off. This was the first time we were speaking since I’d stolen his phone, trying to save my life and, by doing so, ruin his own. I’d tried to jeopardize his whole business, his employees, his life’s work. For some weird reason, he’d trusted me, and it only took a few seconds for me to ruin it.

“They’re beautiful, Pablo, but why are you giving me flowers?” I asked, staring at the roses and wondering if he’d poisoned their thorns.

“I’m inviting you out on a date.”

I gulped, and I frowned, and I turned my worried face to Pablo. There definitely was something wrong. It wasn’t a date. I wouldn’t believe it. Even he wasn’t insane enough to suggest it.

“A date?” I asked, “When? Where?”

“Tonight, in the kitchen,” he answered with a knowing grin.

My eyes widened so much, they started to prickle. “In the kitchen?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s just a kitchen.”

I analyzed him for a while. The dimple in his cheek, the glimmer in his eye, the way he’d stuck his hands in his jean’s pockets. He seemed relaxed, happy, and a far stretch away from the man who had lurked around my room at night.

I smiled back at him. “As long as it’s not painted lavender, I’ll accept it.”

“It’s Pepto-Bismol pink,” he joked.

My shoulders loosened as I shed the mental weight that was pinning them down. This didn’t seem like a cruel joke. He wasn’t taunting me. This wasn’t going to be a “sike” moment, not like in middle school where Maddie Williams, the resident cutie, gathered our whole grade at lunchtime telling us she’d kiss Matthew Jones, just to turn her head away in disgust the second he leaned in. Pablo wasn’t lying, he wasn’t tricking me–at least, not yet.

“I thought you were mad at me,” I said softly.

“Oh, I was. I still am,” he answered. “But I want to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

A chill ran down my spine, and my shoulders seized up again. So there was indeed a twist. At best it was a test, at worst it was a trap. I tried not to lose my smile, as I felt a big lump grow in the back of my throat.

“What time?” I asked.

“At night-time. When the last glow of daylight dives beyond the horizon, and the sky turns pitch black.”

I frowned in confusion.

“You don’t need to be so poetic,” I scoffed. “Just give me a time.”

“You don’t need a time,” he tutted. “You broke your only clock.”

He glanced over to the wall, where the clock still stood frozen, and my eyes followed his. The passing of time, or lack thereof, had been one of the worst parts of my captivity. Not knowing if it was morning or evening; if I’d slept yet or just blinked. Feeling disconnected from reality, put aside by the world outside that kept turning as if I wasn’t there. I had inflicted it on myself, with a rash decision I had made within fifteen minutes of walking into the room. I was my worst enemy. Pablo only came in second place.

When I turned around to face him again, he’d already left.

Mafer walked in shortly after, with an empty vase and an excited grin. Bringing me something before I even knew I needed it was a very Mafer-ish thing to do. She’d hear my stomach rumble, and run to the kitchen to fetch me a plate before I even felt hungry. She’d inspect the bathroom every single day to make sure I never ran out of clean clothes, towels, or soap. She’d notice whenever I got lost in my thoughts, and give me a hug before I remembered anything that could upset me.

“I saw the roses, so I got you this,” she gushed as she set her vase down on the vanity. “What did he say?”

“He said he’s still mad at me, but he’s inviting me on a date so that I can redeem myself,” I explained.

Mafer cocked an eyebrow and bit her lower lip. Since I had gotten to know her, I’d explained to her everything that went on between me and Pablo. She knew how I felt about him, probably better than I did myself, and thus was just as leery as I was about this date.

“...Yay?” she grimaced.

“It’s weird, right?” I scoffed.

“Did he tell you where you were going?” she asked, picking a rose off of the vanity and carefully settling it in the vase.

“To the kitchen,” I said, sarcastically raising my eyebrows.

“Lucky you,” she giggled, “I hear it’s the place to be.”

I laughed and began helping Mafer with the flowers. Although Pablo’s visit had burdened me with uneasiness and fear, I started to feel a little better. Mafer’s harmless snarky remarks never failed to wring at least a faint smile out of my taut face. The storm still purred in the distance, and the soft smell of the fresh roses, raindrops still rolling off their bright red petals, filled up my small bedroom.

“What time did he say you were meeting?” asked Mafer.

“He said when the sun drops below the horizon and the sky turns to black, or something stupid like that,” I answered, rolling my eyes.

“Why wouldn’t he just give you an hour?” she frowned.

“He said I don’t need it because my clock doesn’t work,” I sighed, pointing my thumb over my shoulder. “I pulled the batteries out myself.”

“Do you want a watch? I can give you mine.”

Mafer was already clawing at the bracelet on her wrist, trying to unbuckle it. I gently placed my hand on her arm and shook my head.

“Sunset should be an easy time to figure out,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

She glanced out the window. “That gives us about... two hours to get you ready, I’d say. Do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“Not really,” I pouted. “I guess... one of my pajamas.”

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping that a beautiful evening gown would have suddenly materialized in my room.

“No way,” protested Mafer. “I’ll find you something appropriate. What shoe size are you?”

“Ten and a half,” I mumbled shamefully,

“Ten and a half, got it,” repeated Mafer. “Wait for me here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I muttered under my breath as she shuffled out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I had a gut feeling that tonight would go wrong, and so far, my gut feeling had proven to be quite trustworthy. I felt that Pablo was conspiring against me. It made no sense otherwise. Why would he open the door to my cage when he knew how desperate I was to fly away? The thought of what might await sent my mind into turmoil, as dark and sinister as the black clouds that whirled above the jungle.

Mafer ran back into the bedroom just a few minutes later. She looked flushed and out of breath from running back and forth through the house’s long corridors, but her smile was bright and her eyes as sparkly as ever. She victoriously brandished the spoils of her hunt.

“You’re so lucky,” she squealed, dropping a pair of nude stilettos on the vanity. “I found these in size ten, so they’re a bit small, but since they’re open, you should be able to squeeze in your toes.”

“Great,” I winced, already picturing the pain I’d be in later that night.

She then threw me a piece of silky fabric. It was a little black dress, simple but pretty, with an open back and ruching around the hips. I opened my mouth to thank Mafer, but as I put down the dress, I saw her holding a matching pair of black lace underwear, which she excitedly waved above her head.

“They’re so sexy,” she gloated.

“Mafer, where the hell did you find those?” I hissed.

She pinched her lips and shrugged, handing me the strapless bra and skimpy tanga.

“I guess someone left them behind, after a party.”

“Who leaves their panties at a party?” I chuckled uncomfortably as dangled them from my fingertips.

"So many people,” she whispered with a cheeky smirk.

“Ew,” I winced. “Are they at least washed?”

Mafer frowned and stuck out her tongue in disgust.

“Of course they are, Seño!”

I sighed, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “I’m going to need a drink.”

“I can get you a glass and a bottle of wine,” she smiled.

“Please get two, I hate drinking alone.”

I made the most of Mafer’s absence to give the cursed underwear a sniff test. It smelled like lavender, so I decided to trust her. Having promised myself I’d never flash anyone ever again, I locked myself in the bathroom to change out of my pajamas and into my new outfit. I slipped my butt into the dress and squashed my feet into the shoes.

My toes already looked swollen and crooked, and painfully hung off of the edge of my stilettos. The chipped nail polish that was left over from my failed attempt to glow up for the retreat did nothing to help them. The dress looked quite good, and it cinched my waist in nicely, although it was a little short. It only reached down to about five inches away from the top of my thigh, which was around where my reflection cut off in the bathroom mirror. I jumped, contorted, and tried climbing on the sink to check if at least my legs looked good–alas, to no avail.

I came back into the bedroom the same instant that Mafer walked in. She was holding a washbasket clinking with wine, glasses, and an insane amount of beauty products for hair and makeup. She turned to me and her jaw dropped.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Does it look okay?” I asked, giving her an awkward twirl.

“Your butt is huge,” she giggled.

“Oh,” I pouted, pulling down the hem of my skirt.

She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s a good thing.”

I chuckled softly and sat back down in the chair by the vanity.

“I don’t know if I’m confident enough for this. It just isn’t me.”

“He’ll love you, Seño,” she said, affectionately stroking my hair, “He already does.”

I gulped and sighed, giving her a soft smile. My face looked appeased, but my nerves weren’t, and so my hands were naturally guided to the chilled bottle of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc that sat right in front of me.

“Can I do your makeup and your hair?” asked Mafer, as I poured us each a generous glass of the viciously delicious drink.

“Sure, you’ll probably do it better than I would anyway,” I grinned.

Mafer let out an excited squeak, and rhapsodically dived into the basket to find all the right shades and brushes.

I wish I was as happy about this as she is, I thought. I guessed, maybe I should be. After all, I’d been waiting for seven days to be able to talk to Pablo again. I’d been craving to see what was on the other side of the bedroom door for about two weeks. I hadn’t even been on a date for ten months. Maybe I should be excited.

But there was another feeling I couldn’t shake off, another idea I couldn’t take my mind off of. That little jolt in my legs, that little voice in my head that told me to run away. It wasn’t a good idea, I knew it - at least, not so soon after my last attempt. Failure to escape would for sure condemn me to death.

But how hard could it be, if it was just me and Pablo, alone in his kitchen? How far was the kitchen from the outdoors? Would the door even be open, or would I have to jump out of a window? Would we really be alone or would bodyguards be lurking around, just waiting to grab me when I tried to make a run for it? And most of all, how would I even find my way home, if I didn’t even have a home to go back to?

Escaping tonight would be dangerous. Madness, even, outright insanity. But I couldn’t stop thinking–what if this was my last opportunity?

Unnerved by my self-built dilemma, I started to bite the little bits of skin that stuck out around my thumbnail. Mafer–who had been sipping on her wine, and ironing my hair into maybe one curl too many–smacked my hand away from my mouth, and swatted away my painful thoughts. She frowned at first, and I could tell she was about to scold me. But our gazes crossed in the mirror, and as if she could see how much I was aching, she leaned in and hugged me.

I took a big, nervous swig out of my wine glass and nestled my chin in Mafer’s soft arms. Outside, the ominous sky had turned dark blue, with golden light still bleeding through the cracks in the clouds. There wasn’t much time left before I had to meet with Pablo again. I shivered at the thought, and at every lightning strike.

As Mafer watched me struggle with my internal battles, and with her arms still tightly wrapped around my shoulders, she leaned in closer to my ear. I watched in the mirror as her eternal smile faded away, and her wide eyes filled with concern. Just like a little angel on my shoulder, speaking so low I could barely hear, she whispered:

“Please don’t run away. Not tonight.”

Stormy Days

0 Comments