“Is this enough?” asked Pablo.

He walked out of his office with four thick wads of cash and slapped them into the palm of my hands. My wrists gave in ever so slightly under the weight of a couple hundred banknotes, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

“How much is there?” I breathed, as my eyes vacillated between Pablo and the piles of money he had so casually placed in my hands.

His face twitched and his eyebrows wiggled as he mentally calculated the exchange rate.

“Five thousand dollars,” he shrugged. “More or less.”

I had never even seen that much money, let alone touched it. I still remembered how my heart had pounded in my chest the first time I had counted the cash in the restaurant’s register at the end of my shift, and that only amounted to eight hundred and fifty-something dollars. I remembered how I had to take a thirty-minute break to cry in the bathroom, that one time someone tipped me a hundred dollars. Never would I have thought that a couple years later, I’d be holding five thousand dollars.

I wasn’t used to expensive shopping sprees. I wasn’t used to shopping sprees at all. I was used to carefully stashing my dimes and quarters, and checking if I had left any between the couch’s cushions every time I went to the supermarket. Ramen only cost twenty cents a pack, and a single coin dropped by someone at a bus stop could feed me for half a day.

“I think it should be fine,” I murmured.

“Alright.” Pablo smiled. “Just promise me you’ll behave out there.”

“Are you coming with me?” I asked.

“No,” he answered. “I wish I could, but I’ve got work to do. Oso will take you.”

I should have been happy. Delighted, even. I was finally going to get out of this damn house and away from Pablo. It was all I had wanted for the past few weeks, or so I thought.

Instead, I felt terrified. Pablo was all I had known for what felt like forever. Now that I had been pushed out of the comfort of my own room and into this strange new world, I didn’t know anyone, let alone the person that I was supposed to be.

And as I walked the plank above these murky waters, the scariest thought was that it had only taken two weeks for Pablo, the biggest shark in the ocean, to turn into the lifebuoy I so desperately wanted to cling to.

•••

The silence in the car was heavy. The radio was turned off, and the loud humming of the engine hardly sounded like music. Oso’s expressionless face was hidden behind a pair of gold-framed aviator glasses, and I doubted he was in the mood for small talk.

Inside my head, I was screaming. A dozen questions clouded my mind, like a flock of screeching birds. Was it safe outside, or was there another cartel just around the bend, waiting to kidnap and behead me? Was Andrea nice or would I spend the day listening to her while she openly berated me? What if she asked too many questions? Could I tell her to shut up, as I did with Juan? If she didn’t, would Oso stand up for me?

“Hey Oso,” I mumbled. “I’m feeling a bit car sick.”

“Now?” he sighed as he rolled down the passenger window. “Emilia, this is still the driveway.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

I didn’t have an excuse to be sick. The road was flat and straight. The only thing churning my stomach was the sheer panic that I felt.

“Do you want to go back to the house?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine. I really need new clothes.”

“Okay,” he sighed, “Why are you grumpy, entonces?”

“I’m not grumpy. Just nervous.”

“Why nervous?”

“I just hope Andrea won’t ask me too many questions,” I sighed. “You know, about me and my id-”

“Emilia,” he interrupted. “You must never talk about this. People always listen.”

“Is the car bugged?” I panicked.

“No,” he frowned in confusion, “it is Toyota Tundra.”

I winced. Clearly, there was a communication issue between us two. Oso’s English was a little sub-par, and my Spanish was disastrous.

“Are there microphones in the car?” I asked again.

“No,” he answered. “But maybe everywhere. The friends of Pablo are not all good friends. You must be careful.”

“Oh, great,” I groaned sarcastically. “I feel much better now. Very relaxed. Thank you.”

Oso let out a hearty laugh, which did more to calm me down than anything else he had said. We got to the end of the driveway, where a young guard ran to open a stately iron gate.

As we rolled out beyond the hefty walls of Pablo’s estate, I couldn’t help but let out a deep breath. I had, quite literally, crossed a threshold I thought would be out of my reach for the rest of my life. In some way, I’d made it out.

It was a half-hour drive to San José, along a quiet road that slithered between mountains and ravines, under buckling branches and above roaring rivers.

We crossed an old stone bridge that stepped over a bright blue stream, its color more vivid than anything I’d ever seen. Dozens of pale flowers blossomed on its banks and hundreds more crept up the side of cliffs that stood around the bend. The forest around us exhaled a warm, earthy smell, and the branches on its trees shivered in the breeze.

I leaned my head on the edge of the open window, to take in the pretty views and breathe in the fresh air.

“You are like a baby dog,” chuckled Oso.

“What?”

“Your head is outside the window. Like a baby dog.”

I stuck my tongue out and panted, which Oso seemingly found hilarious. His intimidating facade had fallen now that we were alone, and I was left with a small toddler stuck in the body of a man built like a refrigerator.

“Yes, like this,” he cheered. “You are a baby dog.”

“You mean I’m a puppy,” I corrected him. If I was going to be stuck here for the long run, I might invest some time into trying to help him improve his English.

“You are not a Papi,” he frowned.

“You just said I was.”

“No, I am Papi."

“You’re a puppy?” I cocked an eyebrow. “You’re a big puppy. You’re a Pitbull.”

“Big Papi, yes, Mr. Worldwide.” Oso grinned, his eyes still concentrating on the road ahead of us.

I snorted with laughter. Obviously, the whole point of this conversation seemed to have been lost in translation, but the absurdity of it all had managed to take my mind off of a few more worrying matters.

“Now you are not nervous,” he observed.

“Not as much,” I nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Worldwide.”

“You like Mr. Worldwide?”

“Uh, it’s not my favorite. I like indie stuff.”

“Bollywood?” he asked.

“Uh, no. Not Bollywood - independent,” I corrected.

“Very good, independent woman.”

Oso nodded as if he was satisfied with my answers, while I sat in silence, feeling a little addled. Neither one of us had a single clue about what the other one was trying to say. I wondered how it would work out in case of an emergency, and the mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine.

My unbothered bodyguard fiddled around with the radio. He put on a whole playlist of Pitbull songs, which played uninterrupted until we reached San José, but the upbeat tunes hardly managed to uplift my mood.

San José was a quaint little town, with steep cobblestone streets above which stretched tangled wires and tacky signs. Our big pick-up truck painstakingly made its path through the narrow roads, splitting through crowds of stray dogs and running children; little farmers and tough guys; model-like women dressed in high heels and crop-tops, and hobbling old ladies holding baskets full of crops.

Warm colors mixed on the walls of the town’s tall buildings, different shades of red, yellow, purple and green, painting over a maze of arches, columns, balconies and wooden shutters. Floral perfumes escaped from potted plants and young women’s necks, and floated through the air where they mixed in with the smokey smells of exhaust gasses and roast chicken. The people’s chatter mingled with the singing birds, barking dogs and idling engines of rusty trucks and shiny tuk-tuks, filling the streets with a deafening cacophony.

And in this tiny buzzing blur of a village, no one even noticed me. No one’s eyes met mine and thought, ′Wait, is this Sarah Kennedy?“. No one here would recognize me, none of these people knew or would ever know me. And I didn’t know if that made me feel desperate or incredibly relieved.

Andrea was waiting on San José’s lakefront street, standing in the shade of a palm tree while her bodyguard sizzled behind her in the sun’s midday heat.

Oso stopped the car on the side of the road, in a spot I highly doubted was meant for parking. Not that it mattered, since a small fine would barely make a dent in Pablo’s pocket, and that is only if we assume he would even receive the ticket.

“Hey Andrea!” I smiled as I walked up to her.

“Here you are!” she giggled as she turned to me. “I was hoping you hadn’t stood me up. I should have asked for your number before we left.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t have a phone,” I answered.

“Really? Why not?” she frowned.

“Because...” I nervously fidgeted with the bottom of my skirt as I tried to come up with a believable answer as to why a twenty-something-year-old wouldn’t have a phone in this day and age. “Because of the waves. 5G and all that. It’s so bad for your brain.”

She nodded with an understanding smile, and I wondered if she thought I was as dumb as I felt in that very moment. Does she even believe me? I wondered. I’m a terrible liar.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked, as she started to effortlessly strut on her stilettos, as if the cement sidewalk was nothing but a runway.

“Uh, everything, actually,” I mumbled. “I barely have any clothes. They, uh- lost my suitcase at the airport.”

“No way!” she cried. “That’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled nervously. “I don’t even have any underwear.”

“How long ago was this?” she asked, her perfect lips bent in an elegant grimace.

“Uh, just a few days ago.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been here for very long, then?” she observed as she pushed the glass door to a fancy-looking clothes shop.

“Nope,” I breathed.

“Do you like it here?”

Andrea barely looked at me as she asked her questions. She began frantically flicking through the clothes hangers, occasionally pulling out a frilly dress to take a look at it.

“I love the weather,” I answered, not even daring to touch the expensive fabrics. “It’s really nice”

“You should have seen the storms last week, it was awful. Oscar’s indoor pool was flooded.”

“Oh no, how terrible,” I tried to sympathize, but the emotion just wasn’t coming through. There were worse problems in life than rain flooding your indoor pool. I looked back at Oso, hoping for some kind of emotional support, but he was hiding behind his professional mask again, and I was faced with nothing but an unfriendly wall of flesh.

“Are you okay?” asked Andrea, as she grabbed several blouses from the rack.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re clinging to your bodyguard like your life depends on him.”

“Isn’t that what he’s here for?” I giggled nervously.

She answered with a pageant smile and a fake-sounding laugh, and I cringed.

“I guess it’s just weird, being without Pablo,” I added in a sigh.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” she cooed. “So you like him?”

“Well, yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” I said, trying not to choke on my words, and pretending I was interested in some ugly fringe jeans. “Of course I like him.”

“Sorry, yeah,” she stuttered. “It’s just that... Pablo’s a sweet guy, but he just has a lot of issues.”

“What kind of issues?”

“You haven’t noticed?” she laughed.

“No, I have,” I chortled. “I just want to check if I’ve missed any.”

A quick spark of gossip’s delight ran across Andrea’s face. Her gaze quickly swept across the empty shop, and she leaned in closer to me.

“Well,” she cleared her throat and whispered. “First of all, he has a massive drug problem. He just doesn’t control how much he takes. You barely notice it, most of the time, but he’s always super high. And then some days, he just goes over the limit and then he acts really dumb, and it gets super annoying. Especially because he drags all the boys in to do dumb things with him. Like this one time, they bought some liquor from some weird guy, and they got so hammered that they went to this sacred river and...”

“I know that story,” I gasped with a wide, genuine grin. “The Jungle Jew.”

“He told you about it?” she giggled. “No way. I’ve seen Juan’s scar. It’s real - but don’t tell him you know, he always gets super embarrassed when someone reminds him. And if you even mildly annoy Juan, you’ll become his target. You don’t want to be Juan’s target.”

“Too late, I think I already am his target,” I muttered.

“Yeah, I noticed. I think Manée noticed too,” sighed Andrea, “But they’ll get tired after a while, don’t worry. Just ignore them.”

“I’ll try.”

“Anyways,” she continued. “You see, the problem with Pablo is that he just doesn’t really care about anything but himself. He just forgets everything and anything. Like, names, birthdays, important events, things he needs to do, even meals, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that happen,” I muttered.

“And then there’s his whole thing with sex. I think he’s addicted, honestly. I’m sure you’ve seen it. How he grinds on you when you dance, how he can’t keep his hands to himself, he’ll even beg for it every night. He just can’t be romantic. It’s always about sex.”

I stared at her in silence. As far as Pablo’s issues went, that wasn’t one I had had to face yet.

“That’s why he has a prostitute problem,” she continued. “He blows most of his money on hookers and strippers. He just spends his nights motorboating them and snorting coke off of their tangas.”

“That’s disgusting,” I winced.

“I’m not saying it to turn you off or anything, I just want to warn you. It’s the reason why I broke up with him in the first place.”

“You dated Pablo?”

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you? He introduced me to Oscar.”

“Isn’t that kind of weird?”

“I don’t think it is. Pablo and I just weren’t compatible. I’m a better fit for Oscar. He’s not as handsome as his brother, but he’s easier to handle.”

I turned around to check out another clothes rack and hide my bewildered expression from Andrea. Am I the only one hearing this? Am I hallucinating? Heatstroke, maybe? Was this conversation real? Was it normal? Was it a warning? Should I be worried? I wiped a few drops of sweat away from my brow.

“Is that all you’ve found?” asked Andrea as she checked out the two dresses I had picked out and slung over my arm.

I shrugged. All the clothes in the shop seemed too tacky, too skimpy, too frilly, too daring. Nothing felt like me.

“Do you need help picking out stuff? Because that’s not going to be enough to replace your whole closet.”

“Sure, thank you,” I replied with a polite grin.

Andrea fanned herself with one well-manicured hand, while the other slithered through the racks to pick out colorful clothes. She threw piles of dresses into her own bodyguard’s arms, up to the point where his indifferent face disappeared little by little behind a mountain of sequins and fabric.

Just like the poor guard was squashed under the weight of Andrea’s questionable choices in fashion, I felt crushed by a load of doubt and unbearable heat.

My eyes laid down on a men’s flower-print shirt. The same one Pablo had worn on the day we spent together at the pool, the one he’d ripped apart to wrap it around my arm. The one that had sponged up my blood and saved my life.

“That’s a men’s shirt, Emilia,” said Andrea, as her gaze followed mine.

“I have a dress with the same print. I was thinking of getting this for Pablo.”

“Aw, that’s so cute!” she grinned. “Do you think he’d wear it, though? I don’t see Pablo as the kind of guy who’d wear matching outfits with his girlfriend.”

I bet you don’t, I thought to myself. I bet she didn’t picture Pablo crying over the bathtub as he begged me to stay with him. I bet she couldn’t imagine him blushing when a strap of my nightie fell off of my shoulder. I bet she didn’t see him as the kind of guy who would spend hours cooking pasta until the sauce was just right.

There were two different versions of Pablo. The one that the world knew, and the one that I did. What I didn’t know was who was the real Pablo, and who was the illusion.

“I think he might like it,” I shrugged, and took the shirt off of the rack.

“You know,” she chirped, “it’s weird -in a good way- but you’re really different from the girls Pablo used to date.”

“What were Pablo’s previous girlfriends like?” I asked her.

“Crazy,” she answered, far too fast for my comfort. “They were all crazy. I guess Pablo just likes the action. You’re like, really quiet compared to them.”

“Crazy as in, a little kooky? Or the dangerous kind of crazy?”

“Have you seen that scar on top of his shoulder?” she explained casually. “One of his ex-girlfriends stabbed him there like a year ago. Another one tried to strangle him in his sleep. He just has that effect on women. He drives them insane. I threw a chair at his head once, but he was okay. I don’t have a great aim.”

“Oh okay,” I quipped.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “So far you seem different.”

“Manée wouldn’t agree, apparently,” I scoffed.

“Don’t listen to her,” shrugged Andrea. “You know, I’m not one to gossip, but when Pablo first told us about you, the first thing Manée said to me was ‘how much do you bet Juan is going to try and fuck her’ and then when we walked up and saw you at the table sitting next to him, she was like, ‘oh, see, I was right’. She’s just really possessive. And I get her, you know, if some random girl just showed up and all Oscar did was talk about her, I’d be the same. And I’m sure you’d feel the same way if it happened with Pablo. But if you show Manée you’re not a threat, I’m sure she’ll be more friendly.”

“She thinks Juan is trying to fuck me?”

“Yeah, but he won’t, don’t worry.” She smiled. “Juan’s a huge flirt, but he wouldn’t cheat on Manée. I mean, she’s so pretty, I don’t see why he would need anyone else. He just gets women to fall in love with him so he can flatter his own ego.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“Now one you might want to watch out for is his Dad, Hernan. He wants everything that Pablo has, so now that probably includes you.”

“Gross,” I gulped.

I mentally scribbled down the names of the people I needed to avoid. Stay away from Juan so I don’t anger Manée, and try not to cling to Oscar so I don’t annoy Andrea. Be wary of Pablo because well, he’s Pablo, and don’t even think of approaching Hernan Sandoval.

Living around all these people was quickly going to turn into a game of hopscotch in the middle of an active minefield, and these social gymnastics were already exhausting me.

“You should try this one,” Andrea said with a smile, throwing a red bodycon mini dress at me. “It would look great on you. You have amazing hips.”

“Uh, thanks,” I stammered. “How much does it cost?”

“Who cares?” she scowled. “Seriously, just get it.”

True. There’s an envelope with five thousand dollars and my name on it in Oso’s pocket. Just shut up, Sarah, you sound poor and she’s going to notice. Wait- no, the name is Emilia. Emilia. Remember it. Dammit, Emilia, just change the damn subject.

“So, uh, what happened to Pablo’s ex-girlfriends? Like, after they stabbed him?”

“That one left the next day and we never heard from her again.”

“Do you think he killed her?” I breathed.

Andrea let out a hearty laugh.

“Pablo wouldn’t do that. He would never kill anyone. Well, aside from his own- wait, uh, has he told you about that?”

“Told me about what?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to tell you,” she winced.

“Andrea, you’re leaving me with more questions than answers,” I muttered.

“Sorry Em.” She gave me a sorry smile. “But honestly, don’t worry. He’s a good person, trust me.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “It’s just that it’s the first time that I... date someone in his line of work. So it still feels a bit weird.”

“I get it, I felt the same in the beginning” she nodded, “Hey, you should start trying on stuff. The changing rooms are over there, in the back. I’ll keep looking.”

“Sure,” I nodded.

Quickly enough, I found myself stuck in a dress that was a little too small for me. God, it’s hot in the changing rooms. Aren’t these fancy shops supposed to have AC? I should have eaten more this morning. I was starting to get a little dizzy.

What am I going to do? I thought. I don’t want to go back home. Andrea was messing with my thoughts. I didn’t know who to turn to anymore.

Was Pablo going to drive me insane too? Or was I really different? Why was he acting romantic towards me if it was something he never did? Was I really that special or was it another manipulation? If he was as sexual as Andrea said, why didn’t he want to see me naked? Not that I really wanted him to see me naked, but wasn’t it kind of weird? God this dress is tight.

I felt light-headed, in the worst way possible. I was suffocating, in this bodycon dress just as much as in Pablo’s home. How many days were left until Mafer came back? Two? I could do it, I’d be fine. I just needed to find someone okay to hang out with. Or I could just hide in a corner. I need to get out of this damn dress.

I didn’t want to stay too close to Pablo. Especially if he would hang out with prostitutes. Would he still hang out with prostitutes if he loved me? When he said he loved me, was it even the truth? I can’t trust Pablo so maybe I can turn to Oscar, but what if Andrea thinks I’m flirting? I didn’t want another enemy. I didn’t want to lose her as a friend. Was she my friend? As far as I knew I couldn’t trust her with any gossip, but that didn’t make her a mean person. Why did I even try on this dress? I know damn well I’m not a size S.

Manée might convince Andrea into hating me. Manée already hated me because her boyfriend liked me. Well, he didn’t like me, he was targeting me. Did he really want to fuck me? If he cheated on Manée with the maid, would he do it with me? I didn’t want to fuck Juan. He was dumb and childish and I didn’t want to get either of us killed by Pablo. How hard is it to just squeeze this damn piece of fabric over my head?

I hoped Juan didn’t want to fuck me. I sure as hell hoped his father Hernan didn’t want to fuck me. That just sounded gross and very dangerous for everyone involved, given that he was Pablo’s frenemy. Who is there left in this damn house that I’m not supposed to avoid? I think I’m choking. I need some air.

Crushed by the pressure of the bodycon dress that constricted my ribcage, and the sheer weight of knowing I had to spend my entire life pretending I was someone else, amidst a crowd of people I could never trust, I cracked.

I tried to hold on to the suffocating velvet curtains of the tiny dressing room, I tried to free myself from the dress without ripping its seams apart. I tried to stay strong, I tried to keep standing, I tried to keep a cool head, but nothing was working.

My brain gave up, and my legs gave in. My eyes rolled back, and my head began to spin.

And the world turned black.

Kerning

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