“No drinking tonight,” said Pablo as he slowly walked me down the spiral staircases.

“Why not?” I mumbled.

He glared at me, and his fingers painfully tightened around my hand.

“I don’t want you to faint again,” he muttered.

I noticed he had been watching me closely as I walked, staring at my feet to make sure I didn’t stumble. His arm twitched every time my toes got too close to the edge of a step. I wondered, if I tripped, would he throw himself down the stairs to catch me? I guessed he probably would, but I didn’t dare test him.

“You’re being dramatic,” I huffed as I rolled my eyes.

“I’m sorry for caring,” he groaned.

Dread filled my heart as we got closer to the end of the steps. Gazes slowly turned to us as if we were the main attraction of the evening, and it felt like their weight could have crushed my chest. All around the hall were men in tailored suits, women in jewel-toned gowns, drinking from, champagne flutes, mingling mindlessly, the creme de la creme of the local criminal nobility.

It wasn’t a world I felt a part of, it wasn’t a place that felt like home. Pablo swapped his cold pout for a beaming smile, let down his hovering arms and straightened his back. My fingers began to tremble and my lips started to quiver. Once again and more than ever, I wanted to run away and hide in my room. But I had been noticed by the crowd now, and there was no turning back.

“I look underdressed,” I whispered, nervously patting down the ruffles of my white toga dress.

“No you don’t,” he groused, and tugged on my hand. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

Gustavo stood right at the bottom of the steps, eagerly waiting for Pablo and me. Dressed in a classic tuxedo, with a warm smile on his face, he seemed more like a loyal butler than Pablo’s Head of Security.

“Bow-tie,” chirped Pablo as he patted Gustavo’s neck. “How cute.”

“I tried to make an effort,” he answered. “You should try it, some time. Button up your shirt, for a change.”

Before Pablo could answer, Gustavo pinched a single one of his chest hairs and plucked it. Watching the hairy beast’s demeanor go from unchecked arrogance to a pained wince drew a discreet smirk on my lips.

“Emilia, you look beautiful,” continued Gustavo as he turned his attention to me. “You shine brighter than all of this marble.”

I saw his hand reach towards mine, probably to give it a chivalrous kiss. I was uncomfortable enough without grown men licking my knuckles, and so I hid my hand in the crook of Pablo’s elbow.

“Thank you,” I whispered politely.

“Doesn’t she?” purred Pablo as he turned to me with a proud grin. “She looks just like one of my statues.”

“Yeah, she has the same nose as them,” giggled a high-pitched voice.

Pablo swiveled around to face a young woman, who had bleached blonde hair, puffy lips and big breasts that spilled out the top of her pink sequin dress. Even though she was perched up on top of her sparkly pleaser heels, her head barely reached halfway up my chest.

“Cassie! I didn’t see you were there,” he cheered as the young woman threw herself into his arms.

“All you had to do was look down,” chuckled Gustavo.

“Is this your girlfriend?” asked Cassie as she tore herself away from Pablo’s torso.

“Yes,” beamed Pablo as he proudly gestured in my direction. “This is the Emilia.”

“Wow,” she mumbled, as a haughty frown dug into her forehead. “Okay.”

As Cassie looked me up and down, I let my gaze lose itself in the distance, searching through the crowd for a distraction from this god-awful conversation. All the hags I’d met and that I had yet to meet, Cassie, Manée, Kait, June, they were all a bunch of rags cut from the same dirty cloth.

“What’s wrong?” scowled Pablo.

“I don’t know,” she said with a tight-lipped smile. “It’s just– she’s not really your type.”

Pablo slid his hand off of Cassie’s hip, and disdainfully wiped it on his pant leg. He looked down his nose at her and scoffed.

“How would you know, you ugly bitch?”

He briskly pulled me away from Cassie and Gustavo, and stomped out of the hall. I glanced over my shoulder as I stumbled in his wake. Pablo’s words echoed against the marble walls and the poor girl’s petrified face.

“Let’s go get you some dinner,” mumbled Pablo, the anger in his voice only half-concealed.

“Steak?” I sighed.

“No,” he said, and cracked a smile. “I’ve heard your plea. The menu’s changed.”

I almost drooled at the prospect of some new, tasty, top-quality meal. But when we got to the patio table, shoved in a corner between the snacks, the rum and the lemongrass candles, was a towering platter of oysters.

“Really Pablo?” I muttered. “Oysters?”

“Yes,” he gushed as he pulled out a chair for me. “I spent the whole morning trying to find them. I had to have them flown in. They’re delicious, and full of iron.”

I looked at Pablo’s cheerful smile, and back at the gooey-looking content of the seashells. I wondered for a while whether keeping him happy was worth guzzling down a good dozen of these shiny scoops of sea snot.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his head cocked to one side.

“I’ve never tried an oyster.”

“No way!” Pablo exclaimed. “I thought South Carolina was a great place for oysters.”

My eyes widened in panic as I checked around us for anyone who could be listening. I bit my lip and glared at Pablo, whose face slowly distorted as he realized he’d slipped up. Thankfully, it was just the two of us, alone on the patio. Our words were kept away from the rest of the world, drowned out by the sound of music growing louder in the distance.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been to South Carolina,” I lied, just in case. “It’s a bit far from New York, especially if you’re only going for the oysters.”

Pablo let out a nervous cough, and glanced at me with pleading eyes. I forgave him with a nod, and thus ended our wordless conversation.

“Do you mind if I steal one?” he asked, eyeing the oysters on the table.

“Steal as many as you want,” I shrugged.

“Thank you,” he grinned as he took one from the platter. “Well, Salud!”

I winced as I watched him slurp up the oyster directly from its shell, but quickly mimicked him. I must have pulled a face as I tried to swallow the thick, briny blob of goop, because Pablo began to laugh.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“It’s... very salty.”

“News flash Gordita, seafood tastes like the sea,” he chuckled.

“Honestly, I thought it would taste worse. It’s not awful, but it’s not my favorite.”

“Oysters are an acquired taste,” he shrugged with a cheeky grin. “You should try Romanov oysters, they’re delicious. If I can find some caviar I’ll-”

Pablo was interrupted by a strange noise that emerged from a dark corner of the garden.

“Brrrrrrr,” trilled Juan as he shuffled over towards me, and started to wave his phone around my head in a strange circular motion.

“What are you doing?” I sighed.

“Disturbing your brainwaves, Emily Smith.”

Pablo stifled a laugh, and I rolled my eyes at Juan Sandoval’s immeasurable stupidity.

“Very funny, but it only causes harm in the long term, so you’re not really doing anything,” I mumbled, and swatted his hand away.

“Then I’ll do it every day,” he answered with a shit-eating grin. “Hey Pablo, wanna play beer pong with me?

“Sure,” he answered, his face slowly emerging from behind his hands, “Go set it up, I’ll just be a second.”

He waved Juan off, and the dark-eyed dork happily ran away.

“Poor kid has been seven years old for the past twenty years. If I was his father, I’d be worried for him,” muttered Pablo. “Nevermind. Are you coming with me?”

“Thanks, but I’d rather just stay here and stare at the oysters,” I chortled.

“I understand,” he nodded, and swiftly stood up from his chair. “Just promise me you’re not going to drink any alcohol.”

I humphed as Pablo left a kiss on top of my head. He winked at me, grabbed another oyster from the platter, and disappeared in the same direction as Juan just had.

The party went on as I sat alone at my table. The music was now booming, with ground-shaking bass. Just around the corner, probably by the pool, fifty-something people either screamed or sang, laughed out loud and clinked their glasses, sometimes hard enough that I could hear them shatter.

The few times a face or two had walked by the patio, all I could see were the purest expressions of wonder, admiration, bliss and exultation. Yet, for once, I felt no envy - not for their sparkly jewelry and pretty clothes, neither for their innocent smiles and resonating laughter.

I didn’t want to party with these people. I wanted to stay alone at my table, hidden between a bowl of chips and a wine bottle, free from any attention, any questions, and any suspicion. Alas, the Gods who puppeteered my life clearly seemed to have a different intention.

“Hi Emilia,” said Hernan. “Why are you sitting here all alone?”

The unreadable look on his face and the blank expression of his gunmetal grey eyes made me shudder.

“Oh, I’m just a bit tired, so I’m taking some time by myself,” I answered politely.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled out the chair beside me and sat down. I gulped as I remembered Andrea’s warning. ′Hernan wants everything that Pablo has, so now that probably includes you’. It made me sick to my stomach.

“Not at all,” I said. I was a terrible liar, and I wondered if he noticed.

He grabbed an oyster from my plate. He never took his eyes off of me, even as he tossed the oyster down his gullet. I threw up in my mouth a little.

Hernan opened a bottle of tequila that had been left on a corner of the table, and poured us two shots.

“Oh, I’m not allowed to drink,” I said.

“Who says?” he answered.

“Pablo,” I stammered, “He’s, uh, he’s just scared I might faint again.”

“Well, Pablo doesn’t control you, does he?”

His tone was calm and poised, yet ice-cold enough that it sent shivers down my spine. He knew.

“No,” I breathed, and gave him a slightly uncomfortable smile.

He clinked his shot glass against mine, and we drank. Not even the fiery, acrid taste of white tequila running down my throat managed to take my mind off of the sheer fear Hernan had triggered within me.

“Have you seen your boyfriend?” he snorted. “That Cassie girl is all over him.”

I wondered for a second whether he was just lying to provoke me, or if Pablo and Cassie were really flirting. And then I remembered that it didn’t matter, and the only thing I should care about was my own survival.

“Who am I to stop him from doing the things he likes,” I shrugged.

“Do you think he would let you do the same?” he snickered.

I wasn’t completely sure, but it seemed like he inched closer to me with every passing second. Imperceptibly, I leaned away from him.

“I haven’t tried it yet, but I suppose he wouldn’t.”

“Yet?” Hernan said.

He licked his teeth like a predator cleaning his fangs, as he eyed the prey he was about to tear apart. Had I leaned any further back, I would have probably fallen off my chair. Did he think I was flirting? Was it my fault? How do I tell him I meant ′back the fuck off‘, and not ’door’s open, come on in’? If I told him I’m not interested, was he capable of hurting me?

“Is this the counterparty? Can I join?” asked Gustavo as he walked up to us.

The blood that had frozen over in my veins suddenly rushed to my cheeks. I could have cried, I could even have fainted then and there, expiring as I exhaled that breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Sure,” I said, and grinned as I tried to conceal the extreme amount of relief I was feeling. “Do you want some oysters?”

“Yummy,” he answered. “Don’t mind if I do.”

As his hand reached towards the platter, I noticed the mole between the base of his thumb and his index finger. I stopped myself from gasping out loud as I realized. His voice, his body, even his weird sense of humor - it all matched. Gustavo was the man I had met in the basement.

It made sense, of course. He was the Head of Security, thus it wasn’t surprising that he knew about me. I could have been weary of this piece of information, given that anyone who was involved in making me Pablo’s hostage was hardly my ally; yet it only added to my comfort. Not only did Gustavo just save me from Hernan’s advances, but I was also pretty confident that he wouldn’t ask me any bothersome questions.

“I’ll go see what’s happening by the pool,” muttered Hernan as he stood up and walked away.

“See ya’,” chirped Gustavo.

I dropped my shoulders and closed my eyes, taking a small moment to bask in the silence and my newfound peace of mind.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” I asked him after a short while.

“Oh I was over there with Pablo and all,” he shrugged, “But I was just walking by, and I saw you and Hernan sitting alone here so I thought I’d pop in and say hi.”

“Did Pablo send you on babysitting duty?” I sneered.

He chuckled nervously as he ran his fingers through his greying hair. Busted.

“He was a bit concerned when he saw Hernan walk over this way.”

“Rightly so. I think he thought I was flirting with him,” I sighed. “Andrea warned me, and I still managed to fuck it up.

“I’m sure you did just fine,” he answered softly. “It’s not your fault. He’s a pushy guy, we all know what he’s like.”

I nervously eyed my empty shot glass, as it crossed my mind that even if I didn’t get told off for flirting with Pablo’s arch-nemesis, I still might get in trouble for disrespecting the no-drinking rule.

“Are you alright?” asked Gustavo. “You seem nervous. Or bored. Can’t tell.”

“I just have a lot of things on my mind,” I mumbled. “Lots of doubts. Lots of questions.”

Gustavo scoffed anxiously. I must have somehow let him on that I knew who he was. Maybe it was something I said, or maybe I stared at his mole for a little too long. Perhaps he assumed I already knew.

“Keep the questions for another place and time,” he whispered. “Just let go of that for a bit. You’re allowed to relax. Do you want a drink?”

“But Pablo said-” I protested.

“Pablo tends to overreact a lot,” he shrugged. “Come on, I won’t snitch. Do you like rum?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gustavo gave me a genuine-looking smile, and reached over to grab a bottle.

“This one tastes like apples. Try it, it’s delicious,” he said as he poured me a generous-sized glass.

“Oh, it’s really sweet,” I gushed as I sipped up a bit of the tart drink. “I like it more than I liked the oysters.”

“Did you know I make my own rum?” he chatted cheerfully. “Well, I try, at least, but I haven’t mastered the craft yet. It doesn’t taste good.”

“Aw, I’m sure it tastes amazing.”

“You’re too kind, Emilia,” he smiled. “But no, it tastes like rocket fuel. Even Pablo won’t touch it, if that gives you an idea of how bad the taste is. I’m sure I’ll figure it out one day, but for the moment I infuse it with fruit to make it drinkable. I can try to find some if you want to try it. I gave Pablo a bottle a few weeks ago, I’ll check if he still has it.”

“Sure,” I said.

I smiled at him, not only out of politeness, but also from the genuine relief and happiness I felt, now that I was finally able to breathe. I sat back, enjoyed my drink, and shut out the rest of the world for a minute.

“You finished your glass already?” yelped Gustavo when he came back. “Slow down, young lady, that’s actual liquor. It’s not a cocktail or anything. It’s close to fifty percent alcohol or something.”

“Oh shit,” I gulped. “I didn’t realize. It tastes so good.”

“Yeah, it’s a little insidious. Drink this one slowly,” he kindly recommended as he poured me another glass.

As we both enjoyed a tangy glass of rum flavored with banana, vanilla and cinnamon, Gustavo began to explain the whole process of making rum, from how he extracted sugar cane pulp to how he chose the barrels he’d age his rum in.

His passion was endearing, but most of all, I was glad that for once, all I had to do was listen. I didn’t need to lie, and worry about whether I sounded convincing. Gustavo knew who I was, and didn’t feel the need to know more about me or my past identity. In fact, as Head of Security, having me talk as little as possible was his duty.

While he was telling me about the many dangers of methanol and everything he had to do to avoid getting some in his rum, Gustavo was interrupted by a young guy I’d never met, who peeked his head around the corner of the patio.

“What do you want, Guillermo?” groaned Gustavo.

“Emilia,” he stuttered. “I mean, they’re calling Emilia over there.”

“Who’s they?” I asked with a confused frown.

“Everyone,” he shrugged, nervously throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Everybody wants to meet you.”

With a discreet wink and a nod, Gustavo encouraged me to follow the boy. I did, but not before I internally cursed the entire crowd who’d called my name.

I walked around the corner, and the first thing I saw was Pablo. He sat on a sunbed, spreading his legs at an almost obscene angle, while a random, scantily-clad woman was settled on his lap, one arm wrapped around him. She threw her head back when she laughed at his jokes, and he smiled back at her with the same dimples and wrinkles he had when he smiled at me.

No matter how much I told myself that I didn’t love him, seeing Pablo with another woman hurt me in a way I wish it didn’t.

“Emily Smith!” cheered Juan as I walked up to the group of people who were standing by the edge of the pool. “Finally, our favorite wacky hermit comes out of her cave. Right on time for her piscinazo.”

“What’s a piscinazo?” I frowned.

“Hush, hush Baby Girl,” murmured Juan. “It’s fun, you’ll see.”

My heart dropped about a foot in my chest when I heard his words, and another foot lower when he stood behind me and wrapped me in his arms.

I immediately knew something was wrong, because the reason why Juan Sandoval was hugging me could only be either an idiotic or a dangerous one.

I expected a lashing out from either one of our partners, but everything seemed eerily calm. I looked at Pablo. He didn’t seem jealous. He looked at us with an amused grin. I searched for Manée. She was sipping on her drink at a glass table by the pool bar, whispering something to Andrea as she looked at us.

I breathed in deeply to try and chase off the weird feeling in my gut, and caught a whiff of Juan’s perfume. It was a musky, enthralling smell, a fresh masculine fragrance that made me melt a little into his arms.

“Emily Smith, stop sniffing me,” Juan whispered in my ear. “You’re making things weird.”

“What? I-”

“Just ask, honestly,” he whispered. “It’s Bleu de Chanel.”

I felt the warmth of his breath drip down my neck as he moved in closer. His arms drew tighter around my chest. Juan’s embrace managed to both cut my breath and send my heart racing.

“Guillermo,” said Juan to his friend. “Grab her legs.”

“What?” I cried, but it was too late to act.

Within a second, I was lifted off the ground, swung to one side, flung to the other, and thrown into the pool.

While the calm, bright blue water of Pablo’s swimming pool had seemed enticing as it twinkled softly under the golden glow of a couple strings of fairy lights, I didn’t agree to fall into it with a loud splash, right under the three dozen mocking gazes of haughty-looking partygoers.

“What the fuck was that about?” I hissed as I emerged, water dripping from my hair and the flattened ruffles of my white dress.

“Oh, just a little bit of light hazing,” he answered with a boyish grin.

Rather than grab the hand he had held out to help me, I yanked his arm with all my strength and pulled him into the pool. He fell headfirst into the cool waters, and if we didn’t have all the guests’ attention a few seconds ago, we most certainly had it now.

“Foul play, Emily Smith,” seethed Juan as he shook his soaking-wet hair. “My phone was in my pocket.”

“I’m just saving you from the 5G radiations,” I snickered.

“You should cover yourself, Emilia,” shouted Manée. “Your dress is transparent. Everyone can see your underwear. Or lack thereof.”

“Ha! Emilia No-Bra,” jeered Juan as I struggled to climb up the pool ladder while keeping my chest covered.

“Well thank God she’s not wearing a bra,” piped Andrea. “Her dress is like, off the shoulder on one side, so it wouldn’t be as pretty if you could see the straps.”

“She could have worn a strapless one,” shrugged Manée.

Pablo wrapped a towel around me as the people who surrounded us all stared at me, yet talked about me as if I wasn’t there.

“Emily Smith doesn’t need a bra,” said Juan, who was floating on his back in the pool. “She’s got no tits.”

“Let’s get you changed,” mumbled Pablo, leading me away from the judgemental masses and back into the house.

By the time I reached the top of the staircase, burning tears were streaming down my face.

“Gordita,” asked Pablo, “Why are you crying?”

“I just can’t take it,” I sobbed loudly, holding a hand over the scorching pain in my chest. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“What’s wrong?” he said. The worry in his voice seemed genuine, but his naivety wasn’t endearing - it was infuriating.

“Haven’t you noticed?” I wailed as I hurled down the corridor. “It’s fucking embarrassing. Everybody hates me.”

“They don’t hate you. They’re just bullies. Juan’s a moron and the girls are jealous.”

“Jealous?” I screamed. “If they fucking knew-”

“Gordita,” shushed Pablo. “Let’s talk about it in your room.”

I barged into my bedroom, and let myself fall on the bed. My drenched clothes let out a pathetic squish as I sat down, and the whimpers that escaped my lips sounded just as pitiful.

“Damn, Gordita,” muttered Pablo as he kicked around a bag that had tipped over and spilled out a crumpled-up pile of brand-new clothes. “You need to tidy your bedroom.”

“I haven’t had time to sort the clothes,” I sighed in between two painful sobs. “Andrea just bought everything since I couldn’t try anything on.”

Pablo searched around a couple of bags, dropping their contents onto the floor. Whatever it was he was looking for, he gave up after he looked through a third bag, and walked over to the bed with a dissatisfied grunt.

“Wear this one,” he said as he picked up a random red dress. “It looks pretty.”

“I don’t want to go back to the party,” I pouted.

“Then you’re letting them win,” he shrugged.

I sighed, and took the dress from his hands. As I began to wiggle out of my wet dress and pull it over my hips, I noticed Pablo’s cheeks blush just as he turned around.

Why was this man so eager to stuff his nose up a whore’s crack, yet the mere sight of the top of my thigh made him act as prudish as an old puritan lady? The sorrow in my heart fermented into anger.

“Why don’t you want to see me naked?” I blurted out.

“What?” stuttered Pablo as he whipped his head around. “What are you talking about?”

“Answer my question. Why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

“Well, first of all, those are two very different questions,” he muttered. “Second of all, why are you asking me this? Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Stop asking other questions,” I hissed. “Just tell me. Is it because I’m... unattractive or something?”

“How many drinks have you had?”

“Just answer my fucking question,” I seethed.

“Alright, then,” he shrugged. “Take your clothes off. Get on the bed. Let’s fuck.”

“What?” I stammered, as my head flushed with shame and panic. “No. No way.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t want to see you naked,” he frowned.

“What, is this about consent?” I scoffed. “Since when do you care about consent, Pablo?”

“Gordita, you’re clearly drunk,” he sighed. “Let’s have this conversation another day, please.”

I couldn’t wait for another day. I couldn’t even wait for another minute. I swung back and forth on the edge of my bed, trying to soothe myself with any tactic I could come up with or remember. But nothing seemed to work, nothing could calm me down and stop the pot from boiling over. I was tired of being ignored, kept in the dark, having my strings pulled and being treated like a damn joke.

“Did consent matter to you when you had me kidnapped?” I yelled.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, embarrassed and angry. But I had no time to worry about my damn captor’s emotions - I was in despair.

“Pablo, nothing about you or anything you do makes sense,” I seethed.

“Just tell me what you want to hear and I’ll say it to you,” he huffed.

“I just want to hear the truth.”

The wrinkles on his brow grew deeper, and I swear I could see his lip tremble. He took a deep breath, and wiped off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his clenched fist.

“Wanna hear the fucking truth?” he spat back. “Alright, you know what? For both your sake and mine, I wish I hadn’t met you.”

Over the past two weeks, I too had always told myself that I wished our paths had never crossed. But to hear Pablo say he felt the same way hit me like a dagger to the heart, and that was the moment I knew, I was truly lost.

Hazing

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