The bottle shattered into a million shiny pieces, and Pablo crashed against the door. His eyes never closed, but he fell limp to the floor.

Even before my sight could focus, even before I could take a breath, I was running down the corridor, teetering on top of my frail legs, powering off of every single drop of strength and adrenalin I had left.

I hadn’t hit Pablo hard enough. I could hear him gargling in pain, moaning in confusion, splashing as he struggled to stand up in a growing puddle of water. He called my name out three times. The first time as a question, the second as a cry, the last as a raging bellow, that echoed through the hall.

The paintings hanging in the hallway looked like a blur, their colors splattered like vomit on a backdrop of terracotta walls. I was already dry heaving, from primal fear and from exhaustion, and I was only on the third floor.

I burst through the corridor, bolted down marble stairways, blinded by the harsh daylight reflecting on pristine white stones all around me. There were only a few dozen steps standing between me and freedom. That, and three guards, standing by the heavy front door.

I jumped over the handrails just as the men threw themselves at me. I kicked, and punched, and thrashed like a madwoman to keep them away, expecting to be grabbed, tackled, body-slammed onto the cold tiles by one of the colossal guards, but as I darted in the kitchen, crashing my way through the door, I realized they hadn’t followed me.

I froze in my tracks, and looked over my shoulder. The guards were gone. I wondered if I’d lost my mind. Where was I going? What was I doing? Why was I stopping?

Cold sweats rolled down my temples. A second ago, the guards were right behind me, and now Pablo must have been right on my heels. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to make a move, not even a single step. If the cats had stopped chasing the rat, it might have been because they knew there was a bigger beast waiting on the other side of the fence.

I stood still for a few seconds, trying to catch my breath and a glimpse of the quiet garden through the kitchen windows. Slowly, and anything but surely, I walked into the lion’s den.

“Emilia!” shouted a high-pitched voice. “You’re back!”

Such a joyful tone shouldn’t have brought me to the brink of tears. For once, someone was happy to see me. That someone was Andrea, with a glass of white wine in her hand, perfect curls blissfully bouncing around her face, wearing a dress so short that Oscar had to tug on its hem when she stood up to stop her from exposing herself.

Gazes slowly lifted, shifting from Andrea’s round butt to my startled face. I stared back at them. Everyone was there, except Pablo. I recognized some of the faces, although there were a couple I didn’t know. About a dozen people sat around the table on the patio, and had apparently just finished their lunch. Among them, I saw Oscar, Beto Arias, Hernan and Juan Sandoval, Manée, and obviously, Gustavo.

“Look at that,” croaked the latter with a fake smile. “We have a revenant.”

“Don’t listen to him,” tutted Andrea. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” I answered with a weak smile.

I nervously tugged on a knot at the back of my hair. The frilly sweater I’d thrown on, as I planned this hopeless attempt at an escape, did little to hide how malnourished I looked.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

I gave her a blank stare. So that was the excuse they used to make me disappear. Emilia went on a vacation and she won’t be coming back. Just like when you tell the kids that the family dog went to live on a farm, so you don’t have to tell them their Dad accidentally ran it over with the car this morning and now it’s dead.

“It was awful, actually,” I answered sternly, glaring right at Oscar, since he was the only one of Pablo’s men that I dared to look in the eyes. “I won’t be going back anytime soon.”

“Well, welcome back, Emily Smith. Glad to see you’re still as weird as always,” Juan snickered.

“Where were you going in such a hurry?” said Andrea, gently brushing the sweaty baby hairs that had stuck to my forehead.

For the Love of God, Andrea, please shut the fuck up, I thought. I gave her a tight-lipped smile to stop myself from saying it out loud.

“Right here. I was going right here,” I squeaked. “I was just... really excited to see you guys.”

Beto masked his nervous grimace with a weird smile. Gustavo almost choked on his last mouthful of rice. Oscar stayed quiet, while a deep frown grew across his brow.

“Where’s Pablo?” he asked, after what seemed like the longest second to have ever passed.

“He’s upstairs, uh, helping me with all my suitcases,” I stuttered. A few discreet and worried glances bounced around the table.

“Does he need any help?” fretted Oscar.

“No,” I breathed. “No, he’s fine.”

Truth was, I hoped Pablo wasn’t fine, and he’d either bleed out, or pass out face down in the puddle and drown. I’d get a tiny bit of justice if Pablo died alone, in the same exact spot where he’d left me to suffer a slow death.

“Have a seat, Emilia,” Gustavo told me. He pointed to the only free chair, which was right between him and Oscar.

I didn’t want to sit. I just wanted to leave. I knew I was doomed if I stayed, but I was also doomed if I ran. Guards showed up in the garden like stars in the night sky. The more you looked, the more you saw.

My escape was over, and it felt like a door had closed, even though it probably was never open. My legs were growing weaker by the second, just as my mind was, and I reluctantly sat down beside Gustavo.

I leaned my legs away from him, silently praying that I wouldn’t end up with another one of his dirty hands resting on my knee. I stared at the plate in front of me. To anyone, it would have looked empty, but to me it was tantalizing. I dreamed of feasting on the crumbs, and leftover grains of rice, finishing the scraps of chicken hanging from bare bones, and licking the drops of sauce smeared across the porcelain.

The conversations went on, seemingly so innocent. Talks of flower arrangements, pretty churches and whoever was the country’s best caterer contrasted greatly with the usual chit-chat about drugs, fancy weapons and beheaded farmers.

I could tell things weren’t so quiet as they seemed on the surface. I could see it, in the ice-cold glances the men seldom exchanged, in the tense veins bulging from their throats, at the way Oscar kept checking the hour on his phone.

It felt like one of those tense scenes in movies, where people are sharing drinks and pretending to have a friendly conversation, when in reality they’re all pointing guns at each other right beneath the table. I didn’t dare peek under the tablecloth to check if that was true, but I figured that if it was, all the barrels would be pointing in my direction.

It took a few minutes for Pablo to appear. When he finally did walk out onto the patio, he was stumbling, and had a thin, crimson streak of blood trickling from his brow.

“God damn, Pablo, what took you so long?” laughed Hernan. “How much baggage did she bring?”

“Baggage? What baggage?” mumbled Pablo as he rubbed his temple.

“Are you bleeding?” asked Juan.

Pablo dabbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“I am?” he said, and he lifted his head up. “Wait, why the fuck is she here?”

Faces turned pale, and I sank into my seat. He was staring right at me. Oscar too, and he would have strangled me with his eyes if he could.

“Why are your clothes so wet?” frowned Andrea.

“I was, uh, fixing a leak. There’s a– a pipe that burst,” he stammered. “But that’s not the question, is it– is that Gordita?”

“Are you on drugs?” Juan asked him.

“Which ones?” he slurred.

“Are you alright?” worried Oscar.

“How did she get here?” said Pablo, a crooked and bloody finger pointing in my direction.

“Well, uh, your driver picked me up at the airport,” I scrambled to answer.

“Airport?” he sputtered.

“Where planes land,” I said, and immediately bit my tongue.

“Why were you at the airport?”

“Jesus Christ,” whistled Juan. “He’s lost his last brain cell.”

“Did you hit your head?” asked Gustavo.

“I think I slipped or something,” he muttered.

Oscar stood up to help his brother, and settled him down in the chair next to me. Pablo stared at me wide-eyed, his face so close to mine that I didn’t dare take a breath.

“He could have a concussion,” said Hernan. “Have you called a doctor?”

“I’ll text the medic,” mumbled Oscar as he frantically began to type out a message on his phone.

“To check on Emilia?” Pablo panted.

“To check on you,” Hernan answered.

“You should see a doctor,” Pablo said as he turned to me. “You look terrible.”

My fear meddled with rage, and I struggled to contain both of those overwhelming emotions.

“Doctor’s on his way,” muttered Oscar.

“I’ll be fine,” groused Pablo, as he patted down his messy hair. “It’s just a little bump.”

He slid his arm around my shoulders, and my whole body ached to slip away from his grasp. The feeling of his fingers on my arm burned holes into my skin. I felt sick to my stomach just from seeing his face again, and meanwhile, Pablo pretended that nothing had ever happened.

“Juan’s had a bunch of concussions,” said Hernan. “You should recover fine with a bit of rest.”

“I agree,” added Gustavo. “Maybe it’s best if we cancel the plans for tonight, then.”

“Right,” Hernan nodded. “I think we’ll head home and let you sort this out.”

As the guests began to leave, my heart started to pound in my chest. For once –and probably for one time only– the Sandovals were my lifeline. Pablo’s men couldn’t hurt me while Hernan and Juan were watching. It would raise their suspicions as to what I’d done to deserve it, and risk uncovering the whole ransoming scheme that the Sandovals had been left out of.

“Wouldn’t it be better for Pablo to have some company?” I dared to speak up, but when eyes turned towards me, my voice trailed off. “Maybe he wants, uh– like, support, and love, and stuff.”

“Don’t worry Gordita, you’re the only company I need,” Pablo drawled.

He had a wry smile that sent shivers down my spine. I wondered if he was more clear-minded than he was showing.

“Juan, can you drop Andrea off at home?” said Oscar.

Within a few minutes, all the guests had left the patio, leaving behind nothing but the echoes of ‘Get well soon, Pablito’.

I felt lonelier now, surrounded by a dozen hostile men, than I’d ever felt during those few weeks I spent locked in my room, deprived of any human contact.

The doctor finally arrived. He took Pablo inside the house, and Oscar followed, leaving me alone with Beto and Gustavo. Pearls of sweat curled up around my hairline.

“You know, Emilia, the Sandovals aren’t going to save you,” murmured Gustavo. “If we wanted to get rid of you, we’d just tell them you are a spy, and they’d gladly join in. You’ve done a great job to set that scene, by the way.”

He gently patted the back of my hand, and flashed a toothy grin at me. I felt naked, not just from how his peering eyes seemed to be undressing me, but also from the way it felt like he could read right through me.

“No te emociones, Gustavo, ya sabes que no puedes hacer nada sin que lo diga Pablo,” muttered Beto.

Don’t get excited, Gustavo. You know that you can’t do anything until Pablo asks us to.

“No estoy emocionado,” he replied. “Solo la estoy advirtiendo.”

I’m not excited. I’m just warning her.

I didn’t move until Pablo came back. Not a single twitch of the finger, barely a blink of the eye. As if standing as still as a statue was the only thing that stopped Gustavo from pouncing on me like a wild animal.

“Everything’s fine, it’s just a mild concussion,” cheered Pablo when he walked out a few minutes later. “Doctor says I’ll only take a few days to recover.”

He sat down next to me, and stared me up and down.

“Oscar, grab her one of those hangover drinks,” he said.

“I’m not hungover,” I mumbled.

“You need electrolytes.”

“I need food, Pablo,” I seethed.

“If you eat too much after you’ve been starving you can die,” he told me, an almost snarky tone in his voice. “It’s called refeeding syndrome.”

“Who cares,” I spat. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Darling, if we were planning on killing you, we would have done it already,” he said softly.

Anger bubbled up in my chest, like a raging fire tearing through my lungs.

“You starved me to death,” I hissed.

“Obviously not to death, since you’re still alive.”

“I could have died, though,” I muttered.

“Not really, other people have survived for much longer than that,” shrugged Pablo. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Don’t fucking pretend like you weren’t trying to kill me,” I muttered. “You gave me cyanide.”

Pablo threw his head back in laughter, and looked at his men, who’d been standing still and quiet this whole time.

“I told you she wouldn’t even touch it,” he giggled, before turning back to me. “That was a mint Tic-Tac.”

The shit-eating grin smeared across his face did nothing but add insult to injury. I held back my tears, as crying would just make it more humiliating. Pablo had tortured me for weeks, throttled my hopes and broken my mind, with nothing more than a mint Tic-Tac.

“What was the fucking point, Pablo?” I exploded.

He leaned in closer to me, hardly moved by my reddened eyes and the desperate cracks in my voice.

“The point was for you to understand, if you fuck with us, you pay the price,” he spat. “Now you know what happens, and next time, we won’t be so nice.”

“Nice?” I cried. “This was nice?”

“Well if you can’t handle me at my best, then you don’t deserve me at my worst, Gordita,” he shrugged.

A heavy silence ensued, and the four men stared at me, as if they were waiting for me to fall apart. Oscar seized the occasion to give me a bottle of something apple-flavored. I stared at it for no more than a second before I opened it and took a long gulp. My throat was parched, and even if they had poisoned that liquid, I would have welcomed the easy way out.

“Anyways,” sighed Pablo. “I think we can all agree that she has learned her lesson, and now she won’t try anything stupid ever again. Right, Gordita?”

“Right,” I breathed.

“I just have one question,” muttered Gustavo. “How the fuck did she get out?

“To be honest, I don’t remember anything that happened after they told me about the leak,” Pablo frowned. “What say you, Gordita?”

Someone who’d learned her lesson wouldn’t have smashed a bottle on her kidnappers head and tried to escape. Someone who hadn’t learned her lesson would probably be thrown back in the room until she’d suffered enough to understand the consequences of her actions.

A lie wasn’t easy to pull off, but it was the only chance I had.

“Pablo let me out,” I mumbled.

“Really? Why?” Gustavo pursed his lips.

“Because...” I stuttered, as fear strangled my vocal cords. “Because I begged him. I promised that if he’d let me out, I’d never try to run again.”

“Sounds about right,” replied Pablo, who clapped his hands with a satisfied smirk. “Once again, everything went according to my plan, and any dumbasses who didn’t trust me can shut up and go fuck themselves.”

“You could have warned us, Pablo,” said Oscar.

“Didn’t I? I must have forgotten,” he shrugged. “Silly me.”

“Are you sure she didn’t knock you out?” questioned Gustavo. “Because that could explain the concussion.”

“Knock me out?” scoffed Pablo. “Have you seen her? She couldn’t knock over a house of cards if she round-kicked it.”

“Well, you were healthy enough to run, weren’t you, Emilia?”

I took a sip of my drink to give myself some time to think of a convincing lie.

“I wasn’t running,” I said. “I was just walking really fast.”

Pablo let out a quiet, disappointed tut, and I bit my lip. That was a terrible answer, I’ll admit it.

“If she was trying to escape, she wouldn’t have gone through the garden,” added Pablo. “She’s not that stupid.”

Our gazes crossed in a tense instant. If Pablo knew I was lying, then this was a backhanded insult. And if it was an insult, then I guess I deserved it.

Gustavo raised his eyebrows, tilted up his chin, and concluded the conversation with an unconvinced nod.

“So, that problem is solved,” Pablo yawned, and kicked his feet up on the table, almost knocking over a few empty glasses. “Now, if you’d all be so nice and leave me to relax before you give me any further brain damage.”

The men stood up, and so did I.

“Not you, Gordita,” he muttered.

I sat back down, and let out a heavy sigh.

“We haven’t seen each other in so long,” he said as he watched while the others walked away. “I thought you’d want to spend some time together.”

“You locked me in a room and left me to starve,” I hissed. “What the hell do you expect?”

“And you hit me on the head with a bottle,” he shrugged. “I consider that debt to be settled.”

Pablo’s words left me breathless, dumbfounded and with my mouth hanging wide open. Speaking of debt, if I had kept count of all the breaths he’d stolen from me, for better or for worse, and made him pay back for every single one, I could have easily choked him to death.

“So you know I tried to escape,” I whispered.

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes. “I might not remember walking up to your room, but I do have a very clear memory of finding myself confused, surrounded with broken glass, with the worst headache ever and a missing girl. Doesn’t take long to piece everything together.”

He nonchalantly picked up a cigarette from a pack laying on the table, and stuck it between his lips. He offered me one, and I declined, with a faint shake of the head and a loud gulp.

“Are you going to lock me up again?” I asked, with a trembling voice.

He paused, and flicked on his lighter.

“Should I?” he asked me.

“I won’t do it again,” I murmured. “I swear to you. I promise I’ve learned my lesson.”

My pitiful submission must have flattered his ego. He smiled, and slowly inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. He licked his lips, probably feasting on the taste of victory.

“Well, I hope so,” he chortled. “If you keep acting like this, I might have to keep you on a leash.”

I stayed silent, and brought a shaky hand to my neck.

“I’m just joking,” he added. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

“You’re an asshole, Pablo.”

“Ay Gordita, you’re a tough one to crack,” he sighed.

“So are you,” I muttered.

“Ha, that’s a good one,” he snickered. “I bet you wish you’d hit a little harder, though.”

It would have killed me inside to tell him I didn’t, and he would have killed me if I told him I did. Silence wasn’t the best answer either, but it was the only one I could come up with.

•••

It was well into the night. Pablo had gone to bed early, just as the doctor had recommended, and I was still sitting in the garden, with no other company than a few hundred fireflies, moths and crickets.

I had been given a small plate of eggs and refried beans, and was instructed to eat it slowly. I thought I would have devoured it, but anxiety had my stomach churning, and it took me a few hours to finish it.

A young maid –I think she might have been Majo– had brought my plate several times back to the kitchen for it to be reheated. She had sighed every time I had asked her for the favor, each time a little louder. That’s definitely Majo.

It was a little cold outside, but I didn’t feel like going back inside the house. I needed fresh air, a soft breeze in my hair, and anything but four walls around me.

For what must have been the fifteenth time that evening, a maid walked out onto the dim-lit patio, and I was almost excited to announce to Majo that my plate was finally empty, but this maid wasn’t Majo. Majo’s uniform was mint-green, and this one was baby blue.

I recognised the girl at the very same moment she recognised me. She dropped the silver tray she was carrying, which thankfully was empty. It crashed loudly to the ground, and the echoes of clattering metal hadn’t yet faded, that she had already thrown herself into my arms.

“Emilia!” cried Mafer.

The warmth of her embrace was my true liberation. It was better than the wind’s caress on my face, than the fresh grass between my toes. It was better than crossing the door of my lavender-walled jail cell, better than smashing a bottle on the back of Pablo’s hard skull.

Mafer’s arms were a place that felt like home. She still wore the same perfume, the one that smelled like warm vanilla cupcakes. Her hair was still as soft as silk, her crooked smile still as bright as the moon above us, and it all brought me back to the memories of better days.

She tore herself away from me to look me in the eye, and starlit tears were running down her cheeks. I let out a weird sound as I let her go, half a whimper and half a sigh of relief. A huge weight had been lifted off my chest, a weight that had been crushing my heart. There was still someone out there who cared about me.

“Emilia, what happened?” she whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“It’s alright,” I sniffed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m okay now.”

I wasn’t okay just yet, and I’d probably never be, but I was at least much better now that Mafer was with me.

“Why are you out here?” she asked softly. “You’re going to catch a cold. And you need to rest, you look exhausted.”

“I was just about to go back inside.”

“Let’s get you to your room,” she murmured, her hand gently holding mine.

“I don’t really want to go to my room,” I mumbled.

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “I spent the whole afternoon cleaning it.”

“I’m sorry Mafer. I don’t think I can ever step in there again.” I grimaced with guilt at her sparkly eyes. “But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll find another room to sleep in.”

“With Mr. Juarez?” she asked.

“Hell no,” I laughed bitterly. “Anything but that.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. A small wrinkle dug into her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Emilia. I didn’t– I mean, I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I didn’t know it was this bad. Will you be fine on your own?”

I wanted to nod and tell her I was fine, but my true feelings took over. Instead, I shook my head, and my eyes began to water.

“Oh Emilia,” she whispered. “Listen, you should stay in my bedroom, in the maids quarters, you can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor–”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me, Emilia,” she said. “I’d rather sleep on the floor than leave you alone.”

I figured she was right. I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes if I found myself alone in the house, so I agreed, less reluctantly than I’m willing to admit.

Mafer quickly cleared the dinner table, ending her duties for the night, and took me down to the maid’s quarters, down in the house’s basement. Her bedroom was small, and rather empty, decorated with a few pictures of her family and three gardenias in a glass of water. It wasn’t dilapidated, but it was far from the luxury of the upper floors.

Mafer tucked me into bed, brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, and threw a blanket where she was planning on laying down.

“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” I whispered. “I feel bad for letting you sleep on the floor.”

“It’s ok,” she answered. “You need it more than I do”

“Alright. I’m sorry, Mafer. I’ll try not to squat here for too long,” I chuckled under my breath.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find you another room really soon,” she reassured me.

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” I answered quietly. “I’m leaving this place as soon as I can.”

A Tough One to Crack

0 Comments