Perhaps she had ignored what I said, perhaps she just hadn’t heard. Perhaps she knew that running away was the right thing for me to do, but didn’t want to get involved. I wouldn’t have blamed her either way.

She’d slipped out of the room to start her day, at around 4 o’ clock in the morning. She’d walked back in, a few hours later, to leave my breakfast on the night table. She tried to be quiet so as to not wake me up, but my sleep had been scarce and light.

I stared at the walls of Mafer’s bedroom. In the early morning light, they looked lavender, but thankfully, when the daylight grew brighter, they turned a sterile shade of white.

I grabbed the silver cloche Mafer had left for me, and sat at a tiny desk in the opposite corner of the room. The morning menu was a pretty-looking but rather bland-tasting combination of overnight oats and fresh fruit.

I finished the meal quickly – the portions were rather small. I contemplated the empty plate for a while, wondering where on Earth they’d found such a tiny jar for the oats. The door opened without a knock.

“Hey Mafer,” I said, still fascinated by the jar.

“What are you doing here?” answered Pablo.

I whipped my head around to catch a glimpse of him, and the confused expression on his face.

“I slept here,” I muttered. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Pablo walked over to Mafer’s bed. He bent over to look at the pictures she’d hung up on the wall, touching them and staining them with his dirty fingers. He grabbed one of the little white flowers she’d left in a glass of water, and twirled it between his fingers.

“Don’t touch those,” I hissed. “They’re Mafer’s.”

“Well they’re in my house, so technically they’re mine,” he shrugged.

He walked over to me, crouched beside me and tucked my hair behind my ear. He gently slid the flower in the same spot, and caressed the grayish skin of my cheek. Blood froze in my veins when I felt his cold touch.

“It pains me to see you like this,” he whispered, tracing the curve of my eyebags with the tip of his thumb.

"You did this to me,” I spat.

“No,” he replied with a cold smile. “You did this to yourself. You never called for me, you never asked for my help. Had you asked–”

“My life doesn’t depend on you,” I interrupted.

He scrunched his eyebrows and gave me a wry smile. His lips were a sealed envelope, holding back a few hundred words to tell me why I was so terribly wrong. He didn’t have to speak them out. The look on his face hurt me all the same.

“Did you only come down here to wage another psychological war against me?” I seethed.

The corners of his mouth curled up, and it was as if he’d just twisted a knife in my wounds.

“No, actually,” he answered softly. “It’s almost 11AM and you still haven’t asked for a drink. I didn’t know if I should be worried that something’s wrong, or relieved that I’ve finally solved your drinking problem.”

“Give it a day or two and it’ll be right back,” I mumbled.

He let out a chuckle, and I felt ire shoot up my throat like a bad bout of heartburn. My fingers wrapped around the handle of my fork. Pablo didn’t even lower his eyes, but his hand slid over mine.

“Piña Colada?” he whispered.

“Sure,” I gulped.

•••

Pablo, you fucking traitor, I thought, as I took a sip of my ice-cold drink, and realized I couldn’t taste any rum.

I dragged myself out of Mafer’s room, with a heavy brow and an ungodly amount of hate weighing down my heart, looking for something to distract me from the stale taste of my cocktail, someone to take out all my troubles on, or some open door I could run out of.

The latter was a dream that was still a little out of reach. I was still too weak from a few weeks of starvation, still unable to walk down the entire hallway without taking a break, let alone run much further than the end of Pablo’s driveway.

Running away wouldn’t be as easy as walking through an open door. There were guards and cameras posted at every corner, probably even more now than there were when I first became Emilia. I needed a bit more energy, a solid strategy, and to plan things better.

The whole house seemed to want to push me out. The maid’s quarters were a dull place, and felt somehow even worse than the upper floor’s nauseating extravaganza. The harsh neon lights struck me like a migraine. Hospital-like odors floated in the air, something I could only describe as the smell of a clean death. The corridors were cramped, seemingly unending, lined with rows of doors, upon doors, upon doors leading to tiny rooms which couldn’t have been bigger than a closet. The whole place seemed to scream ‘get out’, ‘keep moving’, ‘get back to work’, as if it was designed to stop the maids from dilly-dallying.

So I did my own job, which was to figure out how I could get out of this hellish maze of tangled hallways. Roaming like a ghost in the empty halls of a haunted mansion, I checked every handle, on every door. Half of them were locked, the others led to empty bedrooms, all uninteresting and even less ornate than Mafer’s.

There weren’t just doors. There were iron gates, too, and those were a bit more fun. Some of them were padlocked, but some others I could open if I stuck my hand through the bars and pulled the latch from the other side. Behind them was always a dark stairwell, and a random room in a basement.

Some of those rooms were used for storage. Those were eerily quiet, filled with dusty boxes, broken furniture and stained mattresses. One of the rooms was a laundry room, with a few machines running and a single maid scrubbing mops in a concrete basin. Another must have been a kitchen, or at least that’s what I figured from the sounds of clattering pans and wafting smells of bacon. I didn’t go all the way down that staircase.

The next room was a pantry. There was something unnerving about that one – the way the neon lights clinked as they flickered on. The quiet hum of a freezer in the corner. The overwhelming guilt that I’d only wandered in here to see if I could steal some booze.

My eyes scanned the shelves, overflowing with canned foods, boxes of pasta and packs of biscuits. And then, in a heavenly corner of the pantry, I struck the jackpot: a stockpile of more bottles of alcohol than you could even think of.

I rummaged around until I found some white rum. I could steal the entire bottle – no one would miss it – and I’d have a few days worth of alcohol to help me cope with my misery. But if Pablo somehow caught me drinking, maybe he’d take away my bottle, and my virgin Piña Colada with it. If I just added a shot to top up my drink, no one would notice.

I chose to play it safe, and poured the rum into my drink. I took an extra swig straight from the bottle, but the taste reminded me of the last time I puked. I winced, gagged, coughed, and took a deep breath, but in the end, I was okay. I put the bottle back in its place, and went on my merry way.

I skipped up and down the hallways, aggressively sipping on my deflowered cocktail. Soon, my mind was both broken and tipsy, and my thoughts began to play off-key, like a kid’s toy with a dying battery.

I had a thirst for blood, a lust for a rampage, I even stopped apologizing when I bumped into the maids. I had a goal in mind: I needed to find Oso. He cared. He’d help. He wasn’t like Pablo – he’d believe me if I told him about Gustavo.

I stumbled upon a man in a tan shirt and cargo pants, standing at the corner between two corridors with his arms crossed. He looked as big as my bodyguard, and maybe even a little taller.

“Pst,” I called, lifting my head to look him in the eye. “Do you know Oso?”

“Yes,” he answered curtly.

“Is he here?” I asked as I chewed on the straw of my almost-empty drink.

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“Not here.”

He didn’t even look down in my direction, and didn’t seem in the mood for a conversation. Tough luck for him, I wasn’t in the mood for people who weren’t in the mood for a conversation.

“I have a question,” I chirped. “Do you have a gun?”

“Yes.”

“So cool,” I cooed. “Can you murder Pablo?”

He lifted one eyebrow, and finally tore his empty gaze away from the hallways, and settled his eyes on me. He looked dumbfounded for a second, before he answered in a softer tone:

“No.”

I sighed.

“You’re fucking useless,” I slurred, before I turned on my heels and walked away.

I frolicked in the hallways for maybe a few hours more. I’d reach one end, do a little pirouette, and start walking to the other side of the house. Soon my drink was empty, and the only way for me to soothe my frustration was to stab the half-melted ice cubes left at the bottom of my empty glass.

A heavy hand grabbed me by the shoulder and twirled me around. I found myself face-to-face with Pablo’s face, twisted in a disapproving frown.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked.

“Yeah. A Piña Colada,” I said, raising my empty glass and stuffing it in his face. “Duh.”

“That doesn’t have any alcohol,” he mumbled. “Why are you acting drunk?”

“Well, you gave me a mint Tic-Tac, and I thought I was going to die. The power of the mind can be very powerful,” I sneered, as I tapped the side of my temple.

He scrunched his nose, as if he was irritated by the sound of my nonsense.

“Let me smell your breath,” he muttered, and leaned over.

“Ew,” I winced, pushing his face away. “That’s kind of gross.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at me.

“Gordita, what are you doing?” he hissed. “What are you still doing down here?”

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” I drawled.

“You’re bothering the maids,” he grumbled.

“And you’re bothering me."

“Come up to the garden,” Pablo said softly, shifting his tone and his strategy. “It’s nice and sunny outside.”

“No.”

“You can take a dip in the pool. And the Sandovals aren’t here.”

I shook my head so hard it made the ice cubes jingle inside of my glass.

“What would make you happy?” he sighed.

“Wrapping my hands around your neck and strangling you to death,” I answered in a single breath.

Pablo raised his eyebrows, and took half of a step back.

“Uh, what about a little cocktail?” he suggested.

“With alcohol in it?”

“No. You’ve obviously had enough.”

I narrowed my eyes, and stared deep into his.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbled.

“Just a tiny splash,” I pleaded.

“Teeny tiny,” he answered, holding up his finger and his thumb to illustrate.

“Like your dick,” I snickered.

He cocked his head to the side and gave me a disapproving look, but I noticed the small smirk at the corner of his lips.

“You couldn’t handle a drink that size,” he said.

“Try me,” I drawled. “I bet I can g–”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” interrupted Pablo as he gently covered my mouth with the palm of his hand. “And I’ll see you in the garden.”

He bowed his head as a farewell, and disappeared around a corner. I walked the other way, back to Mafer’s room to take a quick shower and lament about how much I hated Pablo, but would still need to spend time with him if I wanted that damn drink.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Mafer stumbled in, dragging three large laundry bags behind her.

“Hi Emilia,” she panted. “I just brought you some of your clothes. It’s not all of them, because I don’t think they would fit in here, but there should be a little bit of everything you might need.”

“How do you do this?” I gasped. Once again, Mafer had pulled her amazing magic trick where she guessed exactly what I needed, even before I could think of it myself. “I was just about to go look for a swimsuit.”

“It’s my job, Seño,” she shrugged humbly.

“God, you’re amazing,” I giggled, as I started to pick through the bags.

Mafer and I took some time to pick the right bikini. One that looked nice, not too skimpy, and still fit my body. We had lunch on her bed, a salad with tons of fresh avocado, played a few games of Tic-Tac-Toe, and she told me all about how Majo and Luisa had fallen out over their crush on the same bodyguard, and that the fight had ended with tears and mayhem when Majo started throwing vegetables at Luisa.

I’d waited a few weeks to see the light of day. Pablo could wait a few hours to see my face. Once I’d changed into the bikini and a sheer cover-up, I allowed myself another detour to the pantry to steal one last swig of rum.

•••

“And one mojito for the pretty lady.” Pablo smiled as he handed me my drink.

He’d made no snarky comments about how long I’d taken to arrive. He’d complimented my outfit and given me a kiss on the cheek. He’d asked if I wanted help applying my sunscreen, and didn’t frown when I said I didn’t need him. He’d held my hand as I settled down on the flamingo floaty, and gave me a little push to send me peacefully gliding across the crystalline pool.

It was a clear round for Pablo, who had acted so gallantly that I’d almost forgotten how much I hated his guts. I took a small sip of my drink.

“Pablo, is this a virgin mojito?” I frowned.

“Nope,” he answered as he sat down at the edge of the pool. “It has a dash of rum.

“A micropenis-sized dash of rum,” I muttered.

“Gordita,” he answered with a grin. “You know I’m not going to give you more alcohol just so you say that I have a big dick.”

“Shit,” I hissed.

I soaked in the sunlight, and enjoyed my cocktail. Disappointing amounts of booze aside, it did taste pretty good. I knew this would be one of the days I’d miss, once I left this place. The singing birds, the sparkling swimming pool, the warm weather, the good food and the bottomless drinks. Those were nice things for sure, but I had to remind myself, they were no match for freedom and a life free of death threats.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, wiping a drop of beer off his lips with the back of his hand.

“Mac n’ cheese.”

“What?” he chortled. “Don’t you want something fancier?”

“I want the world’s fanciest mac n’ cheese.”

“Alright. World’s fanciest mac n’ cheese,” he shrugged. “Can I get you anything else?”

“What’s with all the favors, Pablo?”

“What favors?” he muttered, and scratched the nape of his neck. “I always treat you like this.”

I blew a raspberry, and he bit his lip.

“Well, since it’s such a warm day,” I grinned. “Go get a tiny fan with led lights and hold it near my head to keep me cool.”

“I don’t have a tiny fan with led lights,” he deadpanned.

“Then a big palm tree frond should do the trick,” I sighed.

This was the life I deserved – minus everything toxic. A drink in my hand, the sun on my skin, a grown man waving a big leaf at me to create a fresh breeze. The sight of this surreal scene put a smug grin on my face, and I couldn’t get rid of it. I wouldn’t get much of these luxuries once I went back to a normal life. I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

After the sunset had painted the sky strawberry pink, the air was a little cooler. I released Pablo from his duty as a human fan, and he scuttled into the kitchen to cook our dinner.

I caught the odd glimpse of him, when the flamingo float turned in the right direction. I saw his silhouette run back and forth through the kitchen window, before he set up a few dozen candles to light up the patio. Finally, he walked out with a steaming dish of mac n’ cheese, and waved me over with a childlike glee.

It’s funny how even the worst of men can look so harmless, when they’re wearing oven mitts.

I climbed out of the pool, dried myself with a soft towel, threw on my cover-up and walked over to the table. By the time I got there, Pablo had ditched the silly gloves and had pulled out my chair.

“So, it’s all homemade,” he explained excitedly. “With fresh macaroni and real cheddar. I added some colby jack, and some crispy bacon. I hope that makes it fancy.”

“The parsley’s a nice touch,” I giggled as I poked the leaf he’d carefully placed on top of the dish.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Well, I haven’t tasted it yet.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you a bigger portion,” he murmured as he served me a plate. “It’s still not safe for you to eat too much.”

Thank you, Pablo, for reminding me that you almost starved me to death, I said to myself as I swallowed a mouthful of macaroni.

It tasted bittersweet. Not literally – but it reminded me of our first so-called dates. The steak and pasta. The ceviche tostadas. Happily singing ‘if you like piña coladas’.

I wished Pablo could have been a better man. Surely, he would have made a lucky woman a happy one too. That woman wouldn’t be me. I couldn’t fix him, not even in my dreams.

“It’s pretty good.” I smiled sweetly.

He returned the favor, with sparkly eyes and his lovable dimples. That just made the ache in my heart hurt a little more.

“No wine?” I asked.

“I don’t know any good wine pairings for mac n’ cheese,” he chuckled.

“What about a Chilean merlot?”

“Since when do you know anything about wine?” he asked, almost choking on his food.

“I don’t,” I shrugged. “I just read it once on a nice bottle.”

“You’ve been drinking all day,” he mumbled.

“Just one last drink.”

A doe-eyed gaze managed to convince him. He sighed, smiled, and called over the maid so he could ask for the bottle.

Pablo must have thought that crushing me with love, and attention, and everything I could ever wish for, would make me stay willfully by his side.

Pablo was wrong. The only lesson I’d learned was that I had the upper hand. I could try to escape, I could even fail a few times more. Pablo would never have me killed, and I had nothing to lose but my life. That thought filled me with an unlikely peace of mind, and only made me want to run away even more.

Our dinner ended a little late at night. Pablo walked me back to the maid’s quarters. I was still uneasy about sleeping alone, and my choice of roommates was limited to either Mafer or Pablo. It wasn’t a difficult decision. He left a kiss on my cheek when I wished him a good night.

As soon as I walked into the bedroom, Mafer shot up from the air mattress she’d set up for herself, and wrapped her arms around me. She didn’t greet me with a smile, but with a wide-eyed, blank expression.

“I heard what he did to you,” she said.

“The fancy mac n’ cheese?” I giggled, as I shut the bedroom door.

“No, the– what happened in the room,” she stuttered. “These past few weeks.”

“Oh,” I breathed, and I pathetically dropped onto her bed.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, as she sat down by my side.

“It’s okay,” I answered, playing with a strand of her silky hair. “It wasn’t your fault.”

We held each other tight, basking in the heavy silence. The lights outside the room turned off, the click of their switch echoing in the empty hallways. The entire house fell quiet.

“Are you still planning on leaving?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I answered quietly. “As soon as I figure out how.”

She took a deep breath, and looked nervously around the bedroom. She turned to me and leaned closer to my ear, and she uttered:

“I think I can help you.”

“No, Mafer,” I answered under my breath. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said, anxiously sucking on her bottom lip. “As long as you don’t get caught.”

One Last Drink

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