Praise Mafer and her little piece of paper for bringing me good luck.

I didn’t walk past a single soul on my way down to the pantry. I cradled my backpack against my hip like a small toddler, always keeping it between me and the closest wall, just out of sight from the cameras.

All this ‘pretending to be a spy’ thing had turned out to be good training. I’d taken the role to heart, even when Juan wasn’t watching. My steps were quieter, my senses were heightened, and I’d learned all the guards’ habits and the locations of each camera, even those that were well hidden.

I was an expert at looking suspiciously unsuspicious. It was like a skeleton key. I could walk down any hallway, open any door, and no one would bat an eye. The guards had stopped caring about my comings and goings a while ago, as long as I remained inside the house.

I’d walked out the front door once, a couple days ago, just to see what would happen. The guy guarding it on the outside had coughed loudly, cocked his gun, and opened the door again as a relatively polite way to usher me back inside. The look on his face was stern, but I could have sworn there was a glint in his rolling eyes telling me ‘Nice try’.

If someone saw me reaching my arm through the iron-wrought gate that framed the way down to the pantry, they’d just assume I was going down there to steal some booze again. Had my backpack not already been ripping at the seams, they’d probably thought I was planning on bringing a few bottles back up with me.

If Oso could see me now, he’d be proud.

Oso. My heart sank a little when I thought of him, and my hand tightened around the handrail of the pitch-black staircase. I asked Pablo where he’d sent him, extorting pieces of information out of him whenever he was drunker than usual, by laying my head on his shoulder or kissing the edge of his jaw.

I learned that he’d recently been appointed as the delegate Head of Security of one of Pablo’s lesser-used houses. Officially, it was a promotion, for his long and loyal years of service. Informally, it was because I no longer needed a personal bodyguard, since I was back in some sort of home arrest. Secretly, I believed it was because Pablo didn’t want to deal with what would happen if Oso ever found out what they’d done to me.

Or perhaps it was just another form of punishment for me– taking away one of the people I trusted the most. Now I only had Mafer left, and I shuddered every time I wondered what might happen to her if I got caught.

I stopped in my tracks, once again, basking in the rumbling silence of the pantry. Turn back; it’s not worth it, said a voice in my head. Mafer had insisted time and time again that I shouldn’t worry about her, that there was nothing that could incriminate her, that she was really good at lying and she’d easily convince them that I acted alone. But that was before she’d given me her watch, and before I packed her little note.

10:55 PM.

I gave myself twelve seconds to make my mind up. Enough to inhale, count to four, hold my breath for four seconds more, then exhale, and again, count to four.

I wanted to go. I needed to go. There was only so much pressure, fear and torture I could handle before I’d be crushed and turned to dust. That slim awning window in a corner of the pantry, my only way out, was my last glimmer of light in all of this darkness.

I glanced at the shelf on the opposite side of the room, the one that was swamped by a few hundred bottles of alcohol. I licked my lip, nibbled the inside of my cheek, and ached for one last sip. I craved the burn in my throat, the buzz in my brain, the rush of liquid courage flowing through my veins– but if I wanted to make it out of here, I needed a clear mind more than I needed another drink.

The small window was high off the ground, high enough that I had to climb up the side of one of the pantry’s shelves to reach it. The flimsy metal bent, clanged and creaked under my weight, and I accidentally kicked a few boxes of pasta on my way up. The sound they made as they flew off the shelf and hit the floor rang as loud as gunshots in my ears.

The window barely opened wide enough for me to fit. Had my love handles and belly been just a little bigger, same as they used to be before, I wouldn’t have been able to slide through the opening.

A quick peek was just enough for me to make sure no one was walking down the small path outside the window. Balancing on the tip of my toes, hanging off the shelves by the ends of my bent and burning fingers, I first pushed my backpack through the opening, then squeezed myself through.

The night was cold, and the air was crisp. My first breath of the outside felt like a first taste of freedom. I would have savored it for a little longer, but there was a cool breeze rolling down the mountains that made my hair stand on end. I knew this was going to be a long night, and that was just one of many reasons why I needed to keep moving.

10:57 PM.

Just above my head was Majo’s room. The camera I’d covered just ten minutes ago still hadn’t been touched, and the sock was still there. That was a good sign. Ten minutes was a long time, and it meant whoever was in charge of security while Gustavo was drinking wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening in the house.

I’m doing pretty well, I told myself, until I remembered I only had three minutes to make it on time to the bus stop.

I slithered across the small path, and under the prickly hedge that ran alongside it. I dragged myself on my elbows and flailed my legs in the dirt as I tried to push myself between the branches. Whoever thought this would be an easy task was probably as dense as the goddamn hedge’s foliage.

Getting to the other side of the hedge took me a while. Pulling my backpack in behind me was faster, since I’d cleared out the way. Maybe I should have put the bag in first, and spared my face a few scratches from all the thorns and broken branches.

10:59 PM.

I was nowhere near the end of the driveway. If the bus was on time tonight, I was going to miss it. My mind filled with dread, and I couldn’t help but picture what would happen if I got to the bus stop too late – worse, even, if I got there just on time to watch its red lights fade in the distance and choke on the thick black smoke it would disdainfully spit in my face.

Stop being so pessimistic, I kept trying to tell myself. Mafer had said the bus was always at least fifteen minutes late. I could make it. I stood up, dusted myself off, adjusted my backpack on my shoulders, and set off.

I walked a fair distance away from the hedge that wrapped around the house and the driveway, so that the loud sounds of my steps wouldn’t be heard by the guards that littered the whole place.

My eyes were riveted to the hands of my watch, staring as every precious second passed by. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was putting down my feet and I tripped a few times when I stepped on a rock or got tangled in a low bush.

Questions started running around my head, pushing my brain around like a bunch of middle school bullies hustling their victim.

How was I even going to find the bus stop? How many feet or miles or lightyears are there in 300 meters? Did Mafer say it was to the left or to the right of the driveway? How long even was the fucking driveway? Would there be a big wall with barbed wire on top at the end of this field? Had anyone noticed I’d left yet? Was anyone out looking for me? Could I make it to the bus stop in half an hour, or was I already doomed?

My heart was beating out of my chest, and my breaths were loud and ragged. I could barely tell the time on the watch through the blurry veil of tears. I stopped in my tracks, rubbed my eyes, and took twelve seconds more to take a deep breath.

11:07 PM.

I didn’t have much time left. I lifted my eyes up to look around me, and assess the path I had yet to follow. I shouldn’t have done it. I should have kept my head down and ran in a straight line. The sight before me, as beautiful as it might have been, sapped every ounce of hope, strength and courage I had left, and filled my heart with sorrow.

Fields of lavender, as far as the eye could see, rolling off the distant hills as if they were falling off the edge of the world. Fields of lavender, sleeping under the purple coats of jacaranda trees, shivering in the heather glow of moonlight.

I fell to my knees. The realization punched me in the gut, and escaped my throat like a pitiful whimper.

Fields of lavender, with no end in sight.

I wouldn’t make it on time to the bus stop. It was over. I had lost. If I kept going, it would only be to wander aimlessly in the forest until one of Pablo’s men found me, and then for the remainder of my days, lavender walls would be the only thing I’d see.

If I went back, and even if by some miracle no one caught me, I doubted I’d have another chance to escape. They’d fix all the faults in the security, make it all the more impossible for me to ever leave. Then Pablo, Gustavo, Juan and all the others would keep on hounding me, chipping away pieces of my soul until there would be no fight left in me.

I was stuck between the devil and a deep violet sea.

Between two muffled sobs, I let out a pitiful laugh. It had to be a cruel coincidence. Pablo couldn’t have done it willingly. He didn’t plant lavender outside of his house a few years ago, thinking that one day he’d kidnap a girl with no family, lock her up in a room with purple walls for long enough that the mere thought of the color would send shivers down her spine.

He didn’t know that on a fateful night, that very girl would try to escape through the exact path I was walking down now, and that that poor girl would have grown so tired, and weak, and traumatized, that the simple sight of a lavender field would turn out to be an obstacle she couldn’t bring herself to surpass.

Somehow it made it even worse. It wasn’t just Pablo. This was my destiny. My entire life, all the choices I’d made, the whole fucking universe were working against me.

And yet, he’d done it. He’d ruined lavender – the beautiful color, the delicate plant, the fragrant odor. I never even told him it used to be my favorite flower.

I wrapped my arms around my own body to stop it from imploding, buried my face in the ground to stop myself from screaming. I curled up in a ball, and rocked back and forth to soothe the pain of my crushing defeat.

He did it. He won. He broke me.

11:21 PM.

I began my walk of shame back to my big gilded jail, still glowing in the distance, bleeding golden lights and loud music into the dead of night. With every step, I cursed Juan and Majo, whose stomach-churning love-making had been the downfall of my escape.

I quietly paced alongside the hedge, trying to find the same spot I’d crawled through earlier. I could hear the gravel crunch under the steps of the guards doing rounds, just a few feet away on the other side of the fence. Perhaps they were looking for me.

I crept under the hedge, just far enough to take a clear look at the path. The awning window was still open, but the camera had been uncovered, and there was an armed guard walking away, turning his back to me.

I wanted to die, right then, right there, and not have to deal with everything that would happen if Pablo’s men found me here, hiding under a hedge with a backpack filled with my only belongings and a note from the friend who’d helped me escape. I wondered, if I thought of it hard enough, could I give myself a heart attack? The ache in my chest made me feel as if it could implode any minute anyway.

As soon as the road was clear, I shot out from under the bushes. Keeping my face down and away from the camera, I threw my backpack through the window first, and threw myself next. I fell with a painful thump onto the concrete floor of the pantry.

At least I was back inside the house. At least no one had seen me. That was one less problem – only a million more to deal with. I laid on the cold ground, rubbing the sore leg I’d landed on, eyeing the hundreds of bottles standing still in the opposite corner of the room. At least I still had a stash of booze to give me the courage I was missing.

I stumbled over to that shelf, and sipped on a bottle of tequila as I walked in circles around the pantry, waiting for the limp in my step and the pain in my heart to fade away. Soon my head began to spin, and the paralyzing dread in my brain disappeared like water down a drain.

The bright lights of the corridor blinded me as soon as I walked out of the pantry. I rubbed my eyes, blinked a few times, and as soon as I looked up again, I noticed a guard walking towards me.

My first instinct was to duck my chin and try to run past him, praying he wouldn’t recognize me, but I knew that wouldn’t have worked. I stood out from the sparse crowd of the maid’s quarters, being by far the tallest woman in that part of the house, and the only one who didn’t wear a uniform. I wasn’t fooling anyone. Everyone knew who I was. Always having to tag along behind Pablo tended to put me in the spotlight rather than his shadow.

I held my head up and smiled at him. He walked right past me, and didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t even dare look over my shoulder to check if he was going to stop and turn around, and made my way straight back to Mafer’s room.

Mafer was in the shower. I could hear the water running. All the better, I thought – if I let my guard down, like I always did when I was with her, I knew I’d fall apart, and shatter into a million pieces that not even the embrace of her loving arms, the warm her vanilla-scented perfume or all the hard liquor in the world could stick back together.

I couldn’t even face her. What would I even tell her? I’m sorry Mafer, for dragging you into this, for taking your help and failing anyway. I’m sorry for wasting everything you did for me, because I’m a fucking coward tied to a string of bad luck, nothing more than a stupid girl who’s afraid of lavender.

I had a lot of apologies I couldn’t muster up the courage to make. I’m sorry, Ana. I wished we could have met again. I’m sorry I took your necklace, and yet even with your strong, little heart hanging around my neck, I wasn’t brave enough to leave this place.

I’m sorry, Sarah. I let you down again. I’m never going to find a way out of here. We’re never going home, and you’re never coming back to life.

I wouldn’t apologize to Pablo. Even at my weakest, I couldn’t stoop that low. I wouldn’t tell him anything. He wouldn’t get mad and wouldn’t hurt me if he didn’t know what I’d done. I had made it back to the room unscathed and unnoticed, and it was as if I’d never left.

I left Mafer’s watch on her night table, pulled the leaves out of my hair and scrubbed the dirt out from under my nails. I took off my mud-stained clothes and slipped into a champagne sequin dress.

I did my makeup as nicely as I could with my shaking hands, wiping off the black smudges that slipped from my watering eyes. I colored my pale cheeks with a pink blush, and drew the faint line of a fake smile on the edge of my trembling lips.

As soon as my face in the mirror stopped reflecting the pain I was hoarding inside of me, I headed out of the bedroom, up the stairs and into the garden. I walked through a crowd of partying people, naively smirking at me as I walked by them and held back my laboring breaths.

It’s as if I’d never left.

“There you are!” cheered Pablo, greeting me with open arms. “I thought you’d never show up.”

“Hey,” I breathed, trying not to sigh in despair, start crying or run away screaming.

I wished I’d never showed up. It was probably past midnight by now, and had I not been such an idiot, I would have been in San José, basking in the euphoric feeling of freedom, rather than stuck here suffering.

“Where were you?” he asked softly, leaning closer to my ear.

He placed one hand on my shoulder, and picked something out of my hair. I prayed he wouldn’t feel my racing heartbeat now that he stood so close to my chest.

“I was, uh, pregaming,” I stammered.

He smiled, and my breathing grew faster. There was a pit in my stomach, I knew the feeling, and it was the one thing that I had that had never failed me. Something was wrong.

“How did you get that scratch?” he said, as his finger stroked the side of my cheek.

My breathing stopped. I couldn’t hear the blaring music and clamoring voices of the party. In my mind, I was tracing back my steps and wondering where it all went wrong. Fresh memories of my tragic escapade came running back to me. The way he stared at me made me wonder if he could see my thoughts running through my eyes as if he was looking at the screen of a tiny TV.

“I forgot,” I answered.

“You forgot?” he chortled.

His eyes were kind now. I knew I had to enjoy it while it lasted. I struggled to keep a calm surface, and tried to hide the storm raging within me. I nodded, shrugged, and flashed him a wry smile. He left a soft kiss on my cheek, right where the scratch was.

I stayed frozen, my arms hanging limply by my sides, my heart beating out of control. The blood in my veins felt like boiling water, covered by a thin sheet of ice-cold skin.

I forgot. The words echoed in my head.

What a stupid answer. What a stupid bitch.

I forgot.

I forgot the backpack.

I forgot the backpack in the pantry.

Kerning

Lavender

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