Every day around eleven, the same ray of sunlight woke me up by gently tickling my face. Every time, I groaned and yanked the sheets over my head, wishing Pablo would take the hint and buy some curtains.

Instead, he made it a habit to have breakfast ready for me at that exact time of the day, which was the second-best thing he could do. He’d bring it in on a nice silver platter, pretending to struggle with the bedroom door and acting like he’d cooked it with love rather than just ordered it by texting one of his maids.

And every day, I’d give him a weak smile and say thank you as I grabbed my plate. Another morning meant another type of dish, and as it turned out, Pablo knew as many ways to cook eggs as he knew ways to mess with my head.

He’d picked some white roses and red carnations a few days ago, arranged them in a pretty bouquet, and left them on the nightstand with no apology or explanation.

Someone had changed the vase’s water this morning while I was still asleep and opened the windows wide to let some fresh air into the bedroom.

Today, I woke up to the sound of hollering gardeners, banging hammers, and soft music playing on the other side of the garden – and again, that stupid ray of sunlight shining on my face.

As soon as I opened my eyes, they were slammed back shut by a searing headache. I hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol in a few days now, and I hadn’t even touched any drugs, and yet I barely felt any better.

“How are you feeling today?” asked Pablo.

As I let out a sound that was halfway between a groan and a sigh, he ran his fingers through my hair, only to get tangled in a knot about two inches into the tousled mess.

“I feel like a dehydrated blobfish,” I muttered, painfully sitting up in the bed so he could settle the breakfast tray down on my lap.

“That’s specific, but yeah,” he chuckled. “Been there, done that.”

I grabbed a glass of freshly-pressed fruit juice, and Pablo’s hand followed mine as I picked it up.

“It’s fine,” I said, gently swatting him away. “I don’t have the shakes anymore.”

His hand awkwardly flopped back to the mattress, and a split second later, he stuck it on my forehead.

“No sweats either,” I mumbled.

“Great,” he answered in a falsetto voice. “That’s great.”

I could tell Pablo had enjoyed these past few days, when I was too sick to even get out of bed. Since the very minute that the drugs had left my system, I’d been pinned to the ground, nailed down onto the mattress like a dead butterfly behind a picture frame.

I’d spent the first day sobbing, and he’d brought me the softest tissues money could buy, so that I wouldn’t hurt my nose from wiping it so often. The next day, he’d brushed my hair, then washed my face with a cloth because he was afraid I’d either collapse if I took a shower, or drown if I took a bath. Then he helped me make a list of all my favorite foods I felt like eating, and we laughed together at how many of those meals included pasta.

What Pablo had loved the most about me being so ill from the withdrawal, was that he got to keep me all to himself. I could hardly get out of bed, let alone out of the bedroom, so I was easier to watch over, easier to control, and most of all, he didn’t have to share me with anyone else.

“Don’t go in there, Gordita is sick,” he’d scream at anyone who dared to open the door while I was awake.

He made sure I got some rest, and that I had everything I needed. Still, he reminded me loud and often that it was my fault that I felt this way, and I couldn’t help but agree.

“Aren’t you glad you have someone like me to nurse you back to health,” he’d say, and I’d answer with a reluctant nod of the head.

While he waited for me to recover, he acted on his best behavior. He was kind, calm, and caring, he’d tell me a lighthearted joke every now and then. I’d stare at the door for hours on end, longing for him to return rather than fearing it. He’d told me he loved me at least a dozen times since I’d said those words myself.

But I could see through the cracks in the perfect world Pablo had painted. Sometimes, I slipped away and I wondered if things would get better if I stayed, but I’d been here for long enough already and things had only ever gotten worse. I often reminded myself of that fact, always at the price of my peace of mind and a cold chill down my back.

“How is everyone?” I asked, taking a bite of my hashbrown.

“They’re fine,” he replied with a frigid smile. “Oscar and Beto have been working hard. Andrea and Manée just came back from the capital, they were shopping for a wedding dress. Hernan’s still a dickhead, but everyone’s okay. They ask about you a lot.”

By they, I knew he meant Juan, the only person from Pablo’s inner social circle he hadn’t mentioned by name. Although my heart ached to know how Juan had been, I didn’t ask him.

Pablo walked over to the window, and squinted his eyes at whoever was the source of incessant shouts and sounds of clattering tools.

“What’s going on outside?” I said, hitching my chin towards the noise.

“Preparations, for the Golden Party,” he mumbled.

“Golden Party?”

“It’s the biggest party of the year. We’re expecting four to five hundred guests tonight,” he explained. “Everyone dresses in over-the-top white and gold outfits, we pretend everyone’s special and give them a free glass of champagne with bits of gold in it. They buy a bunch of drugs and don’t bother us for the rest of the year. It’s mostly just politics.”

“Sounds nice,” I answered. “Can’t wait.”

“You’re not going,” he retorted. “You need to rest.”

“I’m feeling better.”

That was partly a lie. I still felt terrible, but I needed to be there. If it was the biggest party of the year, the Sandovals would for sure be there, and I had to speak with Juan. I hadn’t seen him since our last conversation in the basement, and I had mulled over his words for too long.

“You have a terrible track record with parties,” added Pablo, who was probably thinking of the other Sandoval. “I don’t want you to attract the wrong kinds of attention.”

“Are you scared I’ll steal the spotlight?” I snickered.

“I’m scared you’ll get high and make out with Hernan again,” he muttered. “Tonight is the one night when I can’t afford to be humiliated.”

“I’m not planning on humiliating you, Pablo,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “I just don’t want to miss it. Wasn’t the last one in November, when you came up to my room and told me you wished I could be there?”

A faint smile crossed his face for a second. “It was, you’re right.”

“Had you started telling people about your girlfriend Emilia yet?” I asked, and bit the tip of my tongue. “Because if this is the second year in a row your friends hear about me but still don’t meet me, they’ll start to think you’re making things up.”

Pablo scoffed and crossed his arms, but his shoulders sagged as he caved in.

"If you come,” he said, “you need to stay with me at all times. You can’t drink or do any drugs, or talk to anybody without my permission.”

I forced a smile to hide my disgust. “Sounds great.”

He let me relax for the rest of the day, which I spent drinking inordinate amounts of coffee and taking a bath. Later, a maid brought me three gold dresses, one that revealed too much of my non-existent cleavage, one whose open back showed part of my butt crack, and a last one that was so tight, I felt like I’d been attacked by a sparkly boa constrictor. I figured that if tonight was going to go wrong, I’d rather die asphyxiated than half-naked, so I picked the latter option.

Pablo helped me squeeze into the dress, then patted my hips with a satisfied grin, as if he’d sculpted them himself.

“You look as stunning as always,” he said, taking a step back to get a better look.

“Thank you,” I groaned, and painfully sucked in my stomach. Perhaps I should have picked the butt-crack dress instead.

We had to wait for an hour and a half after the music started before we were allowed to go downstairs. We had to make a strong entrance, Pablo said, and wait until all the guests had arrived.

“Are we going to be slowly lowered down on the chandelier and spray everyone with champagne as we go by?” I asked.

“Do you want us to die?” Pablo muttered. “It’s too flimsy, it’ll break.”

Not us, just you, replied the voice in my head, but I kept it quiet and concealed behind a smirk.

“Now I’m disappointed, I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first saw that chandelier,” I answered instead.

He smiled like a little kid, as his gaze drifted off into his own imagination. “I’ll buy a bigger one before next year.”

I quickly became antsy, too eager to finally see other faces than Pablo and his mustache. He got annoyed at how many times I walked back and forth from the bed to the window, and gave me his phone so that I could play one of those stupidly fun time-wasting games. The game kept me busy enough that I didn’t even think of using the phone for anything else, and I had the feeling that Pablo was looking over my shoulder anyway.

When he finally felt the time was right, he yanked the phone out of my hands right as I was about to finish my puzzle, and dragged me down the corridor.

The sight of the crowds below us hardly seemed as exciting as before. I’d already seen parties with a few hundred guests, so what was only one or two hundred more?

Two massive confetti cannons went off as we walked down the staircase, and golden petals rained down on us all. I rolled my eyes at the dramatic clamor, and sneezed as confetti found its way up my nose.

My eyes scanned across the masses, searching for only one person. It was like playing a game of Where’s Waldo in a monochrome sea of gold. Every time I thought I’d finally found him, Pablo would grab me by the arm and parade me over to a bunch of men I didn’t know.

“Have you met Miguel yet?” Pablo asked me. “He’s the chief of the local police.”

“Haven’t had the pleasure,” I replied with a cold smile.

I stretched out an arm to shake his hand, and he kissed my fingers instead. I barely hid my disgust, and my face made Miguel snicker. It took all the strength in me not to gouge out his dark, wrinkly eyes, or to wrap my hands around one of his four chins.

Perhaps he’d snitched on me when I was about to run away, and those men who found me in their village called the cops thinking I’d be safe. Maybe he’d lent Pablo the police car that hauled me to this forsaken place. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Miguel was the one who shoved me into that car in the first place.

“Let’s go meet some other people,” whispered Pablo as he squeezed my tensed-up fist.

I gladly spun on my heels to turn my back away from Miguel and his small army of corrupt cops.

As we walked out of the hall and through the garden, the sound of music shook the ground beneath our feet. The air was thick with the smell of weed and spilled alcohol, and I was rocked and pushed around by hordes of dancers and their uncoordinated movements.

A group of girls was giggling loudly, as they stumbled around with champagne bottles in their hands. The pool was filled with people in various states of undress, their heads cocked back and mouths wide open in laughter, splashing around in floating clouds of golden glitter and discarded bras. Groups of people huddled around every table, snorting lines of cocaine and rubbing it on their gums like it was nothing but sugar.

Pablo led me to a cordoned-off area, an oasis of extravagance, a world away from the raucous noise of the party and all of its stumbling drunks. Here, the scent of champagne mingled with expensive perfume, creating an intoxicating aroma.

White and gold-embroidered draperies sheltered us from the rest of the crowd and the glaring eyes of a group of girls who’d been fighting with one of the bodyguards, begging him to let them in. They pushed and tugged on every square inch of their dresses, trying to make them more revealing. The only attention they managed to grab was Juan’s, who stared at them with a smirk on his face, even though Manée was sitting right beside him.

He turned his eyes away from the girls when he noticed me. His smile widened and he stood up, but before I could take a step toward him, Pablo dragged me to the other side of the tent. He sat me down on a comfortable sofa, and grabbed two glasses of champagne from a golden tray.

“This one’s for you,” he said, as he gave me one of the drinks. “It’s the only one you’re having tonight, so drink slowly and enjoy it.”

We clinked our glasses together and he sat down behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He barely had time to let out a sigh of relief before several men walked up to us, hoping they’d have the chance to greet him.

Juan had quietly left the cordoned-off area, taking with him the group of girls who had been trying to get in. I stared in silence at the specks of gold floating around in my champagne.

Oscar walked up to me, holding up his already very drunk girlfriend with one arm, and a bottle of liquor snug under the other.

“How are you doing, Em?” he asked. “Feeling any better?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” I answered. “How are you?”

“I’m doing good. Andrea isn’t, I think, but she just really likes champagne,” he chuckled. “I’m glad that you’re fine. You really scared us, the other day.”

“I was going through a lot,” I mumbled.

“I bet,” he said.

We stared at each other in awkward silence, until he glanced over at Pablo. Andrea wiggled out from his hold, and disappeared behind the curtains. Oscar sighed, and scratched the back of his head.

“I was going to propose to her tonight,” he muttered. “The Golden Party is her favorite night of the year, but I’d rather do it on a night she’ll remember.”

“She’d probably want something more romantic,” I told him with a faint smile.

He nodded and took a swig from his bottle of liquor. He offered me some, still wincing from the table, and put it down on the table when I politely declined. Then, he left, probably in search of his lost Andrea.

I watched him walk away until my eyes settled on something more interesting. José Galdamez, the handsome man we’d met at the charity gala, was standing alone in a less crowded area of the tent, his broad shoulders tense and his dark eyes scanning the crowd. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his hands fidgeted with an empty glass.

Probably looking for his girlfriend, I thought.

Our gazes met, and I couldn’t help but smile. Much to my surprise, José returned the gesture. I tried to stand up and discreetly tell him how to get to the maid’s quarters, where he’d surely find Mafer at this time of night, but Pablo grabbed my hand, tutted, and told me to sit down.

“If you need more champagne, I can get you a glass,” Pablo said, pointing at my empty drink.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I answered sheepishly.

I turned back to José, and pointed my finger toward the maid’s quarters. He raised his eyebrows, and a sly grin appeared on his face. Delighted to have fulfilled my mission as a wing woman, I playfully winked at him, and José slipped out of the tent.

Somehow, in the sea of endless gold and the guests’ relentless back and forth, Juan had made his way back to our table. He stood there awkwardly, staring down at me, licking his lips as if he was aching to talk.

I didn’t even have time to open my mouth before Pablo interrupted me.

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” he asked me, and I shook my head. “Come with me, there’s food over here.”

While he elbowed his way past a group of people, I lingered at the table. I greeted Juan with a kiss on the cheek, as I’d grown accustomed to doing these past few weeks, and he laid his hand on my shoulder.

“You have glitter on your lips,” Juan said.

He wiped it off with his thumb, and sucked a fleck of gold off his fingertip. I felt a sudden rush of heat in my cheeks, and I looked away while I waited for my heart to stop racing.

“We need to talk,” I murmured.

“While Pablo’s breathing down your neck?” he mumbled, nibbling the end of a toothpick.

I shook my head, still avoiding his gaze. I pointed at the bottle of liquor Oscar had left on the table. “Put some in his drink.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly, his wry grin barely hidden behind his toothpick, and his dark eyes riveted on me. Who knew one glass of champagne could make me feel so hot, I thought. I mentally slapped myself on the back of the hand once I caught myself wishing he could open his shirt just a little more.

Soft lips kissed my neck, and from mine escaped a moan.

“My God, Gordita, wait until the guests are gone,” Pablo snickered, as his arm tightened around my chest. “Are you coming? I want you to try the caviar.”

“Sure,” I muttered. “I was just saying hi.”

I followed Pablo to the buffet, and tried a few things he suggested. I couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, making sure the crowd was thick enough to hide Juan, so that Pablo wouldn’t catch him spiking his drink, and maybe also just to catch another glimpse of him. When we came back to the table, Juan had already left.

Pablo winced as he downed his champagne. He stared at the empty glass for a second, and then waved for someone to come top up his drink. When he leaned away to say something to the waiter, I poured in some more liquor.

I watched him closely, quietly sitting by his side. I topped up his drink every time he looked away, and soon he was laughing louder, stumbling more than he walked, and his witty remarks didn’t sound so clever.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he mumbled.

As soon as he was out of sight, I rushed to the edge of the cordoned-off area. My eyes scanned the crowd in search of Juan, but before I could find him, I felt a hand on my waist.

“Where were you?” said a deep voice behind me. “I’ve been waiting for you for more than an hour.”

My blood froze in my veins and my heart skipped three beats.

“Mr. Galdámez,” I breathed.

“So formal,” he tutted, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Call me José.”

I don’t know if it was fear or anger that rattled my jaw. I fluttered my lips, too winded to speak. Pablo walked up behind him, still wiping the powder off his nose, and stood beside him without a word. When José looked over his shoulder, I saw the blood drain from his face.

“She said–” he immediately began to stammer. “She was the one who–”

“Gordita was with me this entire night,” said Pablo. “I didn’t hear her say anything.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words were caught in my throat. Hearing Pablo believe me for the first time ever didn’t help with the shock.

“We’ve always been good friends, José,” he sighed, as put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Mind if we go inside and talk for a minute?”

Two bodyguards closed in on us, surrounding us in silence until José walked away. I grabbed Pablo by the arm before he followed them.

“Are you going to hurt him?” I asked.

“Only if you want me to,” he winced. “It might cause us a few problems if I do.”

“Please don’t,” I whispered. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Then I’ll make sure he understands.”

I smelled a whiff of his liquor breath as he leaned in and kissed my forehead, and the stench of cold tobacco on the fingers that framed my face. And then he walked away.

Now that I was alone again, and probably would be for a while, it was the perfect time to find Juan. I found no familiar faces in the crowd besides Andrea and Manée’s.

“Have you seen Juan?” I asked as I walked up to them.

Andrea answered with one of her frozen grins, and Manée raised her eyebrows, tightening her lips into a thin pink line.

“Funny, I thought you’d know, since you guys always have your heads shoved up each other’s ass.” spat Manée. “Quite literally, actually.”

Her words slowly filled up with venom, and her face scrunched up like she’d licked a lemon.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I frowned, and took a step back.

“It means, stay in your lane and keep your hands off other people’s men,” she hissed.

“Calm down, Manée,” I retorted. “I wouldn’t touch your man with a six-foot pole.”

“Oh, you think I haven’t seen how you look at them, and how they look at you?” she sneered. “What do they even see in you?”

“Probably a girl who doesn’t have a stick shoved up her ass all the way to her neck,” I spat back. “You should try it sometime.”

“Girls, let’s not–” Andrea tried to intervene but her skinny stretched-out arms couldn’t stop Manée from standing up and waving her pointy fingers at me.

“At least I have some respect for myself, you’re just white trash, you’re an ugly whore,” Manée bellowed.

“She doesn’t mean it, she’s been drinking too much,” Andrea cried, desperately trying to hold her friend back.

Manée looked like she was about to start frothing at the mouth. “I won’t let you take him away from me,” she hissed.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on doing it,” I retorted.

“No, you would open your legs for anybody,” she screamed. “That’s why they like you so much, because you’re a fucking slut.”

Manée wasn’t usually a woman of many words, and yet every time she spoke I still wished she’d shut up.

“What is your damn problem?” I yelled back.

“You fucking around with my man is a fucking problem,” she screeched. “I saw you two–”

“Manée, just stop it,” Andrea hushed her, thankfully stopping the tirade before it made me faint. “Take a deep breath.”

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen,” I replied, balling up my fists to hide my trembling fingers, “but I’ve never done anything. Not with Juan, not with anyone else.”

“Oh right, sure,” she howled, waving her arms like a madwoman. “Because anyone else who’s railed you is dead. You fuck them, and then the second you want to silence them, you run to your stupid little boyfriend and tell him they raped you. Just like you did to Gustavo.”

I took a deep breath, clenched my jaw so it wouldn’t quiver, and narrowed my eyes before I turned them away from her.

“I’m out of here,” I muttered, probably too low for anyone to hear.

Those words, I meant them. I was fed up with this world. I didn’t want to stay here and slowly turn into one of them, either a stone-cold bitch or a brainless drunk.

I stormed out of the tent and out into the garden, determined to find Juan. I lost myself in the crowd as I searched for him, and my heartbeat rose with every passing second.

As I walked by a small grove of palm trees, I heard a short whistle. I stopped in my tracks, and a hand reached around the bushes to grab me.

Out of the lights, away from the noise, and at last in the arms I’d been looking for, I finally breathed out. His dark eyes brightened up as they stared into mine. I spoke up before he could say anything.

“I’ll take you up on your offer,” I said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

All That Glitters

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