The ground opened up between my feet, and the walls closed in on me.

My heart raced, stopped, punched me from within my chest, skipped five beats, and raced again. I only let out one long shaky, rattling breath.

My lips trembled, and so did my fingers. My whole body shook and shivered.

My chest hurt. Everything ached, from my toes to the hair on my head, and yet, I didn’t feel anything.

I tried to hold the wall to stop myself from falling backward. A soft thump echoed through the concrete, and the moaning stopped.

I stood still, silent and stunned, staring at Mafer’s bedroom door.

It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be him. She couldn’t do this, not to me. This wasn’t happening, it was just another hallucination. A deadly silence reverberated through the long corridor, and I took an unsteady step back.

Then the moaning started again, killing me a second time.

It felt like a knife to the heart, and a thousand more in my back.

Perhaps it’s the nerves or the few shots of rum, I thought, trying to convince myself that I’d heard wrong. Maybe his name was José Pablo, or Pablo José, or anything else that meant I hadn’t been betrayed.

I could feel the cogs turning in my head, squeaking and screeching like rusty gears, straining my brain as if this was the first time I’d tried to think in years.

I had to be sure it was him. If I didn’t, with my luck, I’d lose my mind over a simple misunderstanding. I walked back a few steps and hid behind the corner of a winding staircase.

My nails dug into the wall, chipping off some of the paint. I could taste blood where my teeth bit down on my tongue. I couldn’t breathe, or think, or blink, or feel the pain anymore. My lungs burned up with festering rage, and I stood frozen, locked in an agonizing wait.

I saw him, just for a second.

He walked out of her bedroom, and for a fleeting moment, he passed right by me, without even noticing I was there. His cheeks were hollowed by two big dimples, framed by tousled strands of hair. A satisfied grin burrowing beneath his mustache, he buttoned up his shirt with one hand, while the other wiped her lipstick off his mouth.

Hate bloomed in my heart like a bitter flower. I would have rather been betrayed by my ears than by my friend, but the truth stood right before me, and I had to face it head-on. Mafer was a traitor all along.

It was her, the sister I’d never had, the friend I relied on, the shoulder I cried on. My guardian angel was just another demon.

It took a while before I could move again. Sitting down on the steps, I rubbed the sweat off my brow and the salty tears from my eyes, and I crawled out of my hiding space.

I knocked on the door to her bedroom. Mafer opened, and her eyes widened.

“Emilia,” she asked. “Are you okay?”

The words stayed stuck in my throat, fighting back a sob, a tinge of vomit, and the unstoppable urge to scream and wrap my hands around her delicate neck.

“Thank God you’re here,” I breathed, and threw myself into her arms.

I rested my chin on her shoulder so she wouldn’t see the grimace on my face, or how hard I clenched my jaw. The warmth of her skin scorched me like hellfire. Her vanilla-scented perfume, usually so sweet and comforting, now was a nauseating stench.

I saw red. Only red. Everything was red. The white walls of her room, her silky black hair. The pale gardenias on her bedside table, her pretty diamond earrings, the blood coursing through my veins.

“What happened?” she whispered, as her hand gently glided up and down my back.

“You need to leave the house,” I gulped. “Pablo’s going to hurt you.”

My emotion was genuine. The tears strangling my voice were real, and so were the palpitations in my chest. My trembling fingers, my frenzied pulse, the grinding of my teeth, and the popped veins in my eyeballs – she could see it all. What she didn’t know was that I was furious at her, not him.

Her eyes swept the room, hazy with worry, but I was no longer blind. I could see how fake she looked, gently smacking her puckered lips, and fluttering her long eyelashes like she couldn’t believe what I said.

“I’ll help you get out of here,” I said. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

She squeezed my hand, and I did the same.

“You want me to leave?” she said, her voice two pitches too high. “Right now?”

“Please, Mafer,” I sniffled, wiping the snot below my nose so I could rub it on her arm when I pretended to hug her. “I’m so scared for you.”

She put her hand on her heart and parted her lips, looking up at me with her eyes wide and white, like a kicked puppy.

God damn, I hate her.

“I– I can’t, Emilia,” she stuttered. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s dangerous for you to stay.”

Because then you’ll go behind my back and play with Pablo’s dick again, while you tell him everything I’ve just said.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“He asked me about the mole,” I babbled between fake tears, “and who I spoke to today, and I said Mafer, and he said ‘who?’, and now he wants to interrogate you, and, and–”

Her fingers gently wrapped around my wrist. “It’s not your fault, Emilia. It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

The honey in her words wrapped my heart in sticky sweetness. She was obviously more worried for me than she was for herself, but it was strange that she was worried at all.

Maybe she cared for me, despite her secret little mission. She could have taken a liking to me, grown a soft spot for her victim, and at least part of our friendship had been real. For once, I was willing to accept somebody’s pity. Perhaps she wasn’t just an enemy, and hadn’t she tried to help me escape a while ago?

“Was it you?” I whispered, and the trembling of my voice rang true.

“What?”

“Who called the cops, yesterday?” I asked. “Was it you?”

She pinched her lips and shook her head, staring at her feet with an almost shameful look on her face.

I bit my tongue so the word wouldn’t slip out. Bitch.

“Do you know who it was?” she asked, narrowing her eyes a bit.

Bitch, bitch. What a bitch. She was just looking for information to bring back to her stupid secret lover.

“No,” I replied. “I thought it might have been you.”

Her upper lip moved as she licked her teeth, thinking of her next step. I’ll give you information, I thought to myself. You bitch.

“I don’t know who it could be,” I added. “The only people here I’m close to are you and Oso. And it can’t be Oso, because we were running away from cops when he got shot. If it was him, we wouldn’t have been running.”

Mafer nodded slowly. “What about the Sandoval kid? Weren’t you friends with him?”

My heart dropped in my chest, and I tried not to flinch. They knew something was going on, and I shouldn’t have been surprised. With Juan being stupid and me being a mess, we hadn’t been great at hiding our secrets.

“No,” I lied. “I never told him anything and besides, I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t trust him,” I mumbled. “He just became too friendly, all of a sudden, and it was really weird. Andrea kept saying he was just trying to fuck me, because he tries to fuck everyone, but I think it’s worse. I think he’s working with Pablo.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You know the whole spy thing?” I let out a bitter snicker. “When I told Juan that was a joke, he believed me. So fast. Too fast. One day, he hated my guts, and the next he wanted to be my best friend. It’s strange, right? I don’t think he’s that stupid.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“I think Pablo told him something like, he thought I was really a spy, or something and then he asked him to investigate,” I murmured. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I think Juan was pretending to be my friend so that he could get information from me, and then go and tell everything to Pablo.”

Her eyes widened again, and her forehead began to glisten with a thin layer of sweat.

“You think so?” she squeaked.

“It makes too much sense.”

“It does,” she whispered. “When did you notice?”

“A few nights ago, I tried to escape,” I answered. “I didn’t tell you anything because I didn’t want to get you involved. I was going to follow your plan, you know, with the camera in Majo’s room, and the pantry window, the bus to San José, and all that.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said, but her calm and steady gaze told me the opposite.

“It didn’t work, because Oscar found me on the road,” I sighed. “I tried to run but he told me that if I got in the car, he’d lie to Pablo and protect me. If I didn’t, he’d hunt me down.”

“What about Juan?”

My lips moved as if they had a mind of their own, spitting out fables I hadn’t rehearsed.

“I think he suspected I was going to try and leave,” I muttered. “I felt we were close, and he’d been so nice to me, I just thought I needed to say goodbye in some way. I think I hugged him too hard. Or maybe, when he was talking about his wedding preparations, my tongue slipped and I said I wished I could have seen it.”

Just like I did to her.

“It’s tiny details. You’d think nobody would notice, but when I left, I saw him kind of following me,” I bluffed. “I tried to make sure I shook him off before I got to the maid’s quarters, but he must have alerted Pablo.”

Mafer nodded slowly, frowning with a concern that could have almost fooled me, if only I hadn’t noticed how the corners of her mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.

“And then I think that’s why Pablo never confronted me about escaping. If anyone snitched, it was Juan. Pablo knew that I knew that, and if he said anything about me escaping, then I’d suspect Juan, and then their whole scheme would be ruined.”

I crafted my lie meticulously, layer upon layer, like a baker building a cake. I frosted it with more deceptions, falsehoods I’d spread on like icing, before adding a little cherry on top. I hoped that Mafer would bite, that she’d it whole and go vomit it in Pablo’s ear.

I shrugged. “I feel like a madwoman just for thinking of it, but it makes too much sense.”

Mafer stared at me, her face a mask of concern mixed with confusion. She bit her lower lip, and I noticed her chest twitching with shallow breaths.

“Do you really think he’s working with Pablo?” she asked.

“Either that, or he’s really dumb, and still thinks I’m a spy,” I murmured. “But that’s not what matters right now. We need to get you out of here before Pablo interrogates you. He’ll try to make you speak, whether you have something to say or not, and if you don’t, he’ll hurt you.”

She didn’t panic, and I knew why. Pablo wouldn’t hurt her. First, he’d undress her, make her feel loved, then whisper sweet nothings in her ear before he asked his questions. She’d tell him everything she heard, and he’d thank her with a kiss on the forehead and a shiny pair of earrings.

“I can distract the guards, while you leave through that window in the pantry. They won’t even notice.”

I spoke slowly, in a low, hushed tone, laying my words like a pretty line of buttercream on my big cake of falsities.

“Don’t put yourself in danger for me, it’s not worth it,” she answered hastily. “They’d hurt me if they found me trying to run.”

A scalding tear I’d been holding back rolled down my cheek.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

She grabbed both of my hands and answered with a mournful smile. “I promise.”

I nodded, letting my lip wobble and my words choke in my dry throat. “I should leave before he notices I’m here.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and repeated, “I promise you I’ll be okay.”

“If I don’t see you again,” I sniffled. “Thank you for everything.”

My crying eyes were dry by the time I walked out the door.

I thought I’d be tired and sore, as the weight of lies and deceit weighed down on my shoulders, but I felt lighter than ever.

I made my way up to the kitchen, where I grabbed a cold bottle of wine from the fridge. I poured it into the biggest glass I could find, and picked a cigarette out of a pack someone had left lying on the counter.

I sat down on the patio, stretching my legs and spreading my toes, leaning my head back to let more fresh air into my lungs. The garden smelled nice, like grass after a rainfall. A cool wind of change shook the trees and caressed my hair.

Sipping from my glass, I thought of my next move. Which pawn would I push, and who could it be? Revenge is a dish best served cold, they say. Just like a good white wine, it’s dry and bitter, yet cool and soothing when it runs down your throat, and inebriating once it seeps into your veins.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone walk out onto the patio, wearing a dark suit that matched the color of his eyes. I waved him over with a discreet flick of the hand, just below my leg. He shuffled over to me, throwing wary glances over his shoulder.

“Juan, I have a question,” I said. “When is the last bus to San José?”

“I hope you’re not planning on–” he stammered. “Em, it’s too dangerous, we shouldn’t even be talking.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I muttered, breathing out a cloud of smoke with a sigh. “Just answer my question.”

A deep frown line dug in between his eyes, and he sat in the chair beside me.

“It’s at, like, seven. Half past seven, maybe. I had to drive Majo to San José once because she missed it,” he answered, as his confusion slowly turned into a grin. “She blew me in the car, actually. It was fun.”

“That bitch,” I hissed.

“Who, Majo?”

My knuckles turned white where they gripped the stem of my wine glass. When Mafer sent me on my doomed escape, she said the last bus was at ten. She lied, and fooled me this whole time. She’d built up my hopes and let them shatter, played with my life just to gain Pablo’s favors. She made me run so she could tell him, and be rewarded with some tacky diamond earrings.

The more secrets she uncovered, and the more he’d like her, and the less he trusted me. She’d look me in the eye every time I cried about how he’d hurt me, then told me how amazing he was to her. How he told her she was smart, how fast her heart would beat when he’d kiss her, all the flowers he’d picked for her.

Then she’d turn around and see the same flowers beside my bed, and the jealous little Mafer would start to seethe. Perhaps she told him lies to try and make him hate me, and when that didn’t work, she’d give me a silly hairdo to ridicule me.

“Em, what’s going on?” Juan whispered.

I straightened in my chair, rage running down my spine with a shiver.

“Listen, if anybody asks if you still think I’m a spy, say yes,” I told him.

“I don’t think you’re a spy,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t matter,” I retorted. “You’ll say yes.”

I gulped down the last drops of my wine, and stood up.

My revenge would be ice cold. I’d wait for Mafer to speak to Pablo. She’d tell him one truth, that I didn’t know who’d called the cops, and I’d get off the hook for that one.

She’d repeat every detail I said, reassuring Pablo that his brother hadn’t betrayed him and that Oso was a loyal guard dog, sparing anyone who’d be good to me from his deadly suspicions.

Finally, she’d tell him the lie– that I didn’t trust Juan and would never tell him a thing. It would explain why we’d grown close, and then apart all of a sudden, without exposing our whirlwind affair.

Since Juan and Pablo weren’t working together, they’d just shrug it off as him being stuck on the spy thing. They’d stop worrying about him and focus on bigger problems, deeming Juan to be more stupid than he actually was.

Once Pablo’s head would be filled with falsehoods from the woman he trusted, and everyone I cared for was safe, then, only then, would I take care of Mafer.

•••

The game was on, and I was ready to play.

I just had to wait, now. I had to keep a close watch on Pablo, even though his eyes threw daggers whenever they met mine. I had to sit still and not make any waves until he calmed down. Patience was my only weapon, and once Mafer echoed all of my false information, his cold demeanor would change.

But if she lied to him as well, I was fucked.

For hours, our lives hung by a thread. I stayed away from Pablo, from Juan, from anyone involved, trying not to stir up anything that could ruin my plan.

I smiled when I had to, keeping my thoughts to myself and only opening my mouth during meaningless conversations. The evening was long, and the party a bore, as the air’s palpable tension seemed to suck the fun out of every single person present.

The night that followed was even worse. Even when he was asleep, I could feel his glare searing through his eyelids. I could see him toss and turn, bothered by nightmares and restless thoughts.

I woke up the next morning to Pablo leaning over my face.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he crooned.

He was wearing too much cologne and a concerning wide grin. The fly of his jeans was half open, and a stain of mulberry lipstick was stuck on his chapped lips.

“Are you still mad at me?” I muttered as I sat up in bed.

“Why would I be mad at you?” he scoffed.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked cautiously, as I searched his eyes for any sign of sincerity. “Did you find the mole?”

“I wish,” he sighed, rolling his eyes before he started smirking again. “I did find out a few interesting things, though.”

“Like what?”

He playfully flicked the tip of my nose with his finger. “You know that’s none of your business, Gordita.”

“Right. Just so you know, I still don’t know who the mole was,” I mumbled.

“I know, you’ve told me that a thousand times,” he groused, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as he laid down beside me. “What, do you think I don’t trust you?”

I shrugged, and he chuckled. I tried to keep myself from smiling, but I’d never been so happy to witness one of his mood swings.

“Did you talk to Mafer?” I asked.

His answer sparked a pang in my heart. “Who’s Mafer?”

I resisted the urge to laugh in his face, to scream at him that I knew what he’d done, but I didn’t. I stayed quiet and rolled my eyes, just as always.

Pablo played with a loose strand of my hair, curling it around his fingers. Fingers I hoped he had washed, after sticking them inside of Mafer.

“I want to make you something nice for breakfast,” he murmured. “Anything you’d like?”

“Weirdly enough, I’m craving some kind of cake.”

“I make can a killer brookie,” he suggested. “It’s like a brownie had a bastard child with a cookie. Tastes amazing.”

I agreed, and we headed down to the kitchen. He complimented the sundress I’d picked. He looked so innocent while he baked my cake, with streaks of flour greying his hair, his oven mitts on, and his shirt all buttoned up save for the two at the top.

I wasn’t a fool anymore. I knew what was going on. He’d spoken to Mafer, and now that his doubts were cleared up, he was trying to make up for all the awful things he’d said and done. It was a disgusting sight, and it made my stomach churn with anger, but it meant my plan had worked.

We sat on the patio, basking in the sun that had finally returned after a few stormy days. He let me eat the leftover batter while the brookie was cooking.

Majo was usually the maid who made our coffee in the morning, but now that she’d been fired, that job was Mafer’s. She approached our table, a steaming jug in hand. I smiled at her as she filled up our mugs, and without a word, she winked at me.

Around her neck, glimmering in the sunlight, was a brand new necklace.

“Does it taste bad?” Pablo asked, a concerned frown on his face as he pointed

“No, why?” I asked.

“You were just pulling a weird face.”

I mumbled a quick lie. “I think I bit the inside of my cheek.”

He left a peck right next to my lips, saying he’d kiss it better, and I mustered a smile, thanking him without letting my guard down.

Perhaps my plan had worked, and Mafer had told Pablo everything I wanted him to hear, but the wounds of her betrayal were still wide open, and the way he glanced at her when she walked away threw some salt on those gaping cuts.

After a few hours of sitting in the sun, savoring our brookie, and talking about nothing, the Sandovals showed up. Hernan greeted us by stealing a slice of cake, while Manée smiled like it was the first time she’d attempted to do such a thing. She quickly excused herself and walked back into the kitchen.

Pablo asked to speak with Juan. The poor kid was as pale as a sheet before they even started talking, and he turned three shades whiter as Pablo dragged him to a quiet corner of a garden.

For their entire conversation, Juan stared at me. He shook his head and frowned, then nodded. He widened his eyes at something Pablo said, and then bit his lip.

Time went by slowly. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. After what felt like centuries, the pair finally came back to the patio. Juan sat down at my table, breathing out a quiet hey, and Pablo left a kiss on my forehead before he went to talk with Hernan about some other business.

“How did you know he’d ask about the spy thing?” Juan whispered, his disturbed gaze lost in the distance.

I spat a few drops of coffee back into the bottom of my cup, and coughed. “He did? What did you tell him?”

“I said yes,” he muttered. “Em, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing,” I retorted.

“We need to talk,” he murmured.

“Go on, we’re already talking.”

He stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on Pablo and Hernan. I could see his jaw clench, and a fat lump move up and down his throat.

“I have bad news,” he finally admitted.

“Did Pablo find out?”

Juan shook his head. “No, it’s worse than that. Well, I don’t know if it’s worse, but it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“Spit it out,” I mumbled.

“It was Manée,” he said. “Manée called the cops.”

I shuddered, and froze in place.

“I found her burner phone,” he whispered, pulling out a cheap flip phone from the depths of his pockets.

I whacked his hands back beneath the table before any stray eyes could see what he was holding.

“How did she find out?” I hissed. “She’s not supposed to know about–”

I bit my tongue before I could say the name out loud, and Juan looked up at me, tears trembling in his eyes as he shivered.

“I think she went through my search history,” he gulped, a guilty look on his stunned face.

“Why?”

“I think she’s really jealous.”

“I mean, why would she call the cops?” I muttered.

“I just told you, I think she’s jealous,” he breathed. “We’re fucked if she knows, Em. We’re so fucked.”

I didn’t answer, silently glaring at his pocket instead. A million emotions swirled in my head, clouding my thoughts like snowflakes in a blizzard.

“Give me the phone,” I whispered.

“What? Why?”

“If someone finds you with this phone, you’re dead,” I said, stretching my hand out beneath the table. “Just give it to me.”

“What are you going to do with it?” he asked, as he put the phone in my hand.

“I’m going to put it back where it belongs.”

Best Served Cold

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