A light breeze gushed in through the window, and brought with her the lullaby of the birds, the otherworldly melody they sang to the setting sun.

Could Ana hear them too?

I remembered how clearly I could hear them from the basement, just the night before. Was Ana still down there? If I peeked my head outside, and screamed out her name loud enough, would she hear me?

I wished I could at least tell her goodbye. I prayed she wouldn’t forget me. I hoped the first thing she’d do when she got home would be to come back and get me.

But I didn’t want to condemn her. I didn’t want to burden her with doubt, and fear, and an unwanted duty to come back to this shithole and save me. So I wished Ana would go home, get over me, and spare herself the trouble of choosing between her new, promising life and her old, miserable friend.

I figured she’d be happy again one day. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this year, probably not even the next; but in a while, she’d smile again. And although I might be long dead by then, the thought that Ana would live a happy life comforted me, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face, curled up in my fluffy bed.

I woke up in a haze, when the birds were asleep but the night was well alive. A cool wind chill blew through my room, and the floor vibrated with the sound of loud music.

As I slowly shook off my sleepy daze, I heard the distant bursts of laughter and shatters of glass, splashes of water, and pieces of conversation. I’d had noisy neighbors before, and had always felt extremely irritated when they kept me up at night, but this felt different.

It sounded like a movie, like a party at Gatsby’s, like hundreds of people were having the time of their lives just a few floors beneath me. Euphoria, ecstasy, and unbound happiness radiated all the way through the wooden floors. I was amazed that such an event was going on right beneath my feet, yet also felt terribly lonely.

Hundreds of people. My eyes opened wide as the realization settled in my brain. There was a huge crowd out there, most of them probably unaware that they stood just a few feet away from the four American hostages they would be hearing about on national news the next day.

I wrapped myself in the satin sheet and scuttled over to the window. I knelt on top of the vanity and stuck my head outside. Although the party ran wild in the distance, my corner of the garden was pitch black. Except for a small grove, dimly lit with fairy lights, hanging from strings that swayed gently in the breeze, along with the lush fronds of the palm trees.

If someone walked by and took a second to stop, to take a break from the booming chaos of the party, or to reflect peacefully on their next move with a special somebody - if they stood right there and they looked up to the house, they would be staring directly at me. Hope filled up my chest and warmed me all the way up to my cheeks. If I was noticed, if I was recognized, then maybe I could be saved.

With racing thoughts and a fluttering heart, I waited eagerly. For a minute, or two, and then for a quarter of an hour. My fingers clenched around the windowsill hard enough that my nails started digging into the plaster. A laugh in the distance was moving closer. It was running around the corner, blissfully galloping towards me.

And there they were, a young couple, their clothes sparkling with pristine white and gold. They playfully chased each other past the grove, and for a moment the fairy lights framed them like a painting. They danced to the distant beat of a wild salsa, twirling and laughing and kissing, in an exhilarated glittery blur. And even from three stories above, they reeked–of opulence, of innocence, and probably of expensive liquor.

I thought the first time I’d see the face of someone other than Pablo, I’d feel hope, I’d feel liberated, I’d see light and a chance of being saved and getting my life back.

Instead, I felt nothing more than hate, jealousy, bitterness, and envy. The way they dripped in gold and love, and ran like children right beneath the window of my prison cell, it was obvious that they had and would never suffer through half of what I’d lived. In their worst nightmares, they wouldn’t even imagine it. They couldn’t even fathom how fucking awful it was to be Sarah Kennedy.

They must have felt the weight of my evil eye hitting the back of their head, because they turned around and stared up at my window. And I must have had a last-minute change of plans, or change of heart, because in that same second, I backed up and hid away. I retreated from the window in such a hurry that I almost knocked over and fell off the vanity. When I dared to peek out into the garden again, they had vanished.

I hopped off my table and back into my bed. I laid on top of the sheets naked and stared blankly at the ceiling. I’d just lost my chance. Even worse, I had given it up.

“What a fucking idiot,” I whispered.

Part of me screamed in despair: ”How could I betray myself so badly?“. The other half whispered softly: ”Maybe it happened for a reason." It could have been a bad idea. Perhaps one of them knew of Pablo’s little scheme. They could have told him I was being nosey, and I could have suffered consequences–I could have lost my life over this, or at least some of my privileges.

I sighed loudly and buried my face in my hands. My brain was telling me everything and its opposite. It told me to escape, and also that it wasn’t worth it. It told me to seek help, but also never to trust it. It urged me to both scream and stay quiet. It pushed and pulled and tore me apart.

Between my brain’s internal screaming, the wind in the leaves howling, and the music playing, it became too loud to even think. I bolted off the bed, shut the window, and covered my ears with a pillow.

In my newfound, muffled peace and quiet, I started to see things a little clearer. Whatever I did, I’d have to wait to do it. Once the girls were back home, safe and free from harm, I’d be free to be as reckless as I wanted. I had, as Pablo had stated himself, absolutely nothing to lose.

I could get to the garden, by any means possible and imaginable. Jumping out the window, breaking down the door, bribing the guard who stood outside–whatever it took, it wouldn’t matter. I just had to get to the grove, which called me with its twinkling lights and shadow-casting trees, as if it was the gate to escape out of Pablo’s fucked-up version of heaven.

All I had to do was stall Pablo, make him keep me alive for a few days more. A week or two should be enough. And I started with an advantage–he didn’t seem to hate me. If I was nice enough, and feigned interest in him, if I didn’t reject the moves he made or wince at the words he said, he might grow fonder of me.

And then, I’d have time for my escape, to devise a plan to get down to the grove, and better yet, I could even trick him into taking me there himself. I just had to play pretend.

It was a bit of a dumb plan, quite insane even - ineffective at best, outright dangerous at worst. I’d be opening doors for Pablo to make moves, and God knows what he’d be capable of without any boundaries in front of him. But he wasn’t a very rational or logical person–obviously, as he’d chosen to invite hundreds of people to party in the same house in which he hid his hostages–and with a bit of luck, it might work. I fell asleep filled with comfort and confidence in my strategy, but my strength and willpower were put to the test sooner than I had hoped for.

I woke up to a bang as the sky out the window started turning purple from the soon-to-be rising sun. Someone was crawling on my floor, slowly moving towards my bed. You’d think it was a sleep paralysis demon, but you’d be wrong. It was worse.

It was Pablo, drunk and still drinking, walking on all fours. His white jeans were stained at the knees, and his kitschy gold sequined shirt was hanging off his chest, held only by its last two buttons. He held a champagne cup, which was empty aside for a few drops and a single olive, and he was smiling all the way up to his ears.

“You’re not asleep!” he joyfully said.

“Not really,” I mumbled. ” You just woke me up.”

He set the glass down on my night table and started to climb onto the bed. I quickly retreated to the wall-side corner of the mattress, hastily bunching up the sheets between me and him. He hadn’t realized yet, but under the covers, I was completely naked. And despite Plan Seduction having officially started, I would rather not let him in on that fact.

“Sorry,” he whispered loudly as he pulled himself up by my side, “I just couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

I smiled at him, and answered in a shy, stuttery, probably unconvincing voice. “Me too.”

The statement wasn’t false, but the feeling I tried to convey with it definitely was. I hadn’t longed for him, I’d feared him, hated him, conspired against him - but he didn’t need to know about that.

He rolled over towards me and sprayed my face with his pure liquor breath. I tried as hard as I could not to react, but I might have cringed a bit. Not that it probably mattered, though, as Pablo seemed so hammered I doubted he could still even see.

“I’ve had a fun night,” he said as he pulled out handfuls of gold confetti from his pockets and threw them in the air. “I wish you could have been there.”

I wondered how many drinks he’d had during his fun night. He was obviously completely out of it. It might be an opportunity, I thought, as he was probably drunk enough to make some very fun decisions - like taking me downstairs to the party, for example.

“I wish I could have been there too,” I replied softly and smiled. “I could hear the music from here.”

He turned to face me, and I could see his smile shine through the darkness of the early dawn.

“Take me,” I whispered.

“Where to?” he answered, grinning as his eyebrow raised suggestively.

“To the party,” I said, moving my head closer to him, yet still keeping my body as far away as I could. “I want to go.”

“Now?” he asked, in a tone that sounded almost surprised.

“Yeah, now that everyone’s gone,” I whispered in his ear. “Let’s go dance. You and me, alone.”

Maybe he’d forgotten a few drunk people laying around his garden, and they’d see me. And even if we were alone, all the better–I’d just have to wait until he stopped paying attention, and then I’d be free to go. All it would take was a little convincing. My heart started to flutter uncontrollably, as I slowly leaned in to give him a kiss.

He sat up abruptly and leaned on his elbow. Perhaps he didn’t notice me making a move. Or maybe he did, and it was his way of politely declining. I bit my lip, half disappointed, half relieved. He pulled out a small vial of white powder. So, it wasn’t just alcohol then.

“Want some?” he told me, as he opened up the small bottle.

I declined quietly. If I was about to get out that door, I needed to have my head straight. It definitely wasn’t the right moment to try cocaine for the first time.

Not that there is a right moment to try cocaine for the first time, like, ever; but if I had to do a hierarchy of places and times where it’s worse to do cocaine, this situation would be on top of the list, probably up there with “snorting a line from the hood of a police car while you’re under arrest”. While I’d never witnessed that kind of event, I’d imagine Pablo would be capable of doing it, given the eagerness with which he scooped out a pile of powder and shoved it up his nostril.

He jumped out of bed and hooked one of his shirt’s buttons back up, with the same expression of the hurried embarrassment of a middle-aged businessman leaving his mistress’ bed as he suddenly remembers he’s missing his middle child’s recital. He looked at me with a proud and stern gaze, and said:

“You don’t have to pretend you like me, you know.”

His words weren’t slurred, and he seemed more coherent than he was merely a few seconds earlier. My heart dropped in my chest and I was at a loss for an answer.

“Just be you, Gordita, I like you,” he added.

He silently walked to the door, and as his hand touched the handle, he turned around one last time.

“Can we see each other again tomorrow?” he asked

“Sure,” I sighed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Great,” he answered. “Good night.”

As soon as he left the room and locked the door, the first sun rays of the morning shone through my window.

Kerning

Naked and Afraid

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