It was as if my blood had turned to ice. Every droplet, a sharp little hailstone, scraping its way through my veins and rattling my bones. Tiny snowflakes, settling in my frozen heart, silencing every beat in my chest, every thought in my head, any sign of life.

“Are you okay?” asked Pablo.

I slowly turned my head. He still had that stupid smile on his face, that evil glint in his eye, that little hint of sinful pride arching his brow. He knew how I felt. He knew what he’d done.

It was like in those nightmares, where you want to scream, but all that comes out is a dry, defeated sigh. And you want to defend yourself, throw a punch, or run away, but you can’t even bat an eye.

“Gordita?” he murmured, placing his hand on top of mine. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

I wanted to faint. I wanted to shut my eyes and never open them again. I wanted to fall to the floor and curl up in a ball, to scream and sob until my voice died out, and the rest of me with it.

Manée sighed. “She’s probably on drugs again.”

I wanted to fight, cause a full-out brawl, grab the gun from someone’s holster, and kill them all. I wanted a bloodbath, to rip them apart and tear their throats out. Pablo first, Manée second, and myself last.

“Gordita?” Pablo repeated.

“No,” I answered in one, shallow breath. “I’m okay.”

His brown eyes gazed into mine, and my fingers wrapped tighter around my knife and fork. I could stab them both in one quick move, right now.

“Do you need a glass of water?” he whispered.

“Yes, please,” I said.

He stroked my hair, and I brushed his hand away. His fingers felt like lice, crawling all over me, and a simple touch of them made me want to tear the scalp off my head.

“Gordita,” he asked again, on our way back to the bedroom. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” I answered, maybe a little too dryly. “Why do you keep asking that?”

His hand reached toward my shoulder, and quickly recoiled when I whipped my head around to stare at him.

“I don’t know, you’ve just been acting weird all day,” he mumbled.

“I– I haven’t– it’s just...” I stuttered, and quickly shut up.

I could feel the words knotting in my throat and the tears, prickling the back of my eyes and bubbling up my nose.

“I’m just kind of pissed off that you won’t even let me go on a walk without making a scene,” I lied.

I’d never admit to him I cared about Juan. When caught in such a dangerous corner, there was only one way out: deny, deny, deny. It was my tried and true method. Like two dogs fighting over a bone–when someone tries to make you spit the truth out, if you hold your ground for long enough, they’ll end up getting bored, and go find something else to chew on.

Who knows, maybe he wasn’t sure I’d done it. Perhaps he was just waiting for me to confirm it, before he shot a bullet through my head. Maybe that was the only reason I was still alive, because I was shrouded by the shadow of a doubt. Or maybe I was wrong, and Juan was fine, and I was losing my mind over nothing at all.

That was the only thought keeping me sane. The light in the dark, the slim chance that Juan was okay, and I was just spiraling again.

Relatively sane. I barely slept that night. Instead, I stared at him, with never a blink, hardly a breath. I pictured the knife in my hand, the blade on his throat, endless streams of blood pouring out on the sheets. I pictured him bursting into flames, I pictured myself crushing each of his bones, his face twisting in pain, his skull splitting open, scattered chunks of his evil brain.

The next day felt like one long funeral. With no guests, or cemetery, or body to bury. There weren’t any tears or sadness, either, except for those I kept hidden inside of me.

I’d grieved before. For my dead father, for my mother’s love, my fading friendship, for lost self too, and I’d do it many times more. But it was never like this.

I’d never had to mourn in silence and uncertainty. I was used to pats on the back, words of encouragement, and understanding nods when I told people I wanted to bang my head against a wall with a deadpan voice. Now, I would have killed for an ounce of pity.

That night, I couldn’t even cry into my pillow, because my lover’s killer was sleeping right next to me.

The day after that went past both slow and fast. The hours ran past me while the seconds crawled slowly, and every now and then, it felt like time ticked back.

I spent half of it staring blankly at the parking lot, clinging on desperately to the hope that Juan might show up with a smile on his face, like everything was okay.

He’d see the tired look in my eyes and ask what was wrong. Then he’d laugh at me when I broke down in tears between his arms and told him I thought he was dead. He’d say he’s not dumb enough to let Pablo find out about our affair. He’d tell me it was just a business trip, and that he didn’t think of telling me, and then he’d probably suggest having sex again.

Maybe he was still out there, somewhere, and someone around me could have known a little better than I did, but I couldn’t ask for answers, especially not while Pablo was around. Yet I could still feel all those questions burning my tongue, itching the roof of my mouth, spreading like a festering blister I was aching to pop.

Then the moment came where Pablo stood up and left, probably to take a shit or another line of cocaine, who cares– what was important was that I was sitting next to Hernan, and no one else was there to listen.

“So...” I mumbled. “When’s Juan coming back?”

“Why are you asking me that?” he replied.

Manée walked past the kitchen, and I prayed she wouldn’t see us. If she saw me talking to her boyfriend, she’d throw a tantrum. And that tantrum would be worse than the ones she’d throw at Juan, because she actually cared about this one.

“I’m terrible at small talk,” I squeaked, my voice knotting in my throat.

Hernan shrugged. “Fair enough. Well, he called me this morning.”

“Called you?” I asked. “With his voice?”

He stared down at me with a disdainful look. There was something about his steel-gray eyes that could crush you with no weight.

“Yes, with his voice,” he muttered. “How else is he supposed to call me?”

“I don’t know, with, uh, his face,” I stuttered. “Like FaceTime. Or he could have texted.”

Hernan let out a long sigh. Long enough for Manée to walk by again, and stop in her tracks once she saw me alone with him.

“He called with his voice,” he finally answered. “Like regular people do.”

“And?” I said. “Was he okay?”

Manée was marching towards us now, with her fists balled up and pretty face deformed by a scowl.

“You know, Emilia,” Hernan yawned. “I get that you Americans are taught that blabbering on and on about things that nobody cares about makes you an interesting person, but here, we often value silence over meaningless conversations. Just listen to the birds or something.”

“Hungarian,” I murmured, lifting a wary eye as Manée approached. “I’m Hungarian.”

She stopped right in front of us, placed her hands on her hips, and stared down at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Little Emilia here was just asking about Juan,” answered Hernan.

"Little,” Manée snorted. “Well, that’s an interesting question. I haven’t heard of him in the past two days.”

I held back the urge to answer something snarky, and nervously crossed my hands above my knees.

Juan and Manée didn’t always get along, but they were married now. Surely if he could, he would have told her something. Hernan, though, had heard Juan’s voice, which meant there was a chance he might still be alive.

How hard was it to fake Juan’s voice? Maybe they had some kind of obscure technology that could mimic it. Or maybe he was being kept captive in Pablo’s basement, and I could try and go there and save him.

Who am I kidding? I thought. We’re hours away, and I can’t even drive a car. And most likely, Juan was already gone. I didn’t see many reasons why Pablo would keep him around, aside maybe just to taunt me.

More days passed, and Juan never came back. I didn’t really count, but there were too many.

I didn’t feel human. I didn’t feel anything at all. I was a shallow, fleshy husk filled with the dry vapors of repressed tears. I was neither Emilia, nor Sarah, not even Gordita. I didn’t even turn around when somebody called my name, unless it was the echo of Juan’s voice ringing in my head.

I found myself searching for razor blades more often than a hairbrush to untangle my matted hair. I only crawled out of bed when I went looking for a pill, something to numb the pain. It seemed Pablo was keeping them all hidden, since I never even saw the shadow of a small plastic bag or silver blister.

I always joined the others for every meal, and pretended to take three bites out of my plate while I stared at Juan’s empty chair. I’d fill my belly with wine and liquor, and then go back to bed and pass out for a few hours.

“How’s your head?” asked Pablo.

That’s the excuse I’d given him. I had a migraine I couldn’t get rid of. I’d been under the weather, just a little sick.

“Haven’t had any complaints,” I muttered.

He cocked his head to one side and I turned toward him, accidentally blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke in his face as I did.

“Uh, great,” he said. “Do you feel like you could go on a hike?”

I raised my eyebrows. “A hike?”

“Yeah, I just wanted you to see something before we leave tomorrow. It might cheer you up, too.”

I stifled a laugh. Ah, yes, I thought. The old “I know you’re too depressed to get out of bed, but have you tried going on a walk”? The infamous “I’m sorry you think of killing yourself every time you step out on your balcony, maybe you’ll feel better after a breath of fresh air.”

I still followed him on his stupid hike. Down a stupid path, up a stupid mountain, sweating like a pig under the stupid Sun. I hated hikes. They felt more like a form of torture than a fun way to cheer me up. The only reason I’d be willing to walk so far would be to get away from Pablo.

And then again, there’d be no such escape, because Juan was dead and we were leaving the finca tomorrow. Then I’d be back at Pablo’s house, that big tacky jail, trapped and alone, and Pablo would probably deal with me then, when Hernan and the others weren’t watching.

The view at the top of the mountain was pretty. It stretched for miles and miles, all the way to the distant sea. There was one perfectly shaped mountain to my left, and two volcanoes hugging each other to the right. Only one was awake, spitting out small, pine-shaped clouds of ash. The other two seemed fast asleep, sharing a blanket of fog that spread across the tree-covered valley. It was beautiful, for sure, but in life after Juan, nothing would ever impress me.

I turned around with a fake smile, and saw Pablo, down on one knee.

The only sound I managed to push out was a stunned, cut-off laugh.

“I– I know we’d talked about this and you weren’t entirely sure, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what you told me a few days ago,” he said. “I thought now might be the time.”

The sunlight hit the huge stone set on the ring between his fingers, and blinded my eyes for a second. I blinked, and stared at him in silence.

“I’ve always wanted you to be mine forever,” he continued. “But I want it to be your choice.”

I wondered if I really had a choice. Either I was his forever, or I’d most likely become a corpse.

I shrugged. Pablo was still kneeling in the dirt, twitching every time some bug tried to crawl up his ankle. He handed me the ring, and I held it between my thumb and my index finger to take a closer look.

It was a huge blue stone, set on a silver band so bright it almost looked white. The whole thing glittered with tiny little diamonds, encrusted in a rectangle around the enormous rock that stuck out in the middle. It looked expensive, yet not very pretty. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but then again, neither was Pablo.

I poked the big gemstone with the tip of my finger. “What is it?”

“It’s a blue diamond,” he answered. “Blue like the sky, which much like my love for you, is infinite.”

I let out a snort.

“How dare you laugh at me, Gordita,” he mumbled. “I’ve been rehearsing all night.”

“It’s cheesy,” I told him with a smile.

He grinned back at me. “I thought you liked cheese.”

Well, he was partly right. I loved cheese. I liked it when it drowned my plate of pasta, as an extra topping on my pizza, but not pouring out of Pablo’s vile mouth.

“Is it real?” I asked, holding the ring up to the sunlight.

“Of course it is,” he retorted. “Who do you think I am?”

“It’s just really light.”

“Oh so now you’re a diamond expert, aren’t you?” he groaned, rolling his eyes. “You haven’t even said yes yet.”

I chuckled. “Well, okay, I guess.”

It wasn’t romantic, but that was the way things were. I’d lost Juan, and now my chances of ever escaping were slim to none. On the other hand, as long as I got on well with Pablo, he’d keep me alive, well-fed and best-dressed. And getting along with him would be easier without Juan.

Once the drugs and liquor had dug enough holes in my brain to forever bury the pain, I’d forget what he’d done and learn to love him again. Moving on would take me down a long path, so I would rather take the first step as soon as possible.

Despite my underwhelming answer, Pablo flashed a beaming grin, and slipped the ring around my finger.

“We might need to get it resized a little,” he said as it forced it past my ring finger’s joint.

I tried to pull it a little, and the ring didn’t budge. “I can’t take it off,” I said.

“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” he scoffed. “That’s what forever means.”

“But what if I need to take it off?” I argued. “Like, to do the dishes or something like that.”

“Gordita, as long as you’re with me, you won’t need to touch a single dirty dish for the rest of your life,” he laughed. “We have maids, and all that. Worst case scenario, you can put a dishwasher on our wedding registry.”

“Sounds good,” I said. About the lack of chores, not the wedding itself, but he didn’t need to know that.

We stayed on top of the mountain, taking in the views, sharing tender kisses and holding hands, counting the number of diamonds on my new ring.

We reached the finca just after sunset, while the sky still glowed red. Pablo grabbed my hand and raised it in the air, like a victorious warrior walking off a battlefield.

“Guess who said yes?” he shouted at the others.

They didn’t react, aside from a few confused frowns. Surprisingly, Andrea was the first one to realize.

“Wait, are you guys engaged?” she squealed. “Oh my god, ohmygod, congratulations!”

She jumped on me and trapped me in a very breasty hug, admired my ring and called us ‘twinsies’. I saw Manée roll her eyes, Hernan grin slightly, and Oscar sit frozen and wide-eyed.

“Are you serious?” he asked his brother. “You just got engaged?”

Pablo arched an eyebrow. “Yes, with a ring and the whole shebang. Why are you so surprised?”

“You’re just not the kind of guy who rushes into that stuff,” muttered Oscar.

“Oh come on, babe,” Andrea sighed, rolling her eyes. “Not everyone needs to wait for half a decade to gather the courage to propose to their girlfriend.”

“I guess this calls for a celebration,” said Hernan as he raised his glass with a sly grin. “To the day nobody saw coming.”

Pablo’s smile, unlike mine, seemed genuine. His eyes sparkled with the same child-like glee I’d fallen for months ago. His dimples deepened with every congratulatory hug he received.

He was happy, and why wouldn’t he be? With Juan out of the way, he had me all for himself. He’d won this battle, and with it the whole war.

I knew I’d never escape again. Half because I couldn’t, and half because I was no longer willing to risk it. Forever was one of the few things that meant something to Pablo, and if he could kill his beloved godson so easily, then he could end me with a snap of his fingers.

The men decided we’d celebrate the engagement around a bonfire in the garden. Oscar and Pablo went to fetch some firewood in a shed behind the house, while Hernan volunteered to pick out the champagne.

Andrea stood still as she watched them leave, and turned to me once they were gone.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asked softly, a waning smile lingering on her face.

I nodded. “I wouldn’t have said yes if it wasn’t.”

She grabbed my hand and cupped it between hers.

“You know you can’t fix him, right,” she whispered. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first one who tried.”

“No, I know,” I murmured. “But I survived our lowest lows, and those are in the past now.”

“I hope so,” she said with a straight, tight-lipped smile. “I’m happy for you, Emilia.”

The men showed up just a few minutes later. They carefully built a tall pile of firewood, and set soft blankets in the grass around it. Pablo was so joyful, it was silly. He was skipping instead of walking, jumping around like a boy on Christmas Day, screaming and laughing out loud, only stopping to smush a passionate kiss into the side of my face.

At least one of us was happy. The best I could hope for was that this engagement would bring us both some kind of peace.

Pablo brandished a plastic bottle covered with bright flames and red letters, and poured a liquid that smelled like gas all over the firewood.

“Don’t burn my fucking house down,” muttered Hernan.

Pablo shrugged as he lit up a match and threw it on top of the bonfire. He wasn’t just happy, he was ecstatic– delighted and excited by the fireball that rose up to the sky with a loud boom, and the terrified looks and startled gasps that escaped from us all.

Red flames danced in his eyes as a wide grin spread on his face. I mirrored his smile, hoping I’d fool him and everyone else.

Hernan uncorked the first bottle, and champagne droplets flew like sparks across the air.

“To Gordita,” declared Pablo, holding my hand to get me up on my feet. “And the lifetime we’ll share together.”

The congratulations sounded shy, or perhaps just distant. I hardly felt the kiss Pablo left on my lips, or the champagne bubbles I drank to rid my mouth of his taste.

“It’s a shame Juan isn’t here to see this,” said Manée. “You should have waited until he came back.”

Pablo snickered. “Love can’t wait forever, Maria Renée.”

It felt a little unreal, like I wasn’t really there. The roaring bonfire’s crackling sounded like distant whispers, and its tall, snaking flames looked like a tiny firefly.

The maids brought out plates of food, and I barely touched mine. Pablo told half-fictional tales about the night we met, and it was as if he was speaking about someone else. I didn’t recognize myself in the looks he described, the dialogues he made up, or the stories he invented. He might as well have been in love with someone else. I wished.

I was somebody else now. Sarah, the poor, pitiful kidnapping victim was long dead. Only Emilia survived, and she was Pablo’s future wife. I figured I’d get used to it, after a while, just like I did with everything else.

It was late at night when everyone went to bed. Only Pablo and I were left, huddled together right next to the smoldering ashes left by the bonfire.

“I’m cold,” I told him.

“Let’s go to bed,” he answered.

He stood up and dusted his legs. He held out his hand, and I glanced at the huge ring on my finger as I grabbed it. The mere sight of it still made me want to retch.

“Should we clean up a bit?” I asked.

“The maids will do it tomorrow,” Pablo answered with a shrug.

I thought about the girls who’d wake up the next morning and start off their day fighting ant colonies and wild coyotes over a few scraps of food and porcelain dishes.

“I’ll just bring these to the kitchen,” I sighed, and bent over to pick up a plate.

Pablo rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll wait for you upstairs.”

He walked off, leaving me alone in the chilly night, with my heavy arms hanging limp by my sides. I heaved with a bitter hiccup, that filled my mouth with the nauseating taste of too much champagne.

I managed to clear everything in two drunken, stumbling round trips. It would only have taken one if Pablo had been willing to help, but it was no big deal. I didn’t feel ready to get in bed with him just yet.

I stared at the glowing embers of the bonfire, and then at the house behind it. All the lights were off, any sound inside was silenced by the loud symphony of chirping crickets.

Hernan’s finca was really just one big log cabin. I could easily burn the whole place down, with all the trash inside of it. I could walk inside and lock the kitchen door, and end this thing once and for all.

Pablo had left a box of matches on one of the blankets. I picked it up, grabbed one match and lit it. I watched it burn until it the flames licked my fingertips.

I grumbled to myself. That match was enough to light a cigarette, but not a goddamn housefire. Thankfully, Pablo had also left behind that ugly bottle of lighter fluid.

I looked to my left, then to my right. There wasn’t a soul around, not a movement in the darkness. With the bottle in one hand and the matchbox in the other, I walked back towards the house.

I stopped right in front of a tall, wooden wall, and squirted a little lighter fluid onto it. The stain it left looked kind of like piss, glistening faintly in the moonlight. That made me chuckle a bit.

A flame sputtered from the tip of the matchstick as I cracked it, but I hesitated for a few seconds too long, and then it died out. I took a deep breath, and pried another match out of the box.

I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned around, there was nothing.

I scratched the match on the side of the box to light it, and in the faint glow of the small flame, I noticed something.

A tall, ghostly silhouette, leaning against the wall, just a few feet away from me.

“Emilia, if you think that tiny match is going to turn this whole house and everyone inside it into a pile of ashes,” said the dark figure, “then you’re the dumb one.”

A Good Match

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