“I’m still going to need you to elaborate,” I say. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. And I’m only willing to tell the one you’re here for, so how about you help me out a little so we can get this over with.”
I still don’t want to believe that she really knows anything; maybe if I continue to probe her for clues she’ll eventually trip herself up. But deep down I feel like she knows far more than I want her to know. And I can’t risk Dina’s life.
Nora spears her fingers through the top of her hair, pushing the fallen strands away from her face. Another bruise accompanied by a lump is forming on her cheekbone. A tiny vertical sliver of blood is evident in the very center of her plump bottom lip; lipstick is smeared across her mouth again. She reaches up a hand and wipes it all away, leaving her lips pinkish and slightly swollen.
I don’t even bother asking about the handcuffs. If she got out of them once she can probably get out of them again. Whoever comes into this room next will have the job of detaining her.
“You were a sex slave to a Mexican drug lord,” she begins, “for most of your teenage and young adult life. A sex slave, Izabel. Tell me…how many did you have?”
I look up, meeting her brown eyes. Again, there’s no mockery, just a serious, determined face looking back at me as if I were being punished, forced to tell the truth to lessen my sentence.
I swallow and choke a little, looking down at my hands on the table.
And then I confess my darkest secret.
Mexico – About seven years ago…
My head throbbed beneath my fingertips as I lay on my side against the wood floor. My mouth was filled with blood; I began to choke on the metallic taste. Tears streamed from my eyes, sobs rattled my body, sobs that would go unheard while Izel, Javier’s wicked sister, was the only one in the room with me.
“Get up you stupid fucking puta! Levántate!”
She came at me again, dressed in a short, tight black skirt that left nothing between her legs to the imagination when she crouched over me barefooted. Long, black hair draped her bare shoulders; her chest was covered by a spaghetti-strap red tank-top, her large breasts practically spilling out over the tight fabric.
She wrenched her hand in the top of my hair.
“Please, Izel! Please don’t hit me! I-I didn’t take it! I swear!” I tried to cover my face with my hands, but she slapped them away.
“Open your eyes!”
Trembling all over, I opened my eyes.
She spit in my face and slammed my head against the floor.
I felt the wind shift as she rose into a standing position above me. I was afraid to look up at her. I shook all over and stank of urine and sweat and filth. I wore a long blue dress, a hideous thing it was, something that had been made for an old lady. But the smooth, thin material was cool on my skin in the brutal summer heat and I cherished it very much.
“One of you little bitches,” she spat in Spanish, “took my fucking makeup bag! I want it back! And you’re going to tell me who has it!”
“I don’t know!” I screamed, curled on my side in the fetal position. And it was the truth—I had no idea who took it. But it wasn’t unusual for Izel to say that things had been stolen just so she had an excuse to beat on me. She hated me. Hated me more than she hated anything or anyone, I was a stupid, white, American whore…a puta. “Una estúpida, blanca puta Americana!” And she was jealous that Javier protected me the way he did.
“You lie!”
“I’m telling the truth!” I sobbed uncontrollably into my hands.
An agonizing pain seared through my body as her foot thrust into my rounded belly and I lost my breath in one sharp gasp.
“Ahhhiiieee!” I cried out in pain when my breath came back. My legs came up into the fetal position again, my hands gripped my stomach as I tried to cover myself, to shield my belly from anymore blows. Vomit came up in my mouth and I couldn’t hold it down. Lying on my side, I expelled as much as I could onto the floor, vomit pooling around my cheek. I gasped and cried and choked, my eyes shut tight as I lay there hoping it would all just go away.
The sound of the door slamming into the wall was loud and frightening. The rumble of heavy boots thundering across the wood beneath me shook me to my bitter core.
“No, no, no! Javier, yo no fui!” Izel pleaded, futilely trying to defend herself.
I opened my eyes to see Izel’s throat caught in Javier’s iron hand, her little caramel-colored feet lifted from the floor.
“YOU NEVER TOUCH HER!” Javier roared in Spanish, his face merely an inch from hers as she choked in his grasp. “I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, IZEL!”