“Don’t,” I said. “It’s the only thing that’s left of my mother.”
“It was,” he replied, not letting up until the locket shattered.
The way he said ‘was’ creeped me out.
It was.
I was.
Things that came on board.
Things that never left intact.
He picked up the broken keepsake and examined it.
I felt a rush of triumph because the stones and pearl remained unscathed. Of course they did. It must have shown on my face because he grabbed my neck and squeezed so hard, I was gasping for air.
“Did you love your mother?” he asked, finally letting go.
I bent over, trying to catch my breath. “I never got to know her.”
Damian walked to the railing and held the necklace over the water. I watched, still on my knees, as it floated in the wind. I knew what he was going to do, but I couldn’t look away.
“Ashes to ashes . . . ,” he said, as he dropped it into the ocean.
I felt like he’d thrown a piece of me overboard, like he’d dishonored the love my parents had shared, the memories they’d made—the two rainbow alexandrites, and me, their pink pearl. Damian Caballero had destroyed what was left of our pretty, glass world.
I couldn’t cry. I was too exhausted. My spirit was crawling through tunnels of sandpaper, being skinned alive. Scrape off my freedom. Scrape off my hair. Scrape off my dignity and my self-worth and everything I possess, and cherish, and hold dear. I lay there looking up at the sky, looking up at the sun that I’d been yearning for, and I didn’t care.
I didn’t care when Damian forced me to get up and shoved me back downstairs. I didn’t care about counting windows or marking the exits. I didn’t care when he locked me up or when the engine picked up, taking us farther away from my home, my father, my life.
All I knew as I lay in bed, watching fluffy white clouds morph into strange, hideous forms through the overhead latch, was that if I ever got the chance, I wouldn’t hesitate a single second before killing Damian Caballero.
IT WAS DARK WHEN DAMIAN came in again.
I was dreaming of pink-frosted cake and pi?atas and Esteban.
Touch her again and I’ll see you in hell, he said, as they dragged him away.
He’d been my self-appointed protector, but there was no protecting me from the man who stood in the doorway now.
The light from the hallway outlined his form, casting a sinister shadow over my bed. I wanted to hide somewhere it couldn’t reach me.
Damian placed a tray on the bed and pulled up a chair. He left the lights off, but I smelled food. He’d brought me food.
I approached the tray cautiously, keeping my eyes averted. I remembered what had happened the last time I’d defied him, and I was going to be a good girl. I was going to be a good, conditioned girl. I could barely contain the hunger pangs that were rolling through my stomach in short, tight contractions, but I forced myself to slow down, to behave, to be civil and not bury my face in the plate like I wanted to.
It was some kind of fish, simply grilled, with rice on the side. God, it smelled good. There was no cutlery, which was fine, because all I wanted to do was rip into it, but I knew he was watching, so I pinched off a piece with my fingers, and the oil and cooking juices mingled with the rice.
“Not so fast?” he said.
Oh God, not again. Please just let me eat.
I wondered what he’d do if I licked my fingers.
I could taste the fish so bad.
“Stand up,” he instructed.
I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, the one that wanted to scream and cry and whimper and beg. I swallowed the tasteless, fishless lump and stood.
“Take your clothes off,” he said from the shadows.
I had been expecting it. Sooner or later, one way or another, it always came down to their dick. Suck it, lick it, stroke it, fuck it.
Because my mother didn’t love me.
Because my father hit me.
Because my teacher fondled me.
Because I was bullied.
Because my wife left me.
Because my kids don’t talk to me.
That’s why I drink.
I gamble.