by M. Robinson
Needing her as much as she needed me.
The silence wasn’t broken until she was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, mindlessly flipping through channels on the television in our room. Stopping on a news channel, finally understanding why we were here to begin with. I watched her reaction from the bathroom doorway, waiting for the inevitable to happen when the newscaster addressed in Spanish,
“Emilio Salazar, Cuba’s revolutionary president, dies at the age of ninety at his estate in Havana. He perished from natural causes with his beloved wife by his side late Saturday evening.”
Eyes widening in shock, she slowly shook her head in disbelief as all the blood drained from her face. The remote slipped from her hands, crashing onto the tile floor beneath her. Shattering across the ground, mimicking her unnerving thoughts.
“Did you honestly think I’d bring you here if he was still alive?” I questioned, garnering her attention. Making her eyes shift to mine.
“I don’t know what I thought. Is this true?” She pointed to the television. “Is he really dead?”
I nodded, watching her every move.
“How do you know?”
“I can feel it, Amira.”
Salazar and I weren’t tied by blood by any means, but that didn’t change the fact we were connected through the demons that would forever live inside of me.
“His wake is taking place all day tomorrow, in Havana.”
“And you what? Want us to go pay our respects?” she strained in a disgusted tone. “You’ve got to be joking, Damien. That monster destroyed you.”
“Us.” I made it clear. “He destroyed us. From the moment he said you were my responsibility, he drove the final nail into our coffins. Burying both of us fucking alive. You said so yourself, you’ve been standing in your childhood home, being held fucking captive since you were nine-years-old.” I pointed to myself. “And I’ve been standing there with you, holding your hand. We never left, Muñeca. No matter how hard we tried, how much we fought, we’ve been crucified to their ashes for twenty-four years. Twenty-four fucking years, Amira,” I emphasized in a strained tone, silently hoping she’d understand.
“So what, Damien? You think going to his wake, seeing him one last time, is going to magically change our past? It will make everything okay between us? If we can’t fix our situation, why the hell do you think he could? He’s fucking dead.”
“Exactly! So all the heartbreak you endured, every sin he made me commit in the name of ‘Fatherland or death, we shall win,’ every single fucking tear you shed because of him can burn in fucking Hell beside him. Your family can finally rest in peace and you can rest too! Your nightmares are worse than ever! Your dreams became your nightmares and your nightmares became your fucking reality! Have you seen yourself lately? There’s no fucking life in you, Amira! Remember all the things we wanted, all the things you prayed for? They’re just haunted memories now! Don’t you see? I can’t protect you from the past, but I can try to save you from the future you’re currently running to!”
She scoffed in disbelief, standing to face me with her arms firmly pressed to her sides. Eyes locked on mine. “What future, Damien?! I was a child, a little girl who thought the love I had for you would be enough to save you! To save us both! And now it just feels like an incarceration! Another fucking demon making me wish at times you would have killed me and saved us both this goddamn death sentence where we can’t live without each other! I’m just as haunted by my family as I am by you! And now Roman too!”
There was so much pain in her eyes, and I couldn’t stand it.
Not for a second.
Not for a day.
Not for a minute.
Nor an hour.
She placed her hands out in front of her, yielding my attempt to step toward her. Knowing touching her was the only thing I wanted to do. “Emilio is only the beginning of our problems,” she stated, walking over to her suitcase.
“I know. Which is why we are starting here.”
She shook her head again, this time scowling. “I can’t even begin to fathom why you would think this is going to help us. Why would you give that monster anything! He doesn’t deserve our time, our presence, our fucking breath! He deserves nothing! I hate that you brought me here! This isn’t going to help us, it’s going to hurt us! Why do you keep doing everything in your power to destroy us? Or are you just a sick fuck like him?”
“I never had any intentions to hurt you, Amira, and somehow it’s all I fucking seem to do. I did let you go, remember? As if you could forget… I fucking left you because I was trying to set you free! I did it for you!” I roughly pointed at her. “Just know that I love you. I loved you enough to let you go. But in all the years since I first laid eyes on you… the scared, little girl whose innocence I took part in destroying, I have never,” I gritted, “never, wished I would’ve ended your life back then. Killing you. And don’t you ever fucking tell me you wish I had! Saving you, protecting you, raising you with Rosarío’s help, was the only thing I have ever done right in my damned existence. There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to let you turn that into something fucking seedy and tainted! When you’ve been the only good thing in my condemned goddamn life!” I brushed past her with my hands fisted at my sides, storming out. Slamming the door behind me, needing some air before things turned even more heated between us.
I spent six months gritting my teeth, biting my tongue, and biding my time. Harvesting the amount of frustration and aggression I had pent up, there was no telling how bad I was about to fucking blow up, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.
At least for tonight.
There was so much I wanted to say, to tell her, to explain, but it seemed to never be the right moment to confess. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. These last few months together were a fucking whirlwind. Although, when we were together, it felt like the earth stood still and the world moved around us, as it always did. But at other times, it felt like we were walking through a fucking maze, desperately trying to find our way out.
Our way to each other.
Both chasing ghosts, knowing it was a relentless cycle of running, hiding, and seeking with no place to go.
A giant fucking circle with no end in sight.
Amira may have been staying in my home, taking care of me, lying beside me almost every night, but we were simply playing house like we always had. It was natural to fall into the same pattern, it was all we’d ever known when it came to one another. However, time, years, and distance had changed us in so many ways. We weren’t the same people we once strove to be but at the same time, we still were those exact same tortured human beings.
She wanted to save me.
I wanted to save her.
Never realizing we needed to save ourselves.
I stayed down at the beach watching the sunset, getting lost in the tranquil beauty of the Cuban night with the waves crashing onto the shoreline. I hadn’t stepped foot in Cuba for thirteen years and it still felt as though I’d never left, only proving my point even further. I waited outside until I knew Amira would be asleep, not wanting to pick up where we left off. Exhausted from the relentless beating my thoughts caused daily. I slid my key into the lock and walked inside our dark hotel room, gently shutting the door behind me. The moon gave off a soft glow from the balcony doors, outlining Amira’s bare back slightly showing from under the bed covers.
I stood there for a few seconds admiring her beauty like I had with the waves of the ocean, before grabbing my bag and making my way into the bathroom. Stripping down to take a quick shower, needing to wash away the night and sand. Question after question plagued my thoughts as I let the water run rapid down my back. Every thought more unforgiving than the last, until the water ran cold. My mind was still reeling as I stepped out of the glass enclosure, wrapping a towel around my waist, and proceeded with my nightly regimen. I wiped away the steam on the mirror to reveal a man I barely recognized anymore. Staring in
to the eyes of a monster, wishing I was anything but. Praying that with Amira’s help, I might be found again.
Under all my sins.
I threw on a pair of black gym shorts and took one last glance at myself in the mirror, tugging my hair away from my face. Remembering how much Amira loved my long hair, especially when it was down. I inhaled a deep, steady breath, blowing it out as I exited the bathroom. Deciding to close the drapes before getting into bed, hoping to make it dark enough to sleep in the next morning. It was definitely going to be a long ass day to endure, and we hardly slept these days as it was. We both were in desperate need of some rest.
Pulling back the covers, I slipped into bed next to Amira, wanting sleep to come fast but knowing it wouldn’t. It never did. I laid there, leaving plenty of space between us, staring at the ceiling with my hands behind my head. Allowing my mind to process what the fuck was about to go down the following day. Mentally preparing myself for the shit-storm I knew it would cause with Amira.
And with me.
Still gazing up at the ceiling, I sighed, “I know you’re awake.”
“I didn’t know I was pretending to be asleep.”
I grinned, breathing out a chuckle. “That smart ass mouth, Muñeca. Good to know some things haven’t changed.” Sensing she wanted to reply, I added, “Say it.”
“Fine, but you’re not going to like it.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
She reluctantly turned, staring up at the ceiling with me like it was the night sky. “You know your father is going to be there, right?”
“My father won’t hurt you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about, Damien. Have you… I mean, have you spoken to him since you left?”
“No.”
“Are you going to speak to him tomorrow?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“Well that’s new, Mr. I-contemplate-everything-before-it-even-happens.” She smiled with a cheeky grin.
It was then I realized she didn’t want to pick up where we left off earlier either. She was looking to enjoy each other’s company while we still could. “I’m an attorney, people pay me a fuckload of money to think ahead.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Ask, Amira.”
She glanced at me. “How do you know I want to ask something?”
“I’m also perceptive as fuck, especially when it comes to you.”
She laughed, “No shit.”
“I still hate you fucking swearing as much as I did when you were a little girl.”
“Says the man who just said fucking.”
“You said it, I’m a man. And I spent a shitload of money making sure you turned out to be an educated woman, who didn’t have a dirty fucking mouth like mine.”
“Wow, that’s sexist in so many ways. What are you going to tell me next? I belong in the home, cooking, cleaning, raising babies while my husband provides?”
“So, we both agree?” I peered back at her and we locked eyes. “You belong in my home—cooking, cleaning, raising our babies, while I provide.”
She grimaced. It was quick, but I sensed it.
“I saw that.” I nodded, calling her out on it. “Fine, I’ll help with the cooking. From what I remember, you burn toast.”
“Hey.” She playfully smacked my chest. “You always ate everything I made you.”
“I had no choice. You loved feeding me, and I loved eating.” Grinning, I eyed her up and down. “Mostly… you.”
Her eyes dilated as she sucked in her bottom lip, and because I was such an asshole and couldn’t resist fucking with her, I rasped, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? To spread your legs for me, put your pussy on my face and ride my mouth and tongue until you’re screaming my name.”
This was the closest we’d gotten to anything remotely sexual since the night at the restaurant, though it didn’t stop me from fisting my cock almost every night to the image of her surrendering beneath me.
I took her in inch by inch, until I knew I got the desired effect I wanted out of her. The sudden flush in her cheeks subtle enough to where no one would notice, other than me. “Sweetheart, you already admitted you were mine and that you loved me. I could have already had my way with you like I did the very first night, when you fucked my cock at your safe house. I could’ve made your sweet pussy come for me again, taking what we both know has always fucking belonged to me. No matter how many men you’ve let in between your legs.” I pushed away the images from what I just said, hating myself for allowing it to happen.
It didn’t surprise me when she replied, “So what’s been stopping you?”
“I want more,” I simply stated. “I don’t want to just fuck you, Muñeca. The next time I sink balls-deep inside of you, I want you to look into my eyes and know you’re the only woman I’ve ever been able to make love to.” Without giving it a second thought, I wrapped my arm around her stomach and tugged her over to lay on me.
She came willingly, resting her head on my chest, laying her arm across my middle. She sighed contently, melting into my warm frame. Loving the sound of my beating heart against her ear. “Is that true? We’ve only had sex twice, Damien.”
“It may have only been two times, but I made you come over and over again, burying myself inside you countless times all through the night. Watching you breathless and panting, coming apart beneath me. The image of you taking every inch of my fucking dick is seared into my mind. There have been many times I’ve fisted my cock to the memory of that alone.”
She looked up at me through her lashes, resting her chin on my chest. “Alright, I’ll give you that one.” She smirked. “But I wouldn’t call what we did at my safe house, making love.”
“I may have not been soft and gentle with you, but anytime I have my hands on you, it’s always with love.”
She beamed, not hiding it from me. “No one else, eh?”
“There was this whore in Amsterdam,” I paused, chuckling at the memory. “In my defense, I was beyond fucked up on drugs and booze, and I thought she was you. I made love to her thinking it was you the entire time. So technically, you’re the only woman I’ve ever been able to make love to.”
“Amsterdam?” she questioned, aware of the answer, but needing to hear it come out of my mouth.
“I left Anne Frank a rose for you.”
Her eyes watered and her bottom lip quivered, appreciating the significance it meant to her.
“I’ve traveled to every place you’ve ever dreamed of with only the memory of you by my side.”
She lovingly smiled. “I’ve never traveled to any of the places I dreamed of because I couldn’t do it with only the memory of you by my side.”
“I love you, Muñeca. Te amo.”
For the first time in six months, she finally said what I’ve longed to hear for so long. “I know, Damien. I love you too.”
Seven simple words allowed our bodies to rest. Entangled together bringing us the peace we so desperately craved, even if it only lasted for a little while. Darkness took us under blissfully, letting us both sleep in late the next morning.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DAMIEN
“Are you okay?” Amira asked, glancing over at the side of my face from the backseat of our chauffeured SUV. “We don’t have to do this, Damien. The driver can turn around. It’s not too late to stop this. Just say the wo—”
Setting my hand on her leg, I silenced her before she was able to get the last word out. Her gaze fell to my ascending fingers when I started tugging the hem of her dress up, until her thigh was bare beneath my touch. Once again caressing the soft, silky skin of her inner thigh like I did on our way to the hotel. Giving her my final answer without having to say a word. She sighed in response, reluctantly giving in to the fact that this was actually going to happen, and there was nothing she could say or do to stop it.
“I would never let anything happen to you, Muñeca.”
“Don’t you th
ink I already know that? I’m fully aware of the lengths you’re willing to go to keep me safe, and that was before you took a bullet for me. I’m just scared for you, that’s all.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Oh, I’m fully aware of that too. Except, hopefully now you can get it through your thick skull that I’m here with you. I’m here for you. I won’t let anything happen to you either.”
I squeezed her thigh. “No more talking, Amira. That’s what I need from you right now.”
She reluctantly exhaled and placed her hand on top of mine. It wasn’t necessarily the reply she wanted, but the one she ultimately knew she’d receive nonetheless.
It was almost noon by the time we arrived at the wake in Havana. Crowds upon crowds of Emilio’s loyal diehard followers were standing outside the church, waving signs and banners with his face plastered all over them. ‘Fatherland or death, we shall win’ written on most, along with other infamous words Emilio had spewed. Making me remember that I was once among those men who idolized a man who didn’t deserve it.
“Compañeros, compañeros, queridos, compañeros,” Emilio announced, taking his place behind the podium on the stage. Silencing the large, open outdoor stadium where thousands upon thousands of his socialist countrymen were in attendance. Including my father—who was Salazar’s right-hand man—and myself.
I stood there with pride and honor, wearing military fatigues identical to the ones Salazar wore back on the day of his first monumental attack. Strategically placing my black combat boots in the same spot he stood when he began his revolutionary movement. I knew it then as much as I had known it in my last eighteen years of life. I wanted everything he had.
