by M. Robinson
Not now.
Not ever.
So, I just kept waiting, slipping into a dazed-like state, willing my eyes to stay open. The next thing I knew, a tall, shadowy figure was crouched down right in front of me. As if he appeared out of thin air. At first, I thought I was imagining him. It wasn’t until I heard him call me Muñeca and say he had something for me, that I realized he was real. For some reason, the image of him at that very moment brought back the memory of when Papi said he had a gift for me.
There was kindness in his eyes again, his stare never wavering from mine as he slowly placed Yuly in between us. Showing me he’d fixed her, cleaned her up, making her look perfect again.
For me.
I believed him when he said I was safe in his care, which was why I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to be a scared little girl, taking on this new world alone.
In a way, he was all I had left.
I smelled the woman before I felt her crouch down in front of me on the couch, bringing me back to the present. She smelled like cookies and honey, reminding me of my mami.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly.
“Amira,” I whispered into my doll, unsure of my new surroundings.
“What do you have there, Amira? Can you show me?” she questioned in the softest voice, rubbing my back.
“Yuly.”
“Oh, is that your doll’s name? That’s a beautiful name for such a beautiful doll. Are those your baby chicks too?”
I nodded.
“How old are you, Amira?”
“Nine.”
“Wow, you’re a big girl. Can you show me your face? Can I see your pretty eyes?”
I swallowed hard, shyly lifting my chin.
She slightly gasped. “I was right. You look like a princess. My name is Rosarío. Damien is my family, so do you know what that means?”
I shook my head.
“That means you’re now my family too.”
I glanced over at Damien where he was sitting on the opposite couch, draped over with his elbows resting on his knees. Watching us with an intense glare. His eyes shifted to Rosarío, nodding to me. Responding to my unspoken question in my mind.
I could trust her too.
“Amira, I just made some torticas de moron. Those are Damien’s favorite. How about we get you washed up and in some nice, clean clothes. Then I’ll warm up some food and pour a tall glass of milk for you. How does that sound?”
I extended my basket of baby chicks, silently asking her what to do with them.
She lovingly smiled, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face like Papi used to do. “Don’t worry about your baby chicks, they will be right here when you get back. I promise.”
My eyes locked with Damien’s for a few seconds and he simply nodded, once again easing my worries.
He’d be here too.
She turned on the shower in the bathroom, helping me clean off all the blood from my hair and body. Making me feel comfortable and not so alone as she told me all about her life. Where she was born, how she knew Damien, her husband’s name who had suddenly passed away. Telling me it didn’t matter that he was gone because he would always live in her heart.
I liked her.
It was hard not to.
She left one of her nightgowns on the sink for me since I had no clothes, saying she was going to warm up my food so it would be ready when I finished up. I got dressed, staring into the floor-length mirror when I was done. The girl reflecting back at me looked different, older, less innocent and pure. I bowed my head, grabbing Yuly, and turned off the light before I stepped out in the hallway, not knowing where to go.
“Who is she, Damien?”
I followed Rosarío’s voice down the hall, listening closely as I made each step.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Rosarío.”
“Then what? I didn’t ask any questions when I helped you, fixing that doll and cleaning her up for you. Ignoring the fact that it was covered in blood. But now, you bring this little girl covered in blood to my home, in the middle of the night. What should I be asking?”
“I didn’t know where else to take her. I’m at a loss here too.”
“Who is she?”
I stopped behind the swinging doors to the kitchen, waiting to see where this conversation was going. I knew I wasn’t supposed to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to know what was going to happen to me.
“She’s my responsibility. She’s mine,” he declared, catching me off guard.
“In what sense?”
“She’s not my daughter, Rosarío. You know me better than that. I don’t fuck around with whores.”
“Right now, I feel like I don’t know you at all because all you’re giving me is vague responses.”
He sighed, taking a deep breath. “Did you know?”
“Did I know what?”
“Don’t play fucking games with me!” Damien roared, slamming his hand down on what sounded like a table. Making me jump. “My father. Emilio Salazar… My goddamn future!”
“Shhh! You’re going to frighten the girl. Keep your voice down and your temper in check. Something tells me she doesn’t know about your short fuse and foul mouth yet.”
He scoffed, “After what she’s witnessed tonight, it’s her memories that are going to frighten her. My temper and foul mouth are the least of her concerns. Now answer my question. Did. You. Know?”
She didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time until she finally stammered, “Your father, he… he’s… a good man, Damien…”
“In comparison to what? Eh?”
Silence.
He snidely chuckled. “Who doesn’t know who now, Rosarío?”
“You knowing my past doesn’t change that little girl’s future. I would know, I’ve been in her shoes. You and your father are more alike than you—”
“Fuck him! To hell with him and his bullshit lies!”
“That’s not fair.”
“You want to know what’s not fair? I’ll tell you what’s not fucking fair... what will happen to Amira if Salazar finds out I didn’t really kill her? That’s what’s not fucking fair.”
“What will happen to me?” I interrupted without thinking, stepping foot into the kitchen. Looking at Damien for answers like I’d been doing all night.
He didn’t hesitate, responding, “The same fate that met your family tonight.”
“But… he said… the monster… he said… he told you… that I was yours… you remember?” I stuttered, my voice trembling.
“No, Damien, that’s where you’re wrong,” Rosarío countered, bringing our attention to her. “He’ll use her as a pawn against you. Exactly how he did with your father.”
“Is that what happened? He used you as a—”
“No. He didn’t have to. He already had you,” she interrupted Damien, pausing like she was thinking what to say next. “Fatherland or death, we shall win, right? You see, he doesn’t just want your loyalty, he wants your soul. We’re all prisoners here, it’s why we live this communist life. He gets off on the power. The more you fight him, the harder he will come after you. I would know… it cost my husband his life.”
“Rosarío—”
She stepped toward him, cutting him off again. Placing her hand on his cheek in a loving gesture. Adding, “But I wouldn’t have had the pleasure to help raise you, if the circumstances were different.”
The expression on Damien’s face quickly changed. Suddenly understanding what she implied. Only confusing me even more.
She left him in a daze, walking over to where I stood, crouching down to my level. She smiled with tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mamita. I know what it’s like to lose your world, when all your family wanted was to give you a better one. You’re safe here from the monster, I promise.”
I nodded, what other choice did I have.
I ate in silence at the kitchen table, overhearing them talk from the living roo
m. Even though they were whispering, I could still hear Damien tell her that he would provide for me. Getting me all the things I needed from clothes, to food, to a tutor. She told him not to worry about any of that now, they would figure it all out in time together.
After devouring my plate of food, I set my dish in the sink, wanting to join them in the living room. When I walked in, my heart sank. Damien was nowhere to be found.
Rosarío was sitting, playing with my baby chicks. She wanted to give me a quick tour around her house, my new home as she called it. Trying to make me more comfortable and at ease with the new situation that was now my life. I barely paid her any attention.
He was gone.
He had left me.
He didn’t even say goodbye.
She ended the tour by showing me where I could sleep, opening the door and turning on the light. It was much bigger than my room back home. A simple space with a twin bed, dresser, and some old paintings on the walls. A floral armchair sat in the far corner near the bed with a knitted throw blanket draped over the back and a little reading table beside it.
“I know it’s not much right now, but you can make it your own. We can go out and get you some girly decorations, a comforter, and some toys to spruce up the space,” she said.
I was at a loss for words, resisting the urge to cry again. I couldn’t believe he’d left me. After all that, he abandoned me. My finger traced an old book with worn pages sitting on the little table.
“This was Damien’s room when he’d stay with me.”
I felt a sudden sense of comfort, learning that this was his room. Soothing the loneliness in my heart.
“I used to read that book to Damien every night at bedtime when he was a boy. Maybe I could read it to you sometime.”
I just gazed at her, nodding. Unable to push through the sadness. She took one last look around before heading to the door. Reminding me that her room was just across the hall and I could come get her if I needed anything, no matter the time. I simply nodded again, exhausted and overwhelmed. Feeling like yet another person had already left my life.
She tightly hugged me, kissing the top of my head, and said goodnight. I took one last look around the room like she had and then went and used the bathroom down the hall, going about my business as if it was any other night. Brushing my teeth with the toothbrush Rosarío had left out for me and washing up. Avoiding the mirror at all costs.
I slightly opened the door to the bathroom when I was done. Peering out into the dark hallway, still unsure of my surroundings, before making my way back to my room. Clutching onto Yuly as hard as I could for comfort. As soon as I stepped inside, I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him. Immediately wondering where he came from.
Damien.
He was standing in the middle of the room, holding the basket of chicks, waiting for me. I didn’t know what came over me, but I breathed a visible sigh of relief and ran to him. Throwing my arms around his legs as tight as I could, not feeling so alone anymore. I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Crying into his jeans, letting go of every last emotion I still had bottled up inside of me.
He was there.
He was really there with me.
I wasn’t imagining it.
His arm wrapped around my shoulders, hugging me back. I squeezed him tighter. Sobbing harder.
“Shhh…Muñeca. I’m here. Shhh… It’s okay, I’m here.”
In that moment with him, something told me that for the first time in his life…
He didn’t feel so alone anymore either.
Four. Years.
Four fucking years since I faced the brutal reality of my fucked up life. The true meaning of what communism and our government stood for.
Corruption.
Salazar destroyed our nation and completely degenerated the Cuban people. He resented the upper crust who he believed sold their souls to “Yankee capitalists.” Only serving the interests of the rich and oppressing the poor. He loathed everything the United States symbolized. Especially their capitalistic and imperialistic way of life.
Except, Emilio Salazar was an extremely intelligent and charismatic man. He targeted the poor and uneducated first, guaranteeing them free everything. “I wanted what you had, but I didn’t want to work for it,” was his motto. Promising everyone equality was how he triumphed to begin with. Using the fact that the lower-class population was much larger than the middle and higher classes. Salazar knew they wouldn’t know any better, so he took advantage. In their eyes, he was just the modern-day fucking Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor.
It was all a bunch of bullshit lies.
A fairytale you told a child at night.
The moment he stepped foot into office, all the wealthy, educated professionals fled Cuba. They found refuge in other countries, including the opposing side. The one country Emilio despised so damn much—the United States. Where they could still prosper and live their comfortable lifestyle they worked so hard for. Pretty much telling Salazar to go fuck himself. Fully aware that Cuba would turn to shit, with no social class regime.
Emilio Salazar’s revolution was nothing but a revolution of envy.
His motive for everything stemmed from power. He thrived on control, using it over the less fortunate. In his eyes, everyone was beneath him. At his mercy. Sure, he wanted equality for all, but only if the “all” stayed where they belonged. On their goddamn knees, bowing to him. He was an egomaniac who hated his own people. There were no colors. There were no options. If you weren’t his friend, you were his foe. If you weren’t with him, you were against him.
Traitors, as he called them.
You had to become your own worst enemy in order to survive his hell.
Marching in line.
Following his orders.
Doing his fucking dirty work.
I was oblivious until I saw his true colors. By that time, it was too late to do anything. It was much easier to stand beside him than to betray him and pay with my life. I couldn’t do that to Amira, she’d already lost too much. There was no way I’d let her lose me too.
So instead, I paid with my soul.
Condemned.
Monstrous.
At the end of the day, what other fucking choice did I have…
I was twenty-two-years-old with so much blood on my hands already. I was surprised I could still see my skin.
I killed.
I tortured.
I played fucking God while I was rotting in Hell.
Slaughtering men and women. Taking the lives of anyone Salazar said had to go. Yes, Emilio was my leader, but I wasn’t up in the crevice of his asshole like everyone else was. Nor did I kiss it. He may have owned me in one way or another, but he didn’t own my balls.
I still did what I had to.
Fulfilled duties on my own terms.
When I wanted, how I fucking wanted.
I drew the line at harming a child. I wouldn’t so much as touch a hair on their heads. Not after Amira. Standing my ground, the first time I told him no, I thought he was going to put a bullet in my head, but instead I became his favorite. Probably reminding him we were one in the same. Everyone knew I was Salazar’s main soldier and wasn’t to be fucked with. Not many attempted to anyway. However, there was always that one motherfucker, here and there, who wanted to be top dog, and I had to set them straight.
I was alpha.
End. Of. Story.
I didn’t take shit from anyone. Not even Emilio himself.
The offenses ranged from being as severe as someone plotting to take Salazar down, or as insignificant as a person telling me to go fuck myself. The punishment was always harsh though, no matter what the crime. It could range from death to torture, or plain imprisonment. No one disrespected me, I made sure of it. There were no imaginary lines. I’d crossed them all. No boundaries. No second chances. No redemption.
Not for me.
For them.
For anyone.
&
nbsp; I planned and led ambushes against possible foreign attacks. Went on killing sprees. Raided homes, businesses, and even colleges, where he believed rebels were staked out. I orchestrated firing squads, ripping civilians from their beds in the middle of the night. Ordering them to face the wall so I could shoot them in their backs. Making it much easier to kill several traitors at once.
I witnessed and participated in it all.
Somewhere along the way in the last four years, I stopped allowing myself to feel, to think, to dream of another life. I became desensitized to it all. Now, I just did whatever I was ordered to do, without giving it a second thought.
Becoming as feared as Salazar himself.
The most fucked up part of it all was I took pleasure in it. The apple never falls far from the tree, and I was no fucking exception. You’d be surprised what the human psyche was capable of when it had no other choice. Only the strongest survived, and I would always make it out alive.
I didn’t know darkness and evil lurked inside of me until I had to murder in order to thrive in this life. The control, the power, the sins of it all were just as addicting as they were afflicting. Consuming every last part of my being.
Becoming the fucking monster they trained me to be.
Inflicting mental torture on prisoners was a thing of the norm. A tactic I enjoyed participating in the most. For the last week, I’d spent my mornings with inmate, Vicente Reyes, prisoner 95708. He was sentenced to twenty years behind bars for killing a handful of Cuban soldiers. We needed the names of the men he orchestrated his terrorist attack with, and he had yet to provide us with even one.
I nodded to the prison guards as I made my way inside the interrogation room for the seventh straight day, dismissing them. Vicente was seated at the head of the long rectangular table, positioned in the middle of the room. Forgoing his usual seat on the side where he’d been sitting for our previous meetings. His glare immediately shifted from his shackled wrists to the box in my hands.
Waiting.
His curiosity becoming more evident with each passing minute. I knew what he was trying to do. Reading a suspect’s body language was a talent I had perfected over the years. Nothing got pass me. The way his index finger on his right hand twitched slightly every few seconds. How his jaw was clenched as the muscles on his neck tensed. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, I could see his pulse rapidly beating from the visible distance between us. Vicente wanted to come off all hard and unfazed, but I could smell his bullshit from a mile away. Although, I had to give credit where credit was due, the man had some brass fucking balls, sitting parallel to me.
