Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  When I do, I grab a wash-cloth from the side and kneel beside the bathtub. I try to keep my nerve, but I always hate this part. I tend to these victors, but then tonight I’m theirs for the taking. I care for them, my actions tender and sweet, but theirs are always the same – barbaric, harmful, soul-destroying.

  On days like these, I lose a little more of myself.

  I reach over the bathtub, placing the cloth into the warm water while grabbing the soap to lather it up. I keep my eyes away from Javier, my attention begging to trail upon his tattoos and beg to know his story.

  Like with his wondering curiosity, mine still gets the better of me.

  “I can clean myself,” he states, bringing a hand to wrap around my wrist.

  “I know,” I whisper to him, not giving eye contact quite yet. “But this is my job. Please, just let me do it.”

  I hate how desperate I am with my reiterations, but Javier is unlike any other man I’ve had to tend to. Most, when told I’m theirs for the night, take command of that fact and make me theirs as roughly and as dirtily as they please, but Javier is willing to leave me be so he can do it himself.

  “Okay,” he replies, his tone a tender octave as he releases me.

  At first, I wash his arms – wincing when I wash the knife wound – and then I clean his hands before traveling up to his chest. I press a little harder, trying to rid the red stain on his skin. I read his tattoos as if they’re telling me a story, but the only one I work out is muñequita. I know it means doll; a few of the men call us girls by it. Having only heard it from the mouths of criminals, I wonder why a man so clearly unlike the rest has it inked on his skin. I run the cloth over it and then start to work on his neck. He tilts his head back, finally allowing me to do my job. While the silence is unnerving, I have never felt like this before. No man has ever been this calm after the fight for survival. My hand comes to touch the far side of his face, my other pushing the cloth to his bloodied cheek. He opens his eyes as they meet mine and I freeze, with the wash-cloth held against his jaw and just get lost in the hazelnut hues of his eyes.

  A girl could dream just looking at him, but I tell myself to stop being so stupid.

  “Sorry,” I say, quickly coming to my senses.

  I carry on what I’m doing, trying to rid the blood masking Javier’s face. Bit by bit, his face begins to lose the crimson color, but he catches my hand, pulling it away from his face before I have time to finish. I’m not sure why, but the way he looks at me causes a gentle ripple in my emotions.

  Why is he so different?

  In a life where no one cares about you wholly but yourself, Javier is either one of a kind or a good player. A girl could fantasize about a guy like him, but no one here will.

  He’s like the others, he’ll prove himself to be like them all in time.

  “What’s your name?”

  His question catches me by surprise and I look down at the water, allowing a small smile of politeness grace my lips.

  “Eighteen.”

  “That’s your actual name?” he asks, incredulously.

  “That’s my name,” I affirm, forcing the smile a little more as I finally bring my head back up. “Eighteen,” I say again, affirming the point. “My other name doesn’t matter in this place.”

  “It matters to me,” he states, his gaze intensifying on me.

  “It shouldn’t,” I say, handing him the wash cloth. “Do you want to finish cleaning yourself while I grab you a towel?”

  “Okay,” he agrees, relenting.

  I get up from the floor, heading straight back into the bedroom to grab a clean towel from the bed. I stand looking around the room, remembering the last man who lived in here – he was so hell-bent on pleasing Joaquín that he nearly got us all killed. I wonder if Javier will get to know the ghosts that haunt the rooms of this building.

  I know some stories are told as tales while others are forgotten.

  “Are you coming back?” he calls out to me.

  I return to his side, seeing that he’s gotten all but one bit of blood.

  “You’ve missed a part.”

  I speak as I kneel back down beside him. I grab the cloth from the bath water and place my left hand on his jaw, pulling close while I get the few last patches of blood. I feel the same magnetism as before and I hate that I have a sense of lust for a man I barely know. He will fall at Joaquín’s feet by nightfall.

  It’s hard not to tar him with the same brush as every other man.

  “There,” I say, lingering for a moment before I treat fully. “Here’s your towel,” I state, getting ready to get up. “I have to clean your wounds,” I tell him, my finger-tips coming to delicately touch the wound on his bicep. “This is quite deep.”

  I leave him with to get out and order him to take a seat at the side.

  “Are you a doctor?”

  I look up, my eyes glistening as I let that sink in. For a moment, I allow myself to revel in my old life, allowing bittersweet memories to invade my every thought, but like always, the pain becomes crippling and I suppress them.

  “No,” I tell him, leaving where he is to go to the cabinet under the sink.

  I crouch down, grabbing the first aid kit and head back over to Javier. He’s now seated and he watches as I set down sterile packs of equipment. We don’t have a lot to help with cuts and wounds, but Joaquín made sure we had the basic necessities. I grab one of the packets so I have a clean needle and pick up the silk thread. Joaquín wanted to make sure every room was equipped in case of an emergency, but we don’t have anything state of the art, so surgical thread is the best we can do.

  “There’s nothing to numb the area with, I’m afraid,” I say, looking at the cut before looking up at Javier.

  “That’s fine,” he tells me, giving me a playful wink. “I can cope with it.”

  He catches me off guard again. He keeps proving to me he is like no other man – that fact catching me by surprise. Most men come in with gusto, with their own game plan, but are just as corrupt as the one before them. Javier is surprising me with every minute we spend together.

  “You’re not like the others that come through here,” I comment, threading the needle, keeping my eyes on getting this over with. “All of the others loved this reward, but you’re not.”

  “My motives aren’t pointed at how much pussy I can get,” he states, dryly. “Ever thought of that? I can function without my cock leading the way.”

  “You’re the first,” I mutter under my breath. “This is going to hurt,” I warn.

  I pinch the wound together, bringing the skin back together and prepare for the first stitch. I am still, looking at Javier, but he gives me a smile full of reassurance and I push the needle through his skin. He hisses, but it doesn’t cause me to stop. Instead, I continue, closing one end of the wound before I continue the stitches down the cut.

  “Are you sure you’re not a doctor?” he asks again, watching me suture the wound. “That’s pretty damn neat for a novice.”

  I pause for a moment, allowing my shoulders to drop as my guard begins to falter. I know he’s persistent, so I decide to give him enough information for him to just back off. He’s right; no amateur could’ve stitched as cleanly as I just did. I reach over for the scissors, cutting the thread off.

  “I wanted to be a nurse,” I quietly whisper, putting the needle into the paper beside me. “When Joaquín found out, he told me he would give me all injured members so I could become a better asset to the El Salvador.”

  “Does he do that often?” he ponders, watching me closely. “Use people’s strengths as an asset?” he asks, but I shake my head. “So, you’re one of a kind?”

  I nod. “It’s one of the reasons how I became Eighteen.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “It’s not important,” I say, putting the used medical supplies in the trashcan. “I’m going to go and grab you some clean clothes.”

  I flee the room, leaving him to finish. I�
�m not sure why I’m so unable to do the basic duties I’m meant to do with Javier. I want to confess everything to a man I’ve known for not even an hour and I want him to know what this life does to a man. Fuck, I want to go against every teaching I’ve learned while here for a man I don’t know. I’m willing to risk my life for a stranger.

  I can’t let that happen.

  Not when I have no idea why it is happening in the first place.

  “Eighteen?” I hear from behind me. “Why are you leaving Javier alone? You know the rules.”

  I turn around; bracing myself for what I know is to come.

  Joaquín’s son, Santiago, stands before me. His eyes bore into me, that menacing, devilish look he gets brighter than ever. He steps closer to me, not uttering a single word as he does so. He pushes me against the wall, trapping me with the force of his body as his hand comes to wrap around my throat. It’s not tight, just possessive. I know he’s prepared to strike me, to harm me in any way he sees fit, but he always allows me to have the benefit of the doubt.

  “I’ve been waiting for the day you fuck up,” he tells me, leaning in close to my ear. His other hand starts running down my waist, running along the line of my panties. “Is today going to be it?”

  I turn my head away as his hand goes between my legs and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. When I open them, I find Javier at the door watching me. For a man who has just taken out a man’s heart, he looks shocked at the sight before him. As much as I want to look away, I can’t, I’m drawn in by his entire demeanor.

  My distracted attention means I miss Santiago leaning in, his hot breath against my skin.

  “Remember your job for tonight, Eighteen,” he whispers at me, his lips connecting with my jaw, drawing me back to the moment. “You’ll do well to be a good a girl.”

  “I know,” I murmur back, closing my eyes to escape this moment. “I have to please him.”

  I feel my blood beginning to boil. My pulse thrashes the blood through my veins with such a violent beat that I don’t know how to control myself right now.

  What I’m watching, I know will become a regular sight, but Eighteen – as she’s called – doesn’t fit into this world in any way, shape or form. Her touch is far too delicate, her eyes too soft and the way she speaks much too gentle. Yet I can tell she’s lived a thousand lives she never should have had to.

  “You know how we all like it rough, Eighteen?” he asks her and she nods her head at him. “He’ll like it rougher. If he plays like that in the ring, he’ll be far harder with you in bed. You prepared for taking on a man like that?”

  “Yes,” she replies, her voice becoming harder to execute as he starts to close his hand on his throat. “San-Santi-ago.”

  “You’re nothing but a puta to all of us,” he states, leering closer as he calls her a whore. “My father might think you have a golden fucking vagina, Eighteen, but I’m not so easily fooled. I’ll admit you’re one of the best mules, but the best lay?” he asks her, rhetorically, laughing in her face. “I’ll beg to differ. I’ve tried and tested you all, I don’t even think you rank in my top ten.”

  I clear my throat, hoping to get his attention. I’ve had enough of him demeaning her already and I realize it’s only the first of many altercations I’ll watch in on.

  “Ah!” Santiago states, turning to look at me. He releases Eighteen, only to grab her by her hair and force her to walk toward me. “There’s our victor!”

  “Javier,” I correct him, stepping out from my room in nothing but my towel. “Thought she was my girl?” I question him, watching his eyes darken instantly as I look at the way he’s holding onto her.

  “She is,” he says, not yet letting her go. Instead, he turns to her, drawing her closer to him, her face contorted with pain. “We just all love to cop a feel of this one.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t touch what was mine for the night... thanks,” I reply, sarcasm consuming my voice with ease. “All due respect, but I was told she’s mine, and I’m not a man who enjoys sharing.”

  I look to Eighteen and see she’s looking at me with confusion. The emotion on her face magnifies as the bastard begins to let her go. Clearly, no man before me has as had much to say.

  “Santiago Castillo,” he says, extending his hand to me.

  I take it and as he offers a strong, firm handshake, I copy him, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “You’re just what the El Salvador needed,” he tells me, not yet letting go of my hand. “A strong member who knows what he wants. No man’s ever stepped up to the mark and fought against me before, Santos. I like that in you.”

  “Yeah?” I query, watching him beginning to nod. “Well, I promise you it won’t be a one-time event.”

  “I look forward to it,” Santiago declares, a bit too happy with the prospect. “Before I let you both get on with it, you should know something about this girl here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We have a game with Eighteen,” he begins, pausing to look at Eighteen, winking playfully at her. He turns back to me while amusement maims his face. I notice a stronger sense of wickedness settled in his eyes. “She’s not a screamer,” he says, taking a moment before he continues. “If you can make her scream out, Santos, there’s a couple of grand up for grabs.”

  “Seems like a far bet,” I remark, showing an interest.

  “I’ll warn you now, though,” Santiago muses, leaning in. “She’s as silent as they come when it comes to fucking her. Doesn’t matter how fast or hard you go at her, she barely makes a noise.” He backs up, twisting to look at Eighteen. He puts his hand on her jaw and she recoils from his touch. “One day, you little puta, you won’t be able to hold back on the silent treatment. You’ll finally fucking enjoy what we give you.” He begins to take his hand away from her, only to slap her clear across her cheek. “You’ll do right to help Santos here settle in. Count yourself warned.”

  “Yes, el señor,” Eighteen replies, unmoved and seemingly not shocked from the slap. “I needed to get Javier’s clothes before you came in.”

  “I’ll have Hector bring them up,” Santiago states quickly. “You just take Javier here back inside and we’ll see you at dinner.” He takes a step back, letting us know it’s safe for us to leave. “Nice stitch up job, by the way, Eighteen.”

  “Thank you, el señor,” she replies and turns to me. “Shall we?”

  I don’t think twice, I put my arm around her shoulder and lead her away from Santiago and back into the room. I don’t even think about looking back or letting her go until she is safely inside the room. When I take my hand away from her shoulder, she crosses the room, turning back to face me. Her cheeks look flushed, her blue eyes staring at me and then she bites her lip with anticipation.

  I watch her slowly as she lifts her hand up, her fingers coming to play with the thin straps of her yellow dress and I’m almost balled over as she slides it over her shoulder, repeating the same thing with the other side. My heart thrusts into my throat the moment she lets the entire thing fall down to her feet, leaving her before me in just her panties.

  “Eighteen,” I say, hating myself for calling her such a derogatory name. “What are you doing?”

  “What I’m supposed to be doing.”

  I shake my head at her. “I don’t want you to do that,” I reject her, maybe a little too fiercely as I watch her face become smothered with her hurt. “Fuck! I’m really not here for this.”

  “But they’ll know,” she replies, her eyes going wide. She comes over to me, all but forcing herself onto me as her hands move to my chest. “They’ll know that I didn’t perform.”

  “They won’t know. Plus, I’m the one refusing you, not the other way. I’m not here for that,” I tell her, reiterating myself as I start taking her wrists in my hands and pulling them away from me.

  “Then what are you here for?” she asks, watching me so intensely I start to feel my nerves fray for the first time since being here. “Seriously,
what are you here for?”

  “A job,” I state flatly, not giving anything else away.

  She scoffs at my response. “You’re here for just a job?” she asks and begins to laugh. “You won’t find just a job here, you do realize that, right?”

  “I guessed,” I say, rubbing my hand across the back of my head. “But a guy can try.”

  She doesn’t reply, she bends down and starts to pull her dress up and over her body. It’s as she draws the material up to cover her body I catch a sight at how skinny she is. Each of her ribs stand out, her stomach is sunken slightly, marred with the tiniest of scars, but aside from that she looks like any other girl would.

  “You’re a bit of a fool,” she mutters as she crosses the room.

  “Maybe, but I have other reasons to be here,” I motion, turning to watch her disappear through the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re gonna have to give me a name,” I say, following her into the room. “I can’t keep calling you a number.”

  “You’re going to have to,” she says, leaning over the bath to empty the water. “That’s my name.” She stands up, shaking her hand to rid it of some of the water. “You’ll get used to calling me Eighteen soon. Then you’ll realize this conversation is completely pointless.”

  “You were someone before you came here, though,” I fight, and she looks as if I’ve struck her. Her eyes water and I immediately feel remorseful. “I’m just saying, you were never Eighteen before, I don’t want you to be that, now.”

  “That’s not your place to say,” she grounds out solemnly. “My name is Eighteen.”

  “I will find out.”

  “No, you won’t,” she responds, her voice low. “Just let it go and get on with it.”

  “No, I won’t,” I respond, matching her tone. “If you won’t tell me your real name, I’ll give you one.” I grin at her, but it doesn’t seem to make her smitten in the slightest. “Bonita?” I try, screwing my face up as it doesn’t sound right. “Chiquita or Preciosa? No, no, cariño, seems perfect.”