His head whipped in my direction and I sat up straighter, immediately cursing myself for it. Those intense brown eyes focused in on me and I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. He held me hostage and those eyes felt no different. A few minutes of our eyes pinned to each other, the pain I felt from digging my fingernails into my thighs became too much at the same time Hector realized someone was still on the phone. His eyes left me as did his body. I collapsed against the wooden chair, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in.
“Yes, sorry,” he said, turning back around. “I was distracted. What were you saying?” A pause, and then, “Alright. Alright, ass. Call me when you land, yeah? I don’t care what time it is.”
When he hung up the phone, he placed it on the counter and switched off all the burners on the stove before turning around to face me again. “You do eat meat,” he said gruffly, but it sounded like a question.
I answered in the form of a nod. I watched him as he grabbed two plates from the cabinet, stopping at the fridge before focusing on me once more. “What do you want to drink?”
“Wh—” I started to say, but my voice didn’t cooperate with me. I cleared my throat, rubbing at the sore skin there and tried again. “What are you having?”
A look similar to guilt flashed across his eyes before he moved them back to the fridge. He held up a bottle of Corona so I could see it. “I’ll have one of those, too,” I whispered, unsure if my voice would give away again.
He set the drinks down on the table before returning to the kitchen. He poured the meat he cooked into two separate bowls and fetched some side bowls in two trips. Once he laid out all of the food before us, he sat down, claiming a seat close to me, not the one beside me, but the one next to it, leaving space for me not to feel confined but close enough that we could still talk comfortably. He didn’t look at me again and he didn’t offer me any words, either. He loaded up his plate like a starved man. Remembering that he wasn’t eating alone, with an overloaded taco halfway to his mouth, he stopped to look over at me to see I hadn’t moved an inch.
And I realized a little bit too late that I was staring at him. He dropped the food back on his plate and looked at me. I averted my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat. “Annie.” My name was a soft growl on his lips. When I looked back up at him, his jaw clenched as he rested his elbows on the table, his hands clasped together, and leaned slightly forward. His eyes, hard and intense, solely focused on me. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice softening to a whisper.
I looked away from him, disgusted with myself. I thought I was stronger than this. I thought I could protect myself enough to never be put in this position. I did everything in my power to make sure I didn’t end up like my mother, under a man’s thumb. And I didn’t know what it was about the man sitting next to me, but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, not unless I hurt him, and maybe not even then. But it still stung like a motherfucker to know he was the one in control. I tried to swallow my pride, but it felt like a dozen bullets lodged in my airway, making it impossible.
His eyes still had me pinned and I wished I could shake this feeling of despair off. “The only reason you’re in pain right now,” he gritted out between clenched teeth when I didn’t make a move to acknowledge his words or to eat the food he made, “is because you fought me.”
I broke our eye contact, looking to the side, taking in more of the detail of the interior of this house but not really registering anything, just wanting to escape his attention. Once I felt his eyes no longer on me, I grabbed one of the tortillas and added some meat and veggies before wrapping it up. Just before I took a bite, I realized that Hector was only the second person to ever cook a meal for me. Him and my mom.
I chanced a look his way. His brown eyes softly shut as he tipped the beer bottle to his lips. It’s been a long time since someone cooked for me. I wanted to speak those words aloud but he and I weren’t friends. We weren’t quite enemies. We were strangers. As soon as he handed over my father, I would never see him again.
This was all temporary. Him. This house. His rules. I had to do what he wanted in order to get what I wanted. I wasn’t a woman under a man’s thumb. I was a survivor, just like I had always been.
I survived a dead mother, a piece of shit father, and getting tossed into a strange home. I survived, no, I thrived at an elite college with no support system.
What was this one man in comparison to a life of struggle and sorrow?
I would survive him. I had to.
I let my mouth close around the taco and just barely held back a groan. It was so fucking good. After eating the entire thing, in less than four bites, I popped open the tab from my beer and took a long pull. Barely even noticing Hector anymore, too consumed with the delicious food he prepared, I loaded up my second taco. I looked around the table for salsa. A red chunky sauce that looked like exactly what I wanted popped out at me. I didn’t bother with a spoon. I tilted the little bowl until the salsa spread across my taco like ketchup on a hot dog. Bringing the taco to my lips, I heard Hector’s voice call out my name, but it was already too late. I took a big bite and as soon as the first bite hit my tongue, I dropped the taco, already searching for his face. His eyes grew huge and he looked ready to launch out his chair.
I was fine one second and then the furthest thing from fine the next. I felt heat. Burning heat. My tongue felt the heat of a thousand fires. My cheeks felt like acid had been tossed in their vicinity. I looked at him again, sure my eyes were just as wide as his had been if not bigger. Hands flying up to my cheeks, the usual cold skin was scalding hot like I had been baking under the sun. Hector exploded from his seat, running into the kitchen, opening the fridge, retrieving something and rushing back to me. He pulled my chair out and angled it so we faced each other. I looked down at what he brought: a half-gallon of milk. He hastily uncapped the liquid and cupped my jaw to stop me from moving and pressed the jug against my lips.
The coolness of the milk against my tongue canceled the fire burning in my mouth. Chasing the spicy taste away, I chugged the half-gallon. I’ve never chugged anything in my life and if I had to predict my first time, it would never have been like this.
I could feel the milk that my desperate mouth missed dribbling down my chin, onto my clothes but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I felt a hard cloth dabbing at my mouth. I slid my eyes down to see Hector’s hand holding my face, dabbing at my wet chin. I couldn’t find it in me to be embarrassed.
It took a while and almost the entire half-gallon of milk, but the burning heat finally receded and Hector took away the jug that quite literally saved my life.
“Good?” he asked and although he sounded concerned, I couldn’t help but notice the smirk that was playing on his lips.
I wanted to threaten him with bodily harm if he let the laugh that was so clearly building up through his chest out but I let it go and instead gave him a steady nod. He lifted the napkin that he was still holding close to my face and wiped what was left off of my lips. His growing smile slipped from his face as his eyes left mine and stuck to something lower. When he pulled the napkin away, I didn’t miss the way he let his fingertip graze over the soft skin of my lips, just barely dragging the skin down. When my lip popped back into place, he looked away, but not before I caught the grimace on his face.
When he cleaned up the mess I made, I asked, in the only way I could, “What the hell was that?”
“Salsa,” he said, shrugging as if I didn’t already know that. “But not the kind you find at the grocery store. It’s homemade.”
“You made it,” I asked him, pushing my plate away.
He nodded, mid-bite. While he returned to his chair and resumed eating like it was a sport, I peeked over the table to see what he was eating. It was different from what he made me. I recognized it as a Mexican taco immediately.
After taking four years of Spanish in high school, I decided to take it in college as well. I knew even before I moved to the city,
I’d be exchanging Annie Miller in one day for Olive James. Where do you go when you run? As far away as you can get. Running to Mexico from Pennsylvania seemed like the best option. I tested out of Elementary Spanish I and II and took Intermediate Spanish my freshman year. The first day of class, I walked in and on every desk, a concoction I’d never seen before was laid out on each desk. The teacher, an older woman with golden olive skin and black bouncy curls, walked in the room. “It’s true,” she had said. “You’ve been lied to all of your lives. You haven’t had a taco until you’ve had a true Mexican taco.”
“Do you want a bite?”
I jerked back against my chair when I heard his voice. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I found his eyes once more. I didn’t utter a word but I knew my eyes betrayed my curiosity.
He smiled. He smiled like he couldn’t help it. “Try it,” he said, holding his taco toward me. “If you like it, I’ll fix you up one.”
I took the taco from his hand and ripped off a good chunk before returning it to him. Hesitant, because obviously, this man’s taste buds were much stronger than mine, I took a bite the size a baby would. A light chuckle came out of Hector, causing me to take a much bigger bite. I chewed the meat and tortilla and who knew what else. The minute my tongue registered the taste, I let my eyes close and just enjoy it. It was damn good.
When I finished chewing, I opened my eyes and Hector already had a taco ready for me in his hands. I scarfed it down and the next one he made for me, too. When all of his meat was gone, I leaned back in my chair, eyes closed, sipping on my bottle of beer, feeling my stomach bloated and the skin at my waist pressing against the buttons of my jeans. “That was amazing,” I said, but mostly it came out as a breath. “Best meal of my life, hands down.” I peeked my eyes open to see Hector leaning back against his own chair, his bottle pressed against his lips, and staring at me. I tilted my head to the side as if I was considering him. “Maybe you’re not an absolutely horrible person, after all.”
I didn’t give him time to reply or time for me to see if he would shoot me another smile, I stood up, collected our dishes, rinsed them off in the sink, found my way back upstairs and almost immediately passed out on the biggest bed I’d ever slept on in my life.
I tug on the end of her shirt. It’s the only part of it I can reach. She’s in the kitchen, wiping the tables, counters, sink. Over and over again. Almost as if she can’t get them clean enough.
“Mama,” I whine, tugging once more. “You promised makeup time. I want to be pretty.”
She looks down at me as if she just registered my presence. Her frown smooths out and a soft smile plays on her lips. “Annie, baby. Mama is busy right now. Why don’t you go up to your room for a bit and play?”
“You promised,” I say, moving my hands down to my hips. “You said Tuesday is our night together. You said we can do whatever I want. Just the two of us.”
“I know, sweetheart. But your dad is coming home and bringing people over who are very important. We have to be on our best behavior.”
She gives me a look that tells me she will not hear any of my pleads or my whining or I’ll be in trouble. I give up and go back to my room. I stay there when I hear my dad come in. I stay there when different, unfamiliar voices float up the stairs. The moment I hear the strangers say goodbye and the click of the door shut, I wait for my mama. She always comes for me. Maybe she’ll still have time to put blush on my cheeks and gloss across my lips. I wait and I wait. And then the sun disappears from my window. I walk down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, knowing where every creak in the wooden floor is so I don’t make a sound.
When I reach the middle of the stairs, I hear a sharp whisper. My dad’s sharp whisper. His angry whisper. “You fucking embarrass me,” he seethes, the belt he wears to keep his pants up, in his hands and striking something. Something I can’t see. My hands cover my mouth. He’s really, really angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen him. “All I ask you to do is clean. And you can’t even do that. Toys all over the place. Dust making my nose fucking twitch. Useless. That’s what you are, Michelle, useless.”
My eyes widen in horror. Mama. Where’s Mama? I see his leg lift and with it my mama’s head comes into view, on the floor beside the couch. Her shirt is off, her back entirely red and swollen.
My eyes grow big. A scream is lodged in my throat but I stuff it down. I’ll just make it worse. Seconds that feel like years pass and I hold my breath, knowing I am only going to make it worse. My entire face hurts, aches from keeping the screams, the cries, the sobs from surfacing.
I can’t take it anymore.
I have to let it out.
I scream. I scream. I scream as if my life depends on it.
* * *
This was a bad idea. The worst idea I’ve ever fucking had. I knew it last night when I carried her over my shoulders and into my home. I knew it today when I opened the bedroom door and those murderous blues locked on me. And yet if given the chance to go back to last night, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
She could look me in the eye, curled fists at her sides and determination in her voice and tell me she was ready to take a life until her voice ran dry but I would never believe her. Not because I wouldn’t listen or because I believed she was incapable of murder.
My hands touched enough of her body between last night and tonight to know her body wasn’t only healthy but strong. The slice on my eyebrow alone advised me not to underestimate her.
The strength in her body, the calmness in her movements may have fooled her but the look in her eye, the breath she let out when my hands gripped the gun revealed the truth. The truth that maybe even she hadn’t discovered yet.
I didn’t have anyone to take away a choice that never felt like a choice. Annie did. She could hate me. She could bring havoc to my life. She could do whatever the hell she wanted to me if it meant saving herself.
I dropped onto the couch, a heavy sigh escaping me. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the soft material. In the darkness of my house and underneath my eyelids, her face never slipped from my mind.
Her eyes haunted me. Her mouth taunted me.
I was so fucking screwed.
Opening my eyes, I sat up, blindly reaching for the remote and the game controller. Once the TV turned on, I muted the sound and started a basketball tournament ruling out sleep for the night.
The ball barely tipped off when I heard her screams. I flung the controller out of my hand and booked it up the stairs two at a time. I burst through the doorway to the sight of her body thrashing against the bed. Her eyes clenched together, tears leaking out of the corners as I made it to her bedside and reached for her blindly.
“Annie.” I tried to shake her shoulder enough to rouse her. I backed away once her body calmed, unsure of how she would react to me.
The cut on my eyebrow I was fond of. Long after I handed over Cameron and she moved on with her life, I knew every time I looked in the mirror, I would remember her. But I did not want any other scars from this woman and the way she handled a knife, I knew if she wanted to hurt me, she could.
Her body remained still and her screams turned into whimpers, the wetness gathering from her eyes soaking her cheeks. “Annie,” I said hesitantly, giving her another shake.
Nothing. Her head began to shake and the word ‘no’ cascaded from her lips in a pleading chant. I reached for her face, my hands cupping her cheeks. I thumbed away the tears, whispering her name as softly as I could.
Her head stilled underneath my hands and the tears finally stopped. I breathed out a sigh of relief, letting my hands linger on the softness of her cheeks, my fingers brushing away the damp hair collecting at the top of her head and temples.
I pulled my hands from her skin and watched her chest rise in unsteady breaths. I remained an arm’s length away until her tremors completely quieted. I covered her with the blanket she must have kicked off and left her sleeping.
I barely made
it to the doorway when her screams started up again. It wasn’t just a scream. Unlike the screams before, she yelled. “Stop it. Please, just stop it. No. No. Stop.”
I no longer cared of bodily harm. I rushed back to her side and gripped my hands around her arms and shook her. “Annie. Wake up. Please, Annie.”
The moment her eyes fluttered open, I yanked her into my arms, setting her shaking body on top of my thighs, my larger frame swallowing her. Her eyes opened just to close. I didn’t look at her and I didn’t relinquish my hold at all. It wasn’t until her body grew tense that I knew she regained consciousness and with that, clarity. Our eyes connected and she flinched, scurrying away from me as fast as she could. I easily let her go, trying not to take her reaction to heart.
I twisted my body, reaching for the lamp on the bedside table. A warm glow settled over the room in my next blink and our eyes locked, neither of us looking away. I watched as her eyes calmed, followed by the rest of her body. Without her ragged breathing, the room fell into a tense silence.
She tore her eyes away from me, pulling her knees into her chest and burying her face against her thighs.
I took her moment of hiding to get myself in check. I have heard screams pour out of a woman before. It became a part of my job as a Rivera man. I took pride in helping women when needed. I didn’t think I could’ve handled the family business without doing something good to outweigh the bad.
The screams were the worst part. I could never get them out of my head. The number of women I’ve heard scream because a man thought he could handle them however he wanted made me sick to my stomach. But I remembered each scream, each face.
Yet, the sound of Annie’s screams did something to me. Something that made my hands shake with rage, my body coil with hatred.
I knew I should tear my gaze from her. I should ask her if she was okay even though I knew what her answer would be. I should leave this room and let her handle her own shit, not sit idly by and watch what I could guess was a nightly routine. No one had nightmares at random. Not the kind of nightmares that bring a strong woman to tears, anyway.
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