Drugs, Treasons and Other Demons

8. NAKED AND AFRAID

A light breeze gushed in through the window, and brought with her the lullaby of the birds, the otherworldly melody they sang to the setting sun.

Could Ana hear them too?

I remembered how clearly I could hear them from the basement, just the night before. Was Ana still down there? If I peeked my head outside, and screamed out her name loud enough, would she hear me?

I wished I could at least tell her goodbye. I prayed she wouldn't forget me. I hoped the first thing she'd do when she got home would be to come back and get me.

But I didn't want to condemn her. I didn't want to burden her with doubt, and fear, and an unwanted duty to come back to this shithole and save me. So I wished Ana would go home, get over me, and spare herself the trouble of choosing between her new, promising life and her old, miserable friend. I figured she'd be happy again one day. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not this year, probably not even the next; but in a while, she'd smile again. And although I might be long dead by then, the thought that Ana would live a happy life comforted me, and I fell asleep with a smile on my face, curled up in my fluffy bed.

I woke up in a haze, when the birds were asleep but the night was well alive. A cool wind chill blew through my room, and the floor vibrated with the sound of loud music. As I slowly shook off my sleepy daze, I heard the distant bursts of laughter and shatters of glass, splashes of water, and pieces of conversation. I'd had noisy neighbors before, and had always felt extremely irritated when they kept me up at night, but this felt different. It sounded like a movie, like a party at Gatsby's, like hundreds of people were having the time of their lives just a few floors beneath me. Euphoria, ecstasy, and unbound happiness radiated all the way through the wooden floors. I was amazed that such an event was going on right beneath my feet, yet also felt terribly lonely.

Hundreds of people. My eyes opened wide as the realization settled in my brain. There was a huge crowd out there, most of them probably unaware that they stood just a few feet away from the four American hostages they would be hearing about on national news the next day.

I wrapped myself in the satin sheet and scuttled over to the window. I knelt on top of the vanity and stuck my head outside. Although the party ran wild in the distance, my corner of the garden was pitch black. Except for a small grove, dimly lit with fairy lights, hanging from strings that swayed gently in the breeze, along with the lush fronds of the palm trees.

If someone walked by and took a second to stop, to take a break from the booming chaos of the party, or to reflect peacefully on their next move with a special somebody - if they stood right there and they looked up to the house, they would be staring directly at me. Hope filled up my chest and warmed me all the way up to my cheeks. If I was noticed, if I was recognized, then maybe I could be saved.

With racing thoughts and a fluttering heart, I waited eagerly. For a minute, or two, and then for a quarter of an hour. My fingers clenched around the windowsill hard enough that my nails started digging into the plaster. A laugh in the distance was moving closer. It was running around the corner, blissfully galloping towards me.

And there they were, a young couple, their clothes sparkling with pristine white and gold. They playfully chased each other past the grove, and for a moment the fairy lights framed them like a painting. They danced to the distant beat of a wild salsa, twirling and laughing and kissing, in an exhilarated glittery blur. And even from three stories above, they reeked - of opulence, of innocence, and probably of expensive liquor.

I thought the first time I'd see the face of someone other than Pablo, I'd feel hope, I'd feel liberated, I'd see light and a chance of being saved and getting my life back.