Drugs, Treasons and Other Demons

57. EASY TARGET

The sun felt cold on my skin. I couldn't hear any crickets chirp, or any birds sing. The garden had died, and the trees had stopped dancing in the wind.

The corridors seemed longer, and to walk down them was an endless, aimless trip. The hall looked bigger, but somehow not as grand as it usually did.

My favorite songs didn't sound the same, my piña colada had a bitter aftertaste. Someone at the party suggested sliding down the staircase on a mattress, and even that couldn't bring a smile to my face.

There were no colors at sunset, no stars in the night sky. My dinner had no flavor, and anyways, I didn't even feel hungry. I was still coming down from the drugs, and not even the new colors that my brain hallucinated managed to interest me.

He'd avoided me all day, and then he'd disappeared at night, and that made the whole world feel empty.

It was him I saw when I closed my eyes. That short-lived smile on his face when I turned to face him, and his hands were still wrapped around my waist, right before I told him I'd mistaken him for someone else.

It hurt me that I might have hurt him, but the most painful thought of all was that this incident might have made me lose one of my only friends.

Since then, Juan hadn't said a single word, and he hadn't looked at me once, not even a side-eye. Without him around to share a drink with me and lose our minds together, this night of madness had felt a little too lonely.

I woke up with the Sun on the next morning, still in bed next to Pablo. He hadn't tried to smother me with a pillow, which I supposed meant he hadn't found out about the things that happened the day before.

Even though Juan wasn't around, I still poured myself a drink. The dynamic duo he and I used to form was more of a terrible trio if you count alcohol, and as long as there were hundreds of bottles of liquor stashed in Pablo's pantry and kitchen cabinets, I would never really be alone.

I roamed around the house, cocktail in hand, glaring at anyone who dared to stare at my drink for too long. I wasn't looking for judgment or morals, just for someone to talk to, someone to pull me out of my misery, or my insanity, or whatever this state of mind was called.

Outside in the garden, right beside the iron-wrought gate that led to the staff's quarters, under a white stone arch and the twisted branches of bougainvillea, sat two maids, holding hands. One in a pristine baby blue uniform, and the other in a tear-stained mint green apron.

"Un dia me dice si, el siguiente dice que no," sniffled Majo as I walked up to them. "Justo ayer queria coger y hoy me dice que se arrepiente. Te lo juro Mafer, ese chavo esta loco."

One day he tells me yes, and the next he says no. Just yesterday, he wanted to fuck and today he tells me he regrets it. I swear, Mafer, this guy is insane.

"Hey," I said to the girls, swallowing what was left of my drink with a loud gulp. "Have you seen Juan?"

"Si lo veo, lo mato," spat Majo, before she burst into tears again.

If I see him, I'll kill him.

Mafer gently rubbed her hand down her friend's back as she looked up at me, pinching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"What happened?" I asked her.

"Just boy stuff," she whispered. "It's fine."

Majo buried her face in her hands, and let out a frustrated cry.

"A las mujeres las come, las mastica y las escupe como mierda," she seethed.

He eats up women, chews them, and spits them out like a piece of shit.