Drugs, Treasons and Other Demons

82. INDEPENDENT WOMAN

An old fan hummed in a corner. Critters chirped far away in the forest, and cold moonlight rolled off the house's wet roofs like raindrops. Pablo was snoring behind me, and I could just barely hear him over the sound of my own, steady breaths ringing in my ears.

I twirled my cigarette between my fingers, and tapped it on the edge of the open. A sprinkle of ash fell into the night, and in return, I received a soft waft of fresh breeze, straight to my face. I felt little bumps rising on my bare skin, and something sticky crusting up on the inside of my leg.

The bright patio lights had turned off four cigarettes ago, but my wide-open eyes were still stinging. It wasn't because of the smoke getting into my eyes, and it wasn't because of the sleepiness settling in.

I thought there was a chance Juan might still be waiting by my bedroom door, far away on the other side of the finca. I thought I could sneak out and join him, and make his night worth the wait.

But both of those thoughts were stupid, and I was a fucking idiot.

I could have told Pablo no, that I would have rather slept on my own. I had my reasons, after all. He'd almost killed me the second-to-last time we'd been alone in this very room.

Frustrated was a gross understatement for how I felt, but my head was too weak to think of stronger words. I couldn't keep one happy without upsetting the other. I couldn't step out of line without ruining my chances at survival. I was torn, ripped apart, drawn and quartered.

I heard the sound of something shuffling, sheets rustling behind me, and Pablo's snoring was soon cut short as he choked on his spit. The room went quiet again.

"Gordita, why aren't you in bed?" he mumbled.

"I'm not tired yet."

He chuckled, and lifted his head off his pillow. "Do you need a third round?"

"Go back to sleep, Pablo," I sighed.

I lasted a while more, another eight cigarettes in a row, before I started to my eyelids started fighting to close shut. I woke up to the embers of my last cigarette charring the skin of my fingers. I threw the butt out the window, half of me hoping it would set fire to the building and burn all of us inside it, and slipped beneath the bedsheets.

I imagined that Juan would be pissed the next morning.

I guessed he'd ignore me the best he could, only ever looking at me out of the side of his dark eyes. He'd keep a stiff look on his face, and hide his anger beneath his tight lips.

Maybe he'd laugh at jokes made at my expense, and throw in a few taunts by himself. He might play with Manée's hair to make me jealous. I figured he might kiss her once or twice, and then stare at me to check if I was watching.

And as much as I didn't want to be right, I was. Because Juan did exactly that.

Well, almost exactly. He didn't just kiss her twice, he kissed her three times, and we weren't even done with breakfast yet. He leaned in for a fourth one, but Manée was already fed up. She yowled like a feral cat, and swatted at his face.

"What?" he protested. "This is our honeymoon."

"You need to shave," she muttered, rubbing her cheek with her skinny fingers. "Your beard is like, burning my whole face."

Juan rolled his eyes. "Oh no," he deadpanned. "Are your thighs okay?"

She all but stabbed her knife through his hand, and I would have gladly joined in.

I'd been here a couple of times before, and by now I knew the drill. I knew the script word for word, and for once there weren't any sudden plot twists.