I storm toward my mom’s bedroom. I don’t bother knocking when I throw open the door.
She’s sitting at her cosmetics table, applying makeup to her already heavily painted eyes.
I clench my hands and walk up to her. “Why didn’t you act surprised about the rape bed?”
Mother doesn’t say anything as she unwinds a tube of lipstick and applies the red gloss to her lips.
I feel like the wind has been sucked out of me, and I sway on my feet. She knew. All this time she knew!
Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I fight desperately to hold them back. I will not allow this woman, this horrible woman, to know how much she’s hurt me. “Why didn’t you do anything to help me?”
Mother turns, and beneath all that heavy makeup, I can see her eyes are foggy. Has she been crying? Does The Spitting Cobra actually have feelings?
“I was afraid.” Her lower lip trembles as she speaks. “Your father is twice my size. What was I supposed to do?”
I shake my head. I refuse to let my mother get off that easily. The moment she found out, she should have filed for divorce at the very least. Despite the trembling in my limbs, and the churning in my gut, I jut my chin forward. I don’t care what it takes. I will make this woman realize her inaction was wrong. Terribly wrong!
“You could have called the cops!” I yell.
Mother gasps, splaying a manicured hand across her chest. “That kind of scandal would have ruined our family!” The mock horror in her features is almost comical. “I confronted him the next day, and believe me, Christina, your father felt terrible about it.”
“The next day?” I barely breathe the words as shock numbs my brain. “The day after Karri told you?”
She tilts her head and squints her eyes. “Told me what?”
I feel like I’m sinking into quicksand. It’s like my legs weigh a ton, and it takes all of my strength not to fall over. Memories wash over me
. I screamed. Father slapped me and told me he’d slap me harder if I made another sound, but that scream was so loud, I was sure my mother would hear and come save me.
But she never did. And now I know why. My mother has never given a shit about me. Never.
White-hot rage consumes me. I let out a strangled cry before bearing down on her with a snarl. “You heard me screaming! You knew I was being raped and you did nothing!”
I run into her bathroom, slamming the door behind me as the knot in my gut suddenly unravels. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving. I vomit for so long, I’m sure I’ve lost my breakfast and all of my dinner from last night. My eyes and throat are burning from the noxious smell, but I continue to throw up until nothing is left but bile.
There is tapping on the outside of the door. “Christina, dear, are you okay?” Her voice is laced with sugary sweetness. “Do you need tissues?”
That’s what she was saying, but I knew what she was thinking:
“Try not to make a mess. I don’t have a housekeeper anymore.”
Chapter Twenty
Andrés doesn’t know what to expect when he rings the doorbell to Christina’s house, but it certainly isn’t a half-naked, drunk woman wielding an ivory statuette like a weapon.
“I don’t have any money,” she slurs. “My stupid dead husband blew it all on that secretary he was fucking. He didn’t leave me shit for savings, either. All I got is this goddamn big house and a spoiled bitch daughter.”
Andrés blinks hard, thinking the crazed woman before him has to be an illusion. “I’m looking for Christina. She was supposed to be at my apartment hours ago, and I’m worried something happened.”
“Oh.” Her cool eyes sink into their sockets. The paper-thin skin on her face looks ready to split open as she pulls her lips back with a hiss. Andrés is reminded of a poisonous serpent preparing to strike. “You’re the not-stupid, but poor, Mexican? We were just fighting because of you. Now she’s gone.” She rears her head back and snarles.
Andrés takes a step back, fearing the woman will launch an attack any minute. “Gone?” he summons the nerve to ask, even as a lead weight settles in his gut. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” The woman waves the statue in front of her, looking like she’s trying to swat an invisible fly. “But one thing I do know, my daughter was raised with wealth and privilege.” She eyes Andrés with disdain. “She will not last long as
your
girlfriend, but it will be too late. Jackson won’t want her and her future will be ruined.”
Andrés barely remembers thanking the woman for her time as he finds his way to his truck. He’s always suspected he isn’t worthy of happiness, especially not with a girl like Christina, and now her mother has just confirmed it. Still, he has to find out what happened to Christina. She hasn’t answered any of his phone calls or text messages. He needs to know she’s okay. He can’t live with himself if something has happened to her. There’s only one place he knows of that she could be, her friend’s apartment with the little yappy dog. He only hopes he can find her there.
* * *
I don’t know how I have the strength, let alone the willpower, but Grace and I move all of my stuff into the tiny apartment, plus we carry her futon downstairs through the narrow doorway and set it below my bedroom window.
The sun has finally gone down. I don’t know the time, because I turned off my phone hours ago. There’s no one I want to talk to. I just want to shut out the world. Grace won’t leave me alone. She knows I’m upset, but I tell her I’m too exhausted to talk, so she finally goes to her apartment.
That’s when I fall onto my makeshift bed and sob. I cry so hard and for so long, I’m nearly in a stupor when I hear a heavy banging on my front door. I lie there in a motionless heap, hoping whoever it is will tire of knocking and go away.
But the knocking continues, louder and louder, until I’m afraid it will wake all of the other tenants in the building. I can’t get kicked out just after I’ve moved in.
I heave myself off the bed. I’m sore and tired, and it takes all of my energy to trudge to the door. When I look through the peephole, I burst into tears.
Andrés is on the other side. I wonder how he knew where to find me, but I remember he’s taken me to Grace’s apartment before. He probably went there first, which means Grace is awake. I look through the peephole again, and her head peeks out from behind his shoulder.
Damn. I don’t want to talk to anyone now, him least of all. How do I explain to Andrés the state I’m in? How do I tell him about my past? I can’t tell him. What would he think of me if he finds out I came from such sick, twisted parents? How would he feel, knowing he made love to a woman who’s been violated by her father?
Just the thought of what my dad did to me makes me feel unclean, but there’s not enough soap in the world to purge that man’s taint from my memories. I clutch my sides, bracing myself for the surge as disgust and self-loathing wash over me, and I get the feeling of a thousand tiny insects crawling over my skin. For the past six years, I’ve been able to repress these emotions, but knowing my mother listened to me being raped and did nothing, I feel like I’m being raped all over again. All I want to do is go back to my bed and curl into a fetal ball. I do not want to talk to anyone. Not when I know they will never understand how I feel.
“Christina!” Andrés calls as he bangs louder. “Open up!”
“You’re going to wake my neighbors.” Grace hisses behind him.
I slide the chain over the top lock and crack open the door.
Andrés looks like shit. His hair is a mess and there’s a wild look in his eyes. “I’ve been worried about you.” His voice is a plea. I don’t know why I was expecting him to yell at me, but he doesn’t. He presses against the door, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. “Please let me in, mija.”
“Andrés,” I groan. “Now’s not a good time. I have a bad headache.”
I try to shut the door, but he blocks it with his hand. “I know about your fight with your mom.”
“She told you?”
His eyes are wide and misty, and I feel like shit for what I’m putting him through. “She says it’s my fault. She says I’m ruining your future.”
That selfish bitch. Can’t she let me have one good thing in my life? This is her way of punishing me for moving out. But my mother takes vengeance to a whole new level of twisted. She isn’t just trying to wound me. She’s trying to crush me.
“She’s lying,” I say in the firmest tone I can manage. “This isn’t about you, Andrés.”
“Then who’s it about?”
I shake my head as I choke on a sob. “I can’t say.”
He pulls away and drops his arm. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re fighting with her.”
“You’re not. Please, Andrés,” I beg, “I just need to be alone for a while.”
When he turns and leaves without another word, I feel like I’m falling into an abyss, where everything good in my life is being pulled away from me. I close the door and lean my forehead against the wood, as silent tears fall to the tile beneath my bare feet. I have no idea how long I stand there, before I trudge back to bed and fall into a restless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
It starts the same way, just like every other nightmare he’s had. Andrés is navigating the Hummer down the windy incline. James is sitting beside him. Two fresh-faced soldiers, brand new to the unit, and to the Army, are in the back. Andrés swerves when he sees the pothole, and the force of the blast knocks the vehicle on its side. It skids down the incline for several yards, and when it finally comes to a halt, James, or what is left of James, is lying on top of him.
Andrés can’t do anything, he is so numbed from shock. The blast knocks out his hearing, and he drifts in and out of consciousness several times. He has no idea how long he lays there with his best friend’s body on top of him. Minutes? Hours? Of one thing he is certain: after the dust from the blast has settled, he hears not a sound from the other guys in the truck. Not a sound. But he scents their blood in the air. While he lays there in agony, waiting for help to arrive, he thinks he hears his friends’ lifeless corpses crying out to him, demanding to know why he dodged that pothole, when he should have known it was a trap.
But then the dream changes, and as Andrés looks at his friend lying on top on him, his heart stills. James is gone, and in his place is a woman. They are no longer in the Hummer but in his bed. Long, auburn hair fans his body as she sobs against his chest.
“Why are you crying, mija?” he asks her.
But she doesn’t look up at him as she continues to cry harder. Finally, she speaks through a muffled sob. “My life is ruined because of you.”
Andrés tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, but then the dream shifts again and James is back on top of him. Andrés squirms beneath the weight of his friend, despite the agonizing pain that shoots up his leg when he moves. Crying out, he chokes on stale blood and dust. When he finally awakes in a pool of sweat, chest heaving as he gasps for breath, Andrés knows without a doubt what that dream is trying to tell him. He’s no good for Christina. He’s no good for anyone.
* * *
I have no idea what time it is when I roll out of bed. I know it must be late. Great. I’m going to lose my new job and have no way to pay my bills. It takes me a while to find my phone beneath the heaps of clothes scattered all over the floor. When I power it on, I see it’s already nine am and I’ve got three missed voicemails.
Shit!
I listen to them in order from newest to oldest. The first one is from Andrés, left an hour ago.
Hey, I called in sick for you. I figured you could use the day off. I’ll stop by to check on you after work.
His tone is even. Almost. I can hear the cracks in his voice, and it breaks my heart.
Still, I breathe easier knowing he called in for me. I should have known Andrés would do something so thoughtful. The boy is amazing, simply amazing, and he deserves far better than damaged goods.
The next call came in just moments before Andrés’s message. I don’t recognize the number, so I figure it must be Tio or Ricky calling to find out where I am. Instead, I’m greeted by Jackson’s nasally whine.
So I’m a fucking father now? Is this why you dumped me? Did you know about this? Why didn’t you tell me? I feel like a freaking bomb has been dropped on me, Teenie!
Huh. Leave it to Jackson to find a way to make this all my fault. Stupid little prick. I’m so glad I dumped him. Funny, how I’m not really bothered by his infidelity. Karri’s betrayal stings far more.
The third message was left last night by my mother. I don’t know why I torture myself by listening to it. I guess maybe I’m hoping for an apology. Stupid me.
It’s not fair of you to judge me.You don’t know how much I suffered that night. How I’ve suffered every night since, the shame of knowing what kind of a man I married.
Her ordinarily haughty voice is slurred, and I realize she must have been drinking.
What about
my
shame?
My
suffering? I want so badly to reach through that phone and slap some sense into my mother, but I realize it would do no good. She’s rotten to the core, and nothing I ever say or do will change her.
A knock on the door startles me. “Christina, it’s Grace. Let me in.”
Even though I feel like I’ve been run over by a steam roller, I force myself to get out of bed and open the door. Grace is dressed for work in a crisp waitress uniform with her hair pulled into a tight bun. She’s holding a bag of tacos and a large coffee. I recognize the name of the restaurant on the bag. It’s where Andrés and I eat breakfast every morning.
“Lover boy brought this by a few hours ago, and I’m tired of smelling it.” She pushes past me and dumps the bag on the counter. “I heated the coffee up in the microwave,” she says, handing me the cup. Her brow furrows as she looks me over from head to toe. “Christina, I have to leave for work soon. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I shake my head. “I’m not ready to talk about it
.” I may never be ready to talk about it, I think,
but her scowl is so deep, I don’t say anything more.