Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2 (12 page)

I crawl under my bedcovers and weep. Nobody in this world cares about me, not even my own father. Now that everyone in the village of Siempre is safe, they gave a crap about me. I hate them all for making me feel so superfluous, so unwanted, so insignificant - the story of my life. I hate Elaine and I hate Paris for their success in making me feel this way. But most of all, I hate my father for not caring enough, for making me feel unworthy.

Diago is better off than me. Strangers hurt him because his parents
weren’t
around to stop them. My father was around, but his obsession with Elaine prevented him from caring. So I was stuck inside a nightmare of a life for so long. I lived in Paris’s shadow. Nobody saw me, nobody heard me, nobody cared. It was so hard being young, carefree - hard being me. Had to become someone else to cope.

Now, they were doing it again and I’m mad. Mad at myself mainly. How could I allow myself to feel this this pain, this sadness again? Damn! What about the promise I made to myself that I would never to allow anyone to hurt me again? The promise I made to myself when I was nine?

My head hurts and I free my hair from the tight ponytail. My hair is long now but it wasn’t always. Elaine always had my hair cut, saying it was too unruly or it made me too hot and eventually, she told everyone that I preferred short hair.

Paris on the other hand had beautiful, blond, waist-length, shining hair. I envied her and her porcelain-doll looks.

Now, I no longer cut my hair. It’s almost waist-length and sort of shiny, like Paris’s. I will not cut it as a silent protest against Elaine refusal to let me be a normal little girl with bangs and braids and curls – all the stuff little girls do to their hair.

I seldom delve on my past – too much pain. But now, I feel sorry for the little girl in me. How I wish I could protect her then.

Time to cut out the poison, end the hurt. So what if I loved Liam? He’s not
my
child. I can forget him. I’m strong, capable, a tough chick.

Then why the hell is it hurting so much?

I toy with the idea of just running away, leaving the ranch. Then everybody will have to face Diago and Christa. The thought of that is so unpleasant; I quickly abandon the idea. There’s no way I can do something like that, no matter how mad I’m with them.

It’s dinner time and I’m already at the dinner table. I didn’t wait to be called today. Diago’s last to arrive as he’s just said goodbye to Senor Vito. On his way to his chair, he stops next to me and squeezes my shoulder.

I grimace a smile.

After dinner, I walk to the cliff to watch the molasses and lavender sky. Most evenings, the sun only sets around nine at night. Tonight, I sit on a large rock and resume my pity party.

I hear a sound and look up. Diago looks down at me, his eyes brimming with questions, a shawl in his hand. A shawl - his thoughtfulness bring a lump to my throat. I move up and he accepts my nonverbal invitation to sit next to me. Without a word, he drapes the shawl around my shoulders and draws me to him.

Under normal circumstances I might stiffen at his touch, but right now, I have a need to be held and without a thought, I nestle into him. There’s this familiar smell of tobacco, coupled with the scent of his aftershave, which he now wears every day. I find it comforting today.

Feeling warm and safe, I rest my head on his chest. We sit like this for about an hour in silence, watching the sunset. The beast, the animal, the devil who shot me three times and threw me over the cliff is comforting me, while my so called family and friends, who I sacrificed my life for, are planning an enormous party for my only nephew without me. Irony can be so, well, ironical.

Finally, it’s time to go. He stands up and holds out of his arm to me. I silently take it and we walk hand-in-hand to the ranch. After a while, I hold his arm with both of mine.

‘
Gracias
,’ I whisper outside my door.

He smiles, tips my nose with his index finger and leaves. I’m thankful that he’s not taking advantage of my vulnerability and asking to come in.

*

To forget my family and to avoid thinking of the upcoming Christening, I busy myself by learning a myriad of things. Dabbling, more like it.

First: how to ride a horse. Not just riding, but kick-ass riding. Like Santana - after watching her skillfully handle a horse and how amazing she looks when she rides, I secretly want to ride like her and perhaps eventually outshine her as a rider. Fat chance of that, but a girl can dream, right?

Diablo approaches me. ‘So, you want to ride?’

‘Yeah …well, I’m kinda learn …’

‘Ride then. What is stopping you?’

‘Eh, like, I’m a bit scared of horses?’

He snorts. ‘Scared? You?’

‘Yes, me, Diago.’

I guess my vulnerability shows, because his tone softens. ‘I show you then.’

A short while later, our lesson begins. It doesn’t go down too well, because he’s an expert rider, having ridden since he was six and an impatient teacher, refusing to accept my self-imposed limitations.

‘Is easy, see?’

‘Wait Diago!’ I shout when he shoves me onto the horse. ‘I’m scared, remember?’

He pushes me harder. ‘Pretend you have a glass of Vodka iiiin your hands and you don’t want to spiiiill it,
si
? That’s how you hold the reins,
si
?’

That gets me. I don’t want to spill
any
vodka whatsoever, so I perfect the holding of the reins in no time.

He slaps his chest and says, ‘Puuush this forward,
si
?’

I thrust my breasts forward and elicit a chuckle out of him. ‘I can do that, see?’

And just like that, I’m riding and loving it. But I’m nowhere as good as Santana. And when Santana sees me learning how to ride, she get on her horse and begins showing off. I don’t want to look stupid so I immediately quit whenever she’s around.

*

Shooting fascinates me. I’m going to work in Law Enforcement one day, so that fascination comes in handy. I’m watching the men shoot clay pigeons. The men are good, but Diago is excellent and when he sees me watching, he shows off and hits more targets. When he catches my eye, I raise my eyebrows and give him a I’m-really-impressed look. He smiles and flicks his index finger at me.

I shake my head, but he insists, so I amble over.

‘Try,’ he says, handing me the shotgun.

‘I don’t ...’

‘Do it!!’

I sigh and aim the rifle. ‘I’ve never fired a gun ...’

‘Pull!!’ Diago shouts and a clay pigeon is released.

I fire and miss my target. Everyone laughs. Then Diago stands behind me, holds my arms and guides me. By my third attempt, I hit my target and scream with joy. ‘Did you see that Diago? Did you see that?’

‘Pull!’ he yells.

I had no idea I could be so energized by this sport and under Diago’s supervision, I become fairly good at it.

‘When I’m happy, I shoot,’ Diago says, pushing away the shotgun I’m pointing at his face. ‘When I’m sad, I shoot.’

‘Christ, Diago, you’d better be talking about clay pigeons,’ I say, handing him the gun.

He grins and squeezes my waist. ‘Walk with me.’

‘Okay,’ I say, ‘let’s go swimming. I feel like some company.’

‘No.’

‘Why not? You taught me to ride
and
shoot, so I’ll teach you how to swim.’

He shakes his head but continues walking with me towards the rock pool.

When we get to the pool, I wade in and test the water. ‘It’s lovely. Come on in Diago.’

‘No.’

I swim on for a while then stop. ‘Come on in.’

‘No.’

‘Come on, you big baby.’

Muttering under his breath, he finally wades in.

I notice he can swim, but he appears uncomfortable in water.

‘See?’ I say, splashing him a little. ‘Isn’t so bad.’

I’m happy that he’s in and I give him a few pointers on safety in the water. Then I show of a little and when I was sure he’s impressed, we goof around then talk.

‘Tell me ’bout Payton,’ he says.

‘Eh …okay ... what you wanna know? Tell you what – let’s play the question-for-a-question game again, okay? You first.’

He nods. ‘Where’s your mother?’ he asks, locking eyes with me.

So Marcus has told him everything.

‘She died when I was six. The same age you were when your mother died, right?’

He nods slowly. ‘You know a lot about me eh?’

‘Sure do. My turn – what’s your mother’s name?’

‘Selina,’ he says in a malleable voice. ‘She was preeetty,’ he adds, a melancholy look in his eyes. Then he looks up. ‘My turn?’

I nod. ‘Your turn.’

‘Why do you like Him?’

‘Diago! You asked me that before. You always ask me that. What’s with this ... this obsession, huh?’

‘How long you go out with Him?’

I sigh. ‘’bout a year. My turn.’

‘Uh huh. Do you miss him? Do you luuuve his baby because is his baby? Why you like him so much? Why your voice is soft when you talk about him?’

‘Diago, that’s ...’ I pause to count, ‘that’s five questions. And my answers are: Yes, No, I don’t know, No, that’s not true.’

My answer baffles him and I laugh and splash him again.

‘How old are you, Diago?’

‘Thirty.’

‘Thirty! Man you’re old. Ancient!’ He looks and acts a lot older. I thought he was about fifty.

‘How old are
you
?’

‘Twenty-one.’

‘Twenty-one?’

I nod.

We stay in the water and answer questions for about an hour and during this time, I find out a lot about him, even venturing into some of the things Maria and Rosa talked about. Our candid conversation makes me feel closer and connected to him and I suspect he feels the same.

‘But now, you’re in the water,’ I say, ‘so that means you’ve conquered your fear of water.’

He looks around, sees how far we are in the water and frowns. ‘
Si …
’

‘That’s fantastic, right?’

‘
Si
. But that’s nuff and I want to get out.’ He jerks his head towards the ranch.

‘Okay, but I’ll race you out the water.’

‘Ah, a game,’ he says, his eyes lighting up. ‘You know I don’t swim like you, but okay. Now, the winner ...?’

‘Well ... if I win ... you take the day off tomorrow and spend it with me – a picnic.’ I can’t believe I’m asking for that, but I’m having such a nice time with him, I want it to continue tomorrow.

‘I can’t do that. Imaverbusyman.’

‘Aw come on. You need some fun in your life.’

He appears thoughtful. Then he looks directly at me. ‘If I win ... if I win ...’ His eyes are sparkling, ‘You …you …come to my … bed.’

Whoa! High stakes here. If I wasn’t a good swimmer, this indecent proposal would make me uneasy. But I’m confident I can win. I’m not ready for what he was asking for and frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be, so I’ll make sure I win the race.

‘Okay,’ I say, in my cockiest voice. ‘I’m
really
looking forward to that picnic.’

‘Siiiii?’

‘
Siiiii,
’ I mimic.

‘No rules,’ he says.

‘None.’

‘Good,’ he says, his eyes twinkling.

‘Excellent!’

I clear my throat and say, ‘On your marks, get set …g …’

Suddenly, Diago grabs me, lifts me into the air and throws me behind him.

I’m like a beach ball in his hand and I land a couple feet behind him. While I struggle to surface and catch my breath, he cruises to the finish line.

‘I wiiin!’

‘Diago! That was ... how do you ...? That’s not fair, Diago.’

‘No rules,’ he reminds me.

‘Aaaagh! You … but …that’s not how …shit! You’re such a cheat.’

I frown – the stakes are way too high.

‘What? What you thinking?’

I stare at the ground a moment, then look up. ‘When?’

He takes his time answering. ‘Soon,’ he finally whispers.

I leave it at that.

‘Come,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘I sure I can beat you at running too.’

Normally, I would say, ‘Game on!’ But today, I don’t dare.

‘If you shoot both my knee caps during the race – duh!’

He chuckles.

It’s morning. I saunter into the kitchen and am surprised to see Diago drinking coffee and laughing with Maria and Rosa, who are busy packing a basket.

‘Morning Rosa! Morning Maria!’

I look at Diago and shut one eye. ‘Morning, Senor. Overslept? Don’t you have a village to burn down or something?’

He grunts, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me. ‘Today I take you to ...?’ He falters and looks to Maria for help with the word.

‘Picnic!’ Rosa yells.

‘I know that, Rosa!’ Maria screeches. ‘He ask
me
! Because I good for English. Better than you!’

That’ll teach Rosa to steal Maria’s chance to shine at English.

‘Sorry,’ Rosa says, looking anything but
sorry
.

Diago and I exchange amused looks. Don’t mess with Maria at this time of the morning.

‘A picnic? But Diago, you
won
the bet and I lost. What about Senor Vito?’

He lifts and drops his shoulders and gives me a strange look. Is that naked adoration in his eyes?

I’m suddenly shy and look away. ‘Okay, in that case I’d better change my clothes.’ I exit the kitchen, thrilled to have someone to spend the day with other than Maria and Rosa. ‘Maria, Rosa!’ I holler over my shoulder, ‘make sure there’s champagne in that basket!’

‘
Si
, Senorita,’ they chorus.

We picnic on a grassy spot overlooking the water. What a day – the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the views are breathtaking and Diago has taken the day off to spend it with me. What more could a girl ask for?

Over the next couple of hours, we talk about everything and anything. He tells me about his life, the drugs, the killings. I think he trusts me. I like that.

Luckily, I forgot to wear the FBI listening device pendant today. I don’t want the Feds to hear all of this, anyway. I’m not ready to hand over Diablo right now. I’m having too much fun.