Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (59 page)

             
‘
I’m
not in love with him, you fuckhead!
I’m
in love with
you
! I love
you
, not him!’

    
             
S
tunned silence around me. Everyone, including Diago, stares in shock at my words, my confession.
I’m
most staggered by what I said
and
did. I didn’t mean to cut him, nor did I mean to openly confess my love for him. It just happened and I can only stare in horror at the blood seeping from Diago’s chest
and
arm.

    
             
‘Oh my God!’ I whisper as I st
agger
away from him. ‘Diago ... oh God! I didn’t mean to do that.
I’m
so sorry.’ The sight of the blood on his white shirt makes me woozy.  

    
             
Santana’s on her feet trying to staunch the flow of blood. ‘Is alright,’ Santana says, throwing me a dirty look. ‘Is alright Diablo.’

    
             
Diago just stares at me
, a look of
disbelief
in his eyes

             
I need to get away. Without thinking, I turn and run outside towards Gringa Two
. I mount her and
ignoring stares from the gardeners, I ride towards
blindly.

We’ve been riding for hours and I’m e
xhausted. W
hen we stop to rest, I realise I am lost. Now I’m scared.
This is remote
Mexico
– not a good idea to get lost here. There
are
other drug lords and rebels around who will not hesitate to kill me or hold me ransom.
Fat chance of anyone paying anything for me.
   

   
             
I dismount and
just as I
am about to tie Gringa Two to a small tree
,
she suddenly rears, breaks free and gallops off. I run after her
and plead with her to
stop, but she doesn’t. Things are getting worse by the minute. Not knowing what to do and exhausted by the riding, I sit down and contemplate my situation. What if Gringa Two does not return? What if I never find my way back
?
What if …?

             
I
sit on the ground and
fight to stay calm. 

    
             
As time goes by,
I get
cold and
hungry.
Then I
notice
smoke and I get really excited. Surely
it must come from a house?
I head t
owards the smoke
. As I scramble along, I can’t help but notice how familiar everything is. Like I’ve been there before. Then I realise that this is the way to Juan and Enfermera’s house. I can’t believe it. Their house is not that far away from the ranch after all. Obviously Juan doesn’t know the shortcut I discovered.
T
hrilled with the prospect of seeing them
,
I
race towards the house and
call out to them, but nobody is home. Probably out picking herbs or looking for injured animals
.

             
Everything is so familiar, so bizarre, yet so
calming. Exhausted and thirsty
, I help myself to
opium lying around, then
curl up on the stretcher I once slept in and fall sound asleep.

    
             
I awake to howls of delight from my former carers. We hug and now that my Spanish is a little improved,
I’m
able to communicate with them and tell them about my encounter with Dia
go or Diablo
. They listen with a mixture of horror and fascination, unable to believe that
I’m
living with the devil himself. I try to explain that Diago is actually just a normal
guy
with lots of insecurities and that he wants to be good, but doesn’t know how - but they aren’t buying it, so I drop it.

             
Juan gives me lots of hugs and eventually retires to bed, while Enfermera and I
smoke rolled cigarettes and
talk for hours around a fire. She’s a great listener and gives no advice. 

             
‘Everything’s wrong - doesn’t fit. Things are like out of sync and
I’m
confused. I mean, like Diago
,
I
thought
he was a monster, a beast
. We
ll, me and everyone else; but now, I’ve come to know him and he’s
so
not a beast. He’s in fact, a victim.’

             
Enfermera rolls her eyes and let me talk and complain and rationalize and post-mortem till it’s light again.

             
Since my hosts eat no meat, I live on fruit and vegetables and cloudy water for the next three days, silently longing for steak, sausages, pizza with pepperoni, Maria’s Taco and Enchiladas and every greasy food I can think of.   

    
             
Alone in my hammock and unable to sleep, I think about Diago. How could I have attacked him like that? Was I turning into one of
them
? What about the knife wound
?
Santana says it’s small
;
I sure hope so. The thought that I could inflict such hurt and pain on my beast simply because he’s possessive over me
,
makes me cringe.

    
             
Then I think about him raping me and hitting me and all the times I wished him dead and my feeling
s
of compassion mutates into fury.

             
I hate you, Diago! I should have killed your mother fucking ass!

   
             
Taco
Bell
.
Gringa
Two. M
y joys, my babies
.
Diago
gave them to me. He wanted to make me happy.

             
What about his transformation? Shaving off his beard, removing the metals rings from his eyebrows, donning on a suit for my benefit, enlisting the help of Senor Vito, taking me on a date while suffering the whole time – he did all that for me. He did what it took to keep me and make me fall in love with him. Surely, those actions emanate purely from love?

             
I remember the time when he carried
me gently to bed when Christa whipped me, comforting me when I was sad about being left out of my family’s naming party, teaching me to ride a horse, sharing glorious sunsets with me, humbling himself by asking me to teach him how to be good?

             
 
I’m
responsible for all the good in him. All the positive changes are solely for my benefit. The magnitude of his love and devotion
makes
my heart to flutter with love.

             
I love him.

             
Just acknowledging this feeling makes me feel vulnerable and almost afraid. I fish out the pendant of the cupid angels from between my breasts and lovingly stroke it.

    
             
I miss him so much. I miss him devilish grin, his dry sense of humour, the way he hugs me –
gently at first, then hard, then gently; the way he lovingly strokes my face when he makes love to me.

    
             
Compared to men like my father and Austin, Diago is wild, strong and capable and very protective of me. All the qualities I love in a man and all the qualities that make me feel safe and secure. When
I’m
with him, I feel cherished. I forgive him for everything bad he’s done. I forgive him for everything bad he will do in the future.

             
I
just
love him.

             
It’s something I already know, but acknowledging it out loud is a pivotal moment for me. I want to be his wife, spend the rest of my life with him, grow old with him. I don’t care that
I’m
too young and that I may be making a bad decision and that
I’m
crossing a moral line somewhere - I just know that he’s what I need. 

   
             
The next morning I
’m up before anyone else so I shake them awake. ‘I’m leaving.’

             
‘But Payton,’ Enfermera says, a thread of caution in her voice, ‘the FBI …’

             
‘Enfermera don’t!’ I whine, placing my hand over her mouth. ‘I love him, okay? I don’t want to think about all that. Ever! Please?’

             
She nods slowly and
gives me a hug.

             
‘
I love you both,
’
I say as I wave goodbye and begin my trek back to Tana-Mera. ‘
Hasta Lavista!
’

             
‘
May God be with you
Milagro
!
’
 

It’s easier getting to Tana-Mera this time
.
I know what to expect – a sinister mountain, a rugged and challenging trail and
a son-of-a-bitch
at the end of it
, Diago. But I love him and I’m
energised at the thought of seeing him
again
.

             
But as I get closer to home, my anxiety
escalates
. Would anyone have missed me? Diago
?
M
aybe. Christa
? A
bsolutely not. Santana
? D
efinitely not.
Troy
?
I think he would, because we’re friends. Maria and Rosa
? F
or sure. I do
ubt anyone else would miss me.