Our happiness is noticeable and we have trouble hiding it. Especially me, I’m ashamed that I like Diago and that I want him. I’m supposed to find him repulsive but I don’t anymore. I want to be with him all the time. I feel his love in his touch – even long after he has removed his hand from mine - like a residual jolt. I feel it in his kiss, the way he looks at me, the way his eyes light up when I enter a room, the way his voice changes when he talks to me – it’s always softer, caressing.
I’m may be falling in love with him, but it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels more like lifting, floating, right.
I walk around smiling and thinking about him all the time, my head in the clouds.
* * *
Christa is eyeballing me, making me flinch under her penetrating gaze. I avoid her eyes and try to focus on my task at hand, but I can’t. Her stare unnerves me. Why is she looking at me like that? Like she knows something.
It’s our feelings for each other; Diago and I can’t keep our eyes off each other even though we try, and it looks like everyone around us has noticed.
At night, we make love again and this time it’s unhurried and beautiful. Senor Vito is a master; he took a ruthless barbarian and turned him into a suave, generous lover who makes me gasp his name over and over again, while that handful of glitter cascades over me.
The next evening, we’re at the dinner table when Christa zooms in on me. ‘Why you call him “Diago” Gringa?’ Her tone is mocking, but it holds a thread of anger in it.
‘That’s his real name,’ I reply, flashing Diago a coy smile. ‘And I like it.’
He cocks his head to one side and looks at me with that gaga look he sports these days.
‘Really?’ Christa snaps. ‘That’s not what you say here, Gringa.’
I tear my eyes away from Diago to look at the book she’s waving in the air and gasp.
‘My diary!’ I cry.
Oh God! It has stuff about Diago and Austin and how much I hate Diago and how much I love …Oh God! Bad stuff - destructive. Diago will die if he reads from it. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!
Christa smiles when she sees my mortification.
‘Christa!’ I cry, bolting out of my seat. ‘Give that back to me, now!’
She laughs and flips through the pages. The smug look on her face scares me – it’s knowing, determined, as if she’s won a lottery.
I look at Diago, a feeling of panic overwhelming me. ‘Diago,’ I rasp, ‘make her give it back. That’s my diary. It’s private ... ’
Christa laughs. ‘Si, is very private from what I read. Diablo, you want to know who she is writing about in her diary, eh? It might be you or ... it might be another man. You should know Diablo. It is your right, eh?’
Diablo’s fork is suspended in mid-air. He glances at Christa, then me, then at Christa again. Slowly, he lowers his fork.
When his expectant gaze rests on Christa, I groan inwardly and sink into my chair.
I’m fucked.
Christa beams and runs the tip of her tongue over her lips. Bitch!
There’s nothing I can do expect brace myself for the wreckage hurtling my way.
I really don’t want to hurt Diago now. I care about him and the thought of him hearing my private, innermost and morbid thoughts during my darkest hours makes me ill.
Christa begins to read from my diary with so much expression, it tells me she has read and re-read my diary.
“Diablo is a monster. Wait! Make that an ugly, hideous, disgusting, revolting mother of a monster. Hate him! Hate his guts. Hate his stupid, barbaric, ruthless family. Especially his miserable alcoholic mother.’
She stops and stares at me, slack-jawed ‘That me, Gringa? Ay yay yay!’
Laughter all round.
My eyes are fixed on Diago’s face. ‘Diago, that was a long ti ...’
‘Want to slash off his dick and let him die. Bleed to death. Hate this place. It’s evil and dark. Want to burn it down with Diablo in it. I think about Austin all the time. Handsome, loving, kind. My first love. My Ken doll. I forgive him for dumping me and marrying Paris. I forgive him for falling under her spell. He’s human – he did what most men would do. The relationship we had was too good to be true. Beautiful people like him don’t happen to girls like me. But I still hanker after him. Still. That’s ’cause I’m a dumb fuck. Here’s another confession: I love his son and whenever I hold him, I pretend he’s mine. Mine and Austin’s.’
Diago lowers his fork really slowly. It’s as if I’m watching a recording of him play in slow motion. The back of his hand moves slowly across his chin, his eyes turning like granite.
I leap out of my chair and attempt to snatch the diary from Christa, prepared to wrestle her for it. ‘Give it back!’
Santana scrambles up and yanks me off Christa. I slam my elbow into Santana’s solar plexuses and stomp hard on her foot. But she is strong and grabs a fistful of my long hair and hangs onto it, giving Christa her air time.
Christa reads randomly from different parts of my diary. ‘“Whenever Diablo fucks me, I think of you and I fantasize about us making love.’
She stops and looks at Diago. ‘I feel really sorry for you Diago,’ she says in a solemn voice.
Diablo squeezes his eyes shut for a moment then blinks rapidly.
‘You see Diablo, I tell you there is something going on with the gringo and gringa here, ’member? But you don’t believe me. You have to trust me from now on because I am your mother - I knowaeverything. Everything!’
Santana laughs as she releases me.
Christa shakes her head, tsks! and continues reading.
‘“I picture you above me and sometimes I even feel like responding. It’s fucked up, I know and ... ’”
A murmur ripples through the room as Diago deadpans.
‘No, no, no, Diago,’ I protest, ‘it’s not like that now. Please!’
‘Dreamed of Austin again ... ’
Adrenalin takes over - I crash into Christa and rip the diary out of her hands. But Santana grabs me from behind and holds me down while Christa punches me in the face.
Under normal circumstances I would retaliate, but now I fear I will lose my grip on the diary if I do. Luckily Troy steps in and breaks up the fight. I lie on the ground, my nose bloodied, but diary firmly in hand. Christa kicks me in the ribs and stands back. Someone shoves Kleenex at me probably for my bloodied nose.
Diago is on his feet looking down at me. ‘How, Payton? Why? I think you and me …?’ His voice is wavering, his shoulders slumped. Then he quickly straightens up, turns and strides off.
‘Diago wait!’
He keeps walking.
‘That was a long time ago Diago! Please, don’t be mad.’ I get up and run after him, Christa’s mocking laughter ringing in my ears.
‘Please ... I don’t feel the same way now – anymore. Please Diago, understand.’
He suddenly swings around and glares at me. I shrink back when I see the fury in his eyes. ‘You ... I ... you stay away from me, Payton,’ he snarls moving toward me and backing me up against a wall.
‘But Diago, you ... ’
‘No!’ he roars, his fist raised, his nostrils flaring. “Don’t ever come near me again. Never!”
I stand mesmerized by his enormous and tightly clenched fist, poised above me, ready to strike, terrified he’s going to assault me. But he doesn’t; he slams his fist into a painting next to my head, shattering it and sending a spray of glass and wood into the air.
Diablo is back.
I squeeze my eyes shut and stand rigid with fear, only opening them when I hear the sound of his boots thudding against the floor. When I look through the window, I see him riding out of the ranch on Taxi.
Crushed, I drag myself to my room and literally run into Troy. He looks at me with clenched jaws. He’s probably mad at me for humiliating his brother in public, for letting him down, for breaking his heart. How can I blame him?
‘I don’t feel that way anymore, Troy,’ I croak. ‘I …I really care about him.’
He silently steps aside, giving me way, his eyes lowered to the floor.
‘Please, Troy, say something.’
He doesn’t.
In my room, I sit on my bed with shoulders hunched and think about Diago. Why the hell didn’t I destroy that diary? The moment my feelings towards Diago changed, I should have burnt that fucking book.
I look out the window? Where can he be? I humiliated him in front of his men. Well, Christa the bitch did, the fucking ... fucking ... uuuggh! I thump my pillow in frustration.
My diary was hidden deep between my linen so it couldn’t be discovered. Yet she found it. Obviously she had been searching my room looking for stuff she could use against me. Bitch!
* * *
It’s been a week since the diary incident and Diago still ignores me. He won’t even look at me. I’d like a chance to explain things but he’s not interested.
I stare at him, hoping he will feel my gaze and look my way, but he doesn’t. It’s as if I don’t exist anymore.
I hear him snapping at the men. He’s done that all week. The tension at the dinner table is thick and everyone is subdued and even polite. Except Christa and Santana – they’re in high spirits and have been this way since the diary incident.
But that soon changes. Something Christa says pisses Diago off and he yells at her, eliciting a profuse apology from her. I can gloat, but I don’t. I’m more concerned about Diago hurting inside. Because I know he’s hurting almost as much as I am and only I can fix it.
Before I can do anything, Diago scrapes back his chair and strides out of the dining room, his dinner unfinished. Shortly after that, I hear him riding off on Taxi.
When I awake the following morning, Diago is not in his bed. Seems like he didn’t come home last night. I lie on his bed, hold his pillow to my nose and inhale his scent.
I know I’ve lost you, Diago.
My sense of loss is so great, a tidal wave of despair overcomes me.
End of
GRINGA
Book 2