A week passes and Maria and Rosa, fed up with my blue mood, kick me out of my room.
‘Go look at the pretty flowers,’ Maria says.
Having little choice, I drag myself around the hillside. Despite my mood, it’s hard not to notice the lush scenery, the rolling hills, the crimson poinsettias, the sunshiny marigold and the delightful Dahlias punctuating the lush greenery – stunning, like one of the postcards I posted a couple of months ago to Madison and Kelly, my roommates in Los Angeles.
There’s a strange smell emanating from the land. Harsh, but familiar – reminds me of a rock concert. Inhaling deeply, I take a closer look. It’s no shrub, its bloody weed! I can’t believe it. I’m surrounded by acres of Cannabis.
Madison will die of envy when I tell her about my stint in a cannabis plantation. She’s a pot addict.
My stint. I quickly shake my head dispelling the tiny voice inside my head telling me that this is no stint; this is permanent.
Men tending the crops pause for a moment and stare curiously at the stranger wandering in their midst, then resume working, leaving me to my exploring.
At night, I lie in bed and dread Diablo’s nocturnal visits. What the hell happened to him and Santana and their balcony romps?
Anyway, its two weeks since Diablo first came calling and my fantasies are getting a little stale. So tonight, I’m changing my fantasy slightly.
Tonight I roofie the bastard – slip GHB into his whisky, then kill him. Might as well use the drug for something useful other than date rape - like killing a reclusive monster and freeing hundreds of innocent people. Imagine if all abused women were supplied with GHB (as part of their therapy) to use strictly on their abusers. At least two packs to aid with healing.
They’ll save a fortune on shrinks and heal themselves by performing barbaric but cathartic acts against their abusers. As I said: the drug should be prescribed for something more useful.
Back to my fantasy – by the time Diablo realises he’s drugged, it’s too late and he’s at my mercy and...
Today, he’s taking longer than usual and I’m running out of fantasy. Why the hell doesn’t he hurry up?
Maybe I should think about Austin. If only he was on top of me. I would hold him and kiss him and...
Diablo rolls off me, grabs his pants and leaves the room and once again, Austin is shoved into the attic of my mind.
* * *
Weeks go by. Rosa and Maria kick me out of my bed again and again, I venture beyond the hills around Tana-Mera. I discover a babbling brook. Great! A little more wandering and I find a natural rock pool, almost the size of an Olympic swimming pool. I swam almost every day in LA, so I’m thrilled. Swimming energizes me.
I walk on and arrive at the top of a cliff. More breathtaking views, this time of the ocean. Under normal circumstances, the ranch coupled with these beautiful views and picturesque surroundings would have been a private haven for me.
But right now, it’s a cage - a beautiful, comfortable, 22 karat cage.
I sit on the grass, hug my knees and think about my family. Actually I think of them a lot these days. Even though they’re fucked up and dysfunctional, I still want to see them. See if they’re okay and tell them I’m still alive. I’m sure my dad worries.
I want to visit them but I know I have to ask Diablo’s permission first. How do I do that when I never speak to him? I suppose if he’s going to give me permission, I need to talk to him.
Damn! I shudder at the thought of looking at him, let alone talking to him. After mulling over it for a while, I pluck up the courage.
After grunting for one minute and forty-eight seconds, he rolls off me, scoops up his clothes and walks towards the door.
I make my move. ‘I wanna see my family,’ I say. I don’t say please or address him in any way.
His head jerks to look at me. Of course he’s surprised – I’ve never spoken to him in three weeks.
He stares at me in the dark, then flips the switch on the bedside lamp and peers at me. The light blinds us both. I hate this close-up – it’s unnerving. Especially since I see his bare, tattooed chest up close and personal. Yuck!
‘Haven’t seen them for a while,’ I mumble as I draw the sheet around my naked body.
He nods and appears to be considering it. ‘No,’ he finally says and turns to leave.
‘But ... but ... I want my clothes and my stuff,’ I protest, prepared to argue.
He stops and slowly turns around to face me.
Another close up. I cower inside but fight to maintain eye contact. ‘I left with just the clothes on my back, remember?’
He doesn’t answer.
I hop out of bed, planning to take my usual shower to rid myself of his jetsam.
His eyes sweep slowly over my naked body and I balk – it’s the first time he’s seeing me naked with the lights on. Now I remember I too have scars – scars on my chest from his bullets and scars from the injuries I sustained when I was thrown off the cliff.
Feeling terribly self-conscious, I drape a towel around myself. ‘I don’t have clothes of my own. Everything’s at Siempre. All these belong to your sister,’ I complain, jerking my head towards the clothes in the closet.
His eyes drop to my thighs and linger there. Then he shakes his head from side to side. ‘No.’
Fuck this shit! What exactly did he mean by “No”? Never again? Not now?
He strides out of the room.
‘But ... but ...’
He leaves. Cunt!