Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
MARIA
“ M aria,” my father calls to me, raising his hand to wave me over. “There’s room over here, see? Next to the waterfall.”
I blink and stare at him for a moment. What’s going on? I can’t remember how I got here. I glance around, trying to orient myself. Ah, yes, I remember now. I’m just outside Mazamitla, Magic Town, as the tourists know it, though to me it’s just home, given that I grew up here. But I don’t live here anymore and neither does my father, he’s in Monterrey now, we moved there right before I started high school.
But my father is standing just a few feet away, a basket slung over one shoulder, out of which I can already see bread and fruit peeking. A picnic, just like the ones we used to have when I was a kid. It’s been so long since the last time I had one with him, it’s hard to believe this is real…
Especially when I know how far he is from me right now. But, for some reason, there he is, just a few steps away from me, finding us the perfect picnic spot as the sunshine glints off the clear water beyond him. Is this a dream? It has to be a dream.
I make my way across the rocks toward him, making sure not to slip, but the path is clear in front of me. I’m barefoot, a towel slung over my shoulders, and a swimsuit covering my body so I can dive into the water and swim after our picnic. It’s always been my favorite way to spend time with him, blowing off steam with the cool water and soft breeze, and, judging by the smile on his face, he has missed this just as much as I have.
“Careful,” he warns, offering me a hand so I can traverse to the large, flat rock he’s laid a blanket out on for us. The food is simple, but God, it looks good—the mango glistening with juice, the bread fragrant with freshness, a few hunks of hard cheese in a small package used to keep the blanket from moving too much in the wind. I grab an apple and take a huge bite, the juices running down my chin, and then dive into the water and let it rush over my head.
“You coming in?” I call to my father.
He grins. “Maybe in a minute,” he calls back, and takes a bite of bread. Then, all at once, I feel like he is getting further and further away. I frown, and try to close the distance between us, but it’s no good. He’s drifting away from me, his face blurred, like paint smudged while it’s still wet. I try to call out to him, but there’s nothing coming out of my mouth—useless silence. I reach out to grab the rock, but it’s gone, the water rising up to swallow me?—
With a start, I jerk upright in the dank room I’ve been forced to occupy for these last few weeks. My heart pounds in my chest, the memory of my father is so strong I could cry just thinking about him. Is this my brain’s way of torturing me, or is this its way of trying to make me feel better? I have no idea. I’m not sure I want the answer.
“Come on, Maria,” I mutter, trying to pull myself together.
I have no idea where my father is right now, or what exactly he is doing, I just know that we’ve been forced away from each other, and I don’t have a clue when I’m going to see him again. He’s trapped in a prison somewhere in Monterey, the last place I saw him, just like I’m trapped here in Houston, and it hurts—no, it aches to think about how far he is from me at this moment. We’ve never been this far apart for so long, and I’m sure he must be feeling this pain just as much as I am right now.
“Miss you, Papi,” I whisper into the darkness around me. The only light is filtering in through a grimy window above the bed, like I’m in a prison cell. Outside, I can hear the shriek of police sirens, a reminder of just how bad things are here. I don’t even want to think about what is going on to cause that kind of commotion. I know Houston has a bad reputation, but this part of the city in particular is rough in ways I could never have prepared for.
And I would never have had to, either, if it hadn’t been for him. This game he’s forced me into, twisting me to play by his rules, giving me no choice but to live in this tiny room and obey his instructions whenever he deigns to contact me.
No matter how horrible this place is, I would prefer to hide out in this room than I would to go and… do what he wants me to do. It’s so sick. I could be making a real difference with my PhD, going out into the world and actually making a change that would benefit people’s lives, but no. When he looks at me, he sees me as only good for one thing, and he’s not going to pretend like he gives a damn about what’s going on between my ears.
As though on cue, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Well, not my phone, but the phone he gave me so he can keep tabs on me any time he wants to. If I don’t answer in a matter of minutes, I know he’ll send someone down here to check on me.
Or, worse, he’ll take it out on my father.
My stomach twists into knots at the mere thought of what he might want me to do tonight. I pick up the phone, and look down at the messages waiting for me. Instructions. To get dressed in the clothes they left for me, get out on the street, and, well, get to work.
My stomach twists at the thought of what I’m going to have to do. I need to keep myself together, but it’s so hard, when all I want to do is just scream. I should be used to this by now, used to taking commands from him like this, but it goes against every fiber of my being to just defer to him like this.
My mother raised me to stand up for myself, to push back when I’m faced with someone trying to control me like this, and I can’t help but wonder what she would have thought about the situation I’m trapped in right now. I’m glad she’s not around to see it. I know she would be horrified if she found out what I’m expected to do, let alone how my father’s skills and talent have been twisted into a tool for some of the most evil people I’ve ever met.
A small pile of clothes wait for me on top of the shabby wardrobe at the far end of the room. I pick them up—well, what little of them there is, anyway. There’s barely enough here to keep me from a public indecency charge, and I would never have chosen to wear these clothes myself, if I’d had the choice. I know there are plenty of women out there who love to show themselves off, but I’ve never been into that kind of attention from random men.
Something I’m going to have to get used to sooner rather than later, if I’m going to survive in this world.
I change out of the baggy tee and sweatpants I’ve been hiding out in since I got here, and I feel my hands trembling as I pull on the tiny strips of fabric I’m wearing for my evening tonight. A pair of shorts that cut off to show off half of my ass cheeks, and a bodysuit that’s basically just a handful of neon-pink strips tangled into something resembling a bathing suit. My whole body will be on display like this, and I can already feel the lecherous gazes of the men I have to walk by, their wolf-whistles and calls of appreciation at my outfit. There’s only one reason why someone would dress like this, and it’s not as though I am in any place to deny it.
I look down at my body in this outfit, stepping into the high, strappy heels that go with it. I feel as though I am lifting out of my body, dissociating just to get through this. I know what is expected of me, I know what part I have to play, but I still can’t believe this is actually happening. It feels impossible. To have fallen so low from where I was just a few months ago…
I might not be locked up like my father was, but I was just as much in a prison as he was.
I make my way over to the door, wobbling dangerously in the heels as I go. I have to be careful, the last thing I need is a twisted ankle on top of everything else. Pushing open the door, I glance up and down the corridor, checking to see if anyone is watching me, but it looks empty, much to my relief. I don’t want to have to deal with any comments about this outfit before I get out on the street. I’m sure I will get plenty of those as it is.
I fight back the tears that want to form in my eyes, and grit my jaw as I head down to the doorway. If there’s one thing I’m not going to give them, it’s the satisfaction of seeing me cry, seeing how much it kills me to do something like this. I know he would only get off on it.
I take a deep breath, push the door open, and step out onto the sidewalk beyond. I just need to think of my father. He’s the reason I’m doing this, to keep him safe.