4. Maricela
Abuse wasn’t a foreign or far-away notion for me. My father abused me for a long time. Serena, the one person I thought loved me the most, hated me to the core of her soul.
Socialite life achievements were never on my radar. Survival, however, was and still fucking is.
I’ve seen the worst of humankind. The man I thought I loved betrayed me. The man I thought loved me.
Before him, loneliness was a blessing. This knowledge never disturbed me. Alone was safe. And yet I let him enter my life, conquer my soul. He didn’t give me a choice but to fall for him.
I fell into his life and rearranged my insignificant existence according to his standards. Now, I’m going back to the place where it all started, but nothing will be the same for the simple reason I could never be the same woman.
My friends, all three of them, wait for me at the airport. Any other person about to see friends they haven’t seen in person for several years would probably experience emotions such as dread, excitement, or glee right now.
Not me.
It’s not that I don’t love them. If any part of my broken soul could still beat for someone, it would be for them. For some unknown reason, they see me as family.
The second I exit the gate, Raven’s arms go around me in the biggest hug I can recall, bringing back memories of all the hugs she forced on me. Hugs, I learned to get used to.
Hugs that I forgot the feeling of in the four years I didn’t let anyone get close enough to give me.
“Mari, you’ve arrived. It’s okay. I promise it will be okay.”
Raven’s voice is full of pain, but what I focus on is her scent. She smells of rich perfume that never smells the same, and somehow, it’s the most familiar scent in this world.
A wet tear falls on my neck, and I let it. She has never been good at hiding her empathy for others. She surrounds herself with piles of stainless steel, locking her pain somewhere within, and there are countless keys hidden in different places around her heart. Her empathy belongs to everyone but herself.
I pull back and put some space between us. She looks different from the Raven I grew used to seeing every day in college.
Her hair is still blonde and shiny, but the colorful strands she loved to add are no longer there. Her usually well-put-together makeup is gone, too, making her look so youthful that some might swear she was a child.
I nod to my tear-filled friend, dropping the smile on my face that just feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there. Not now, of all moments.
Julian is next to greet me. His hug is also warm and loving, but where Raven’s hug surprised me, his buffed arms around my small frame make me stiffen. I used to love his touch. It always felt warm and safe. Now, it feels filthy. Without uttering a word, he lets go of me as if he touched a flame instead of a good friend.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
No. No. No.
Fearing I’m wrong, I force myself to breathe while counting in my head.
His eyes. One, two... He can’t know.
He can’t look me in the eyes.
Three, four... He stretches his hand out to me again, just to retract it at the last second.
Five, six... Now, the same hand is fisted.
Seven, eight... He tries to smile.
Nine, ten... He does.
It’s okay. Todo esta bien, chica. Everything is okay, it must be.
Only Ronen knows, and he wouldn’t have told Julian.
After trying to regulate my breathing and succeeding for once, I inspect Juli. He’s bigger than when I last saw him in the flesh. His chin looks stronger and sharper, and his eyes, which are full of sadness now, are still round and big, the brown bright and warm. Time has touched my friend in the best way possible.
Ronen doesn’t touch me. His smile is soft, understanding my limits. He is even more handsome than before. His lean physique is well-liked by a lot of men. His face is kind and full of love, the same love I feel for him. He saved me, and for what it’s worth, I’m here.
People don’t always recognize his beauty, as they consider him average-looking, but I know the exquisite nature of this man, my friend. My savior, my confidant.
“I will always be with you. If you need me, just say the word.” His words from years ago resonate with me as I give him my hand, letting his familiar touch fill me with warmth.
“Hi.”
I forgot Miriam was behind me, and hearing her now jolts me back into the present. I hope she didn’t hear my real name. A name I will have to use again.
A shy smile I know is fake is painted on her face and is not at all suitable for a successful journalist.
“I brought Jimena back,” she says. “I didn’t want to leave her alone.”
Talking to my friends as if I’m not here, Miriam approaches Raven and continues.
“I met you all several times on Zoom. I’m sure you remember. Anyway, I was afraid to send her alone to New York. I think she’s in shock. She has shown no reaction since getting the news.”
“She’s in shock. Of course. How did I not think of that?” Raven wonders aloud.
“Thank you for coming with her. I’m still afraid for her when she’s in dangerous and unfamiliar places. Knowing she wasn’t alone, and you were there with her, helped a lot.”
“I need to know what’s going on,” I interrupt.
“What’s going on with the children? And have they already returned to the US?” Luckily, I don’t need to elaborate on who they are, but I can’t miss the sparkle of interest in Miriam’s eyes.
Ronen says, “They’re not in New York yet. I believe they’re scheduled to land in a few hours. You made it ahead of schedule, and their flight was delayed. As for the children, they’re in the hospital under observation. Marlina and Pedro haven’t left their sides since they returned.”
Hearing Pedro’s name causes my heart to skip a beat.
“Mi hija, you need to wait for Mr. Killian to arrive. He won’t leave you behind. He loves you,” Pedro almost begs me.
Ronen kisses my hand gently as I try to shake my head. “Mari, Pedro is right. You have only been in this hospital for two days. Let Pedro talk to Killian. He will kill Franco. Let him be your hero. You need it. I am sure he needs it, too. Killian would die for you.”
But I can’t respond. Words are hard. It hurts too much. Everything hurts.
“Chica? Did you hear what Ronen told you?” Raven asks so gently that I want to yell at her that I’m fine. Instead, I just nod.
Juli asks, “Do you want to come to my apartment to take a shower and rest a bit? Miriam, you’re welcome too, of course.” My Juli has his own home now. I almost smile at his suggestion. Almost.
And then my sister’s words hit me all at once. “Maricela, I’m tired. I’m tired of you, of having to protect you and sacrifice my life for you. I’m happy. My life is good. I have a husband who loves me. I’m rich, and I have a beautiful daughter.”
“I want to go see the children. That’s why I’m here.” The concern that shows on Raven’s face only irritates me more. I don’t tell her that, though. I don’t tell her a thing.
The trip to the hospital proceeds in tomb-like silence, the kind that’s heard after a bomb falls from the sky.
It’s an eerie feeling.
Like knowing that something has just changed your life from this point forward. You’re sure it was tragic, and yet you’re dead quiet because your brain is trying to rebuke the tragedy by telling you it’s going to be okay.
It’s the only way people like me survive. We stay to assess the event. We cope with the fallout.
Many researchers have tried to gauge the reactions of soldiers and civilians in war, and they found that no matter the training or lack thereof, people typically react in one of three ways: they’re either calm and collected, go into a panic, or lapse into a state of shock. I’m the calm type and am grateful for that.
Miriam said her goodbyes and went to see her family. She said that now that I was in the hands of my friends, she felt comfortable leaving me and promised she would speak to Maverick about my absence.
Grateful to have at least one less person hovering over me, I look at Raven. My best friend sits next to me in the backseat, not speaking. Juli stares at me from his seat beside Raven as if searching for something in my face, but I refuse to acknowledge his concern. Ronen sits in the front seat and doesn’t turn to look back at me.
No one speaks, probably in fear of me falling apart—like they think I should—which just shows me how broken they think I am inside.
The truth is, I don’t know what I feel. If Maricela—the old Maricela—had been told four and a half years ago that the husband of her sister murdered her and left behind her children, I would have fallen to pieces. But that Maricela no longer exists.
What remains of her are fragments of a woman who eats, drinks, puts on a fake smile when she needs to, and speaks to whom and when she must. Every action I perform is like a needed task. Nothing more, nothing less.
Raven clears her throat, trying to look at me kindly. I can’t look her in the eyes. They are the same eyes as his.
“I still think you should change your clothes, at least. It looks like you’ve just returned from a war zone.” Raven cringes immediately.
I came out of a war zone. My khaki pants cannot be called clean, and my olive sweater is baggy and marked by stains. I’m just as I like to be. Unseen.
“I brought some comfortable clothes for you,” Raven explains, “so as not to startle the children. Connie wants to talk to only you.”
“But she doesn’t remember me.”
“She’s seen pictures and been told stories. And that’s what she says, that she wants to talk to her fairy aunt who went to save the people of the world.”
A small needle-like pain tries to wedge itself between the loud thumping of my heart. I shake it away.
“I’ll wear what you give me,” I relent, not truly caring.
My skin crawls from the knowledge that I’m in the hospital where Serena gave birth to Connie. The place looks the same. The walls are colorful, and I just know that if I go to the left, I’ll see the entry to the maternity ward.
“You were unnecessary. She manipulated you. She used you,” a voice I haven’t heard in a while mocks me.
The stench of cigars and disinfectant fills my nostrils.
The sense that my father is about to strike has me on alert, but I don’t run. Not now. Not anymore. I deserve the pain. If I could only remember how to feel it.
The death of my mother at my birth took my father’s sanity away. Making me a liability for Serena. She played her role of a loving sister well. Too well.
I believed her, loved her, and sacrificed for her. Yet, she discarded me without a care as to what might happen to me.
Medical professionals say that people can’t remember pain. They say people remember the fear and that they suffered but can’t feel the strike from before. So why do I feel the blow to my face? It’s stings. It hurts.
Just like back then.
Little Girl,a voice in my head whispers like a touch on my skin. It seems so far away, yet closer than ever.
No, Maricela. No.
The children’s ward differs from the maternity ward. The walls are decorated with sweet and hopeful paintings, but no one can take away the stench of illness and misery from the walls.
This is a smell I’ve gotten used to in these four years. And yet, here it is different. It is far from the horrors of the forgotten places of the world. It’s cleaner. More enlightened. Children don’t come here because of infections caused by warfare. Doctors smile here. The kindness and hope of recovery find you at every corner.
“Where are the kids?”
This time, my voice is no longer emotionless. Raven must notice it because something that looks like hope—probably that I will start crying—appears on her face.
“Connie is in Room Three, and Amado is in the nursery. They’re fine, physically.”
Physically. They are physically fine.
It means they are not mentally well. I don’t know how to help a four-and-a-half-year-old girl and certainly not an eight-month-old baby. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
Ronen stands in front of me and looks into my eyes. I can already detect some wrinkles and lines, knowing well that most are from hardship.
“Don’t think about it. Don’t you dare,” he states in the stern tone I have come to know over the years.
Ronen’s beauty lies in his kindness. His mother suffers from diabetes, and his father has had to war against cancer twice. One of his sisters battled the same war as her father and was saved only because of the Fierros’ money.
All thanks to him.
And as if all Ronen had to go through—was going through with his family—wasn’t enough to deal with. He saved me.
When a monster took my dignity away, he didn’t let me fall, becoming my wall of protection, even from myself. Particularly from myself.
But it cost him. I know it did. Ronen changed. He took the weight of the world upon his shoulder. I wish I could help him as he did me.
“I’m here,” I reply in an attempt to speak in the same stern tone.
Ronen nods. “Yes, you are. And I know you. Running away is not the answer. These kids need someone. You and Serena had no one, so you know what that’s like. Do you really trust Killian’s family to protect them and give them the love they need?”
Love. I’m not sure I know how to give love.
“I’m here to stay,” I tell him because, despite what I know I need to do for myself, in the end, I will not leave these children at the mercy of the wolf monster. Terminally ill or not. He did enough to hurt his sons.
And you. He hurt you as well. A broken voice that sounds a lot like him touches the place that used to hold my soul. I don’t let it, but it insists as he always did since the moment he stood in my bathroom, naked and hard.
I’m on my way, Wild Child. I hated when he called me wild, but now I would give the world to get back the woman who played hazardous games that ended her spirit.
“We can go in,” Raven announces. I didn’t notice when she walked away from us or when she returned. Maybe I’m really done for.
I shake my head vigorously, this time letting my body move, the memory of milk and toothless smiles urging me on. This is not the time to think about my mental state.
“The poor thing cried until she fell asleep,” the nurse who accompanies us to the room explains.
“Constanza, or Connie as she likes to be called, heard everything from beyond the door where Santino locked her in a room. She heard the screams, the beating, and the shots. All she wants now is to see the fairy who will protect her.”
Me. I haven’t heard that nickname in four years. Fairy.
People think Serena called me a fairy because she loved me. I thought so, too, once upon a time. Now I know it was her way of mocking me. Making me do her bidding.
It worked, too. I did all she needed of me until I became a nuisance. Her father-in-law broke my body and dignity by taking what wasn’t his, but she broke my ability to hope.
Ronen opens the door, and in the center of the enormous room rests a girl with the blackest hair I have ever seen. Her hands are in the air, fisted tightly. Just like the first time I saw her.
My promise to protect her and give her everything she needs freezes my veins. Love. This is what unconditional love feels like. I can’t deny this girl.
“Let her sleep. I’ll stay by her side.”
“Mi hijita. It’s really you,” Marlina calls out in a whisper, probably in the hope of not waking the sleeping girl. I didn’t even notice that Marlina was sitting by the window. All my attention was on Connie.
Marlina hurries to me with tears in her eyes. I embrace the only mother figure I ever had. I let her caress me, tell me how thin I’ve become and how much I’ve changed. She says how grateful she is that I came back.
Her tears run down my shoulder, reminding me that people around me still feel things. In a strange way, it’s comforting.
It comforts me to know that it’s only me who is dead inside while the surrounding people continue to spread their light in the world.
“She’s in shock,” Raven delivers to Marlina after I again don’t respond, as is probably expected of me.
Marlina nods.
“It’s understandable. The grief will come in waves. Everyone deals with it differently.” The smell of sugar and spices that surrounds her even here comforts me.
“Fairy! Beautiful fairy! You came to save me.”
Out of nowhere, the little girl jumps out of bed and pounces on me, hugging my leg tightly. Her tears soak into my jeans.
Tears were a crime when I was her age. Serena didn’t like it when I cried, and the man who was my father punished me for every tear I shed.
I will never do that with Connie. Even if it means allowing her to cry for days on my leg, I will give her everything she needs.
I let my hand find her head on its own, as if my body knows what to do when my mind refuses to act. Her crying grows stronger with every caress of my hand over her soft hair.
“You came,” Connie cries, looking up at me.
“Mommy is dead, just like Mu-sa-fa.” Connie mispronounces the name of a character who lends an understanding of what happened to her mother.
“Mama said you would come even if you hate her.”
“I don’t hate your mother,” I say, telling the truth. Any other human being would hold a grudge, but I’ve had four damn years to think about Serena’s struggles.
She never loved me, but she kept me. She built a life for herself, even after our mother’s death shook everything for her. I don’t blame her.
I take my sister’s daughter into my lap without thinking and wipe the tears from the blue eyes I know will look back at me. Enormous eyes full of sorrow, a sorrow I never saw in his eyes.
How much she looks like him with her shiny black hair and chubby cheeks that will disappear when she grows out of the roundness that kids her age possess.
Nature took care of the selfishness by giving kids an adorableness for survival, but I know that even if she looked like an old woman, I would love her. Still, she’ll likely always look stunning, just like her uncle and grandmother.
“Will you protect me?”
I nod, and she hugs my neck like a little monkey that just lost its mother. I saw such a thing in the wilds of Africa during my second year as a paid photographer.
Not all the stories I went to document were surrounded by war. From time to time, I worked on the nature channels in order to show the natural disasters created by man.
Unlike the activists who knew what to do to help animals who lost their parents due to actions taken by humans, I just took pictures.
A commotion in the corridor beyond the door has everyone in the room turning in that direction.
“Where is my niece?”
The voice I never wanted to hear again sounds more mature, more cruel, more dangerous. More everything.
Heis here.