Chapter 9 #2
I had no idea how long it had been since I’d been locked in the room.
Among other memories, the one of Shio leaving me here this morning replayed in my mind.
Unlike Shio’s house, where I had access to the windows and could tell when it was night and day, this room was void of them.
I could have turned the TV on to get the time, since I knew no more than a few hours had passed, but I opted not to.
I’d been in bed, curled on top of the covers, since he’d left me here.
My nose was stuffy, my eyes were puffy, and my nerves were completely in disarray.
I was locked inside a room, not knowing how long I was going to be here.
I’d gone from barricading myself in back at Shio’s to now being barricaded in by Shio.
The steel door was in place to keep someone from getting out, and I couldn’t stop the questions about why he had this room.
Was someone here before me? Why would he need a room to lock someone in?
Had he created this room knowing he’d lock me away?
Was this meant for me from the beginning, but he opted to keep me in his home instead?
What was the purpose of locking me away?
Was this supposed to be a prison? I had so many questions, but I knew that if Shio were standing here, I wouldn’t ask them. Insegura. (Insecure.)
The bed was soft, and the pillows remained cool.
The one my head was propped on hadn’t warmed at all, and at first, I thought it was another mind thing happening, but after an hour or so of constant coolness, I figured out something inside the pillow kept its temperature.
I needed it, so I was grateful. The headache that was beginning to brew would have come on full-fledged had it not been for the relief the pillow provided.
I wasn’t sure whether it was the drugs that kept me oblivious to the predicament my father had placed me in, or Shio’s good looks as we spent so much time together over the weeks, but while lying here, I’d come to the realization that my head had been in the clouds.
I was in a foreign country with foreign people.
I had no allies, no friends, and the man who had opened his home to me had now locked me away.
At least he gave you a cell phone.
But who would I call? Who? I had no one.
Tightening my arms around my stomach, I couldn’t fathom how much had gone down in the last twenty-four hours.
The shootout wasn’t what had me on edge the most. It was knowing that Shio was now sharing his home with Bahati, alone.
The beautiful African woman who could bring any man to her knees, even with her broken arms and tattered clothing.
Bahati should have been the least of my worries, but I couldn’t help myself.
She was gorgeous. When she tossed her arms around Shio’s neck, my heart sank.
I wanted Shio to be with me, but Bahati looked like she should be his companion.
I cringed at the idea of who my companion would be.
My father had attempted to rationalize his thinking, but the disappointment grew with each word he spoke.
I should have been more affected by my father’s revelation about owing Shio’s Don, but I wasn’t.
I’d never known my papa to have an issue with pesos, but I knew my father was not a competent man.
We’d been well off my entire life, and I never understood why, because my father was not a smart man.
I’d seen his decisions for twenty-plus years, and they never showed a man of honor and discipline.
For him to trade me, knowing he’d already agreed to my betrothal to the Rodríguezes was the most reckless thing he could have done for his organization.
It was as if my father was saying “fuck everyone” as long as his hands were cleaned.
Now, in this room, I was beginning to feel something I should have felt the moment Shio placed that gun to my head: miedo (fear). I wasn’t scared of what would happen to me. I wasn’t scared of what not having the drugs would do to my body. I was scared that I’d lost Shio forever.
I heard the sliding of something and peeled my eyes open.
I was facing the door, so light spewed in through a small opening.
My knees were pulled up to my chest as I hugged them and waited.
I wasn’t being let out, and I knew that because the door didn’t open.
Also, Shio was done with me. The look of finality on his face when he called my name was one I’d never forget.
Whatever we had ended before it began, and as painful as it was, maybe that was for the best.
It was for the best.
“I got you some food. I know you hungry.” A scruffy but youthful male voice that I didn’t recognize drawled. At the same time, a thank-you bag with a food carryout tray was pushed inside. “It’s a mini fridge in there. We stocked that shit with water and shit. Snacks too.”
The aroma of spices, steam, and deep-fried food filled the room.
Although it excited my senses, it did nothing for my belly.
I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t anything, actually.
I’d cried to myself for hours. But I was fresh out of tears, fresh out of pleas.
The only thing I wanted right now was cocaína (cocaine).
“Thank you.” I rasped. I had no plans on eating, but I appreciated the gesture.
“Solana… That’s yo’ name, right?”
“Yes.” I squeezed my knees to my chest.
“How you get on that shit? Cocaine?”
With my eyes closed, I moistened my dry teeth with a swipe of my tongue. I was craving the feeling. I could go days without the drug, I really could. But now, my body felt like it couldn’t go another second without it.
“I… It just happened.”
It had. It had just happened. I wasn’t force-fed drugs.
My parents didn’t introduce it. I didn’t stumble upon it.
It simply just happened. A night out turned into the most fun I’d ever had.
And once I realized that my problems were non-existent while inebriated, I’d taken cocaína (cocaine) ever since.
“Well, I hate to break it to ya, but you gone have to unhappen that shit. It ain’t a good look, Mexi-Mami.”
My head snapped up. “Neltz?”
The voice sounded too mature to be Neltz, but my mind was so foggy that maybe I just didn’t recognize him. After all, we’d only had a single conversation, and that wasn’t enough to commit it to memory.
“Nah. That’s the lil’ cuz. I’m Italian.”
Italian.
I tried racing my brain to see if I remembered him. I’d heard his name but couldn’t fathom if I’d seen or met him.
“Shio is my big cousin.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.”
We both sat in silence. It was long enough that I’d closed my eyes.
“My cousin… He fucks with you.”
My response was a chuckle. Shio didn’t fuck with me. It was safe to say Shio hated me now.
“Real talk, he do. He got us watchin’ you and shit… round the clock. If he didn’t give a damn ’bout you, he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to make this shit happen.”
“Yeah, well… I’m no good for Shio. He has a family now. That’s where his focus should be.”
Bahati, the beautiful. Her skin was as dark as mine, though our nationalities differed.
As soon as she emerged from the closet, I detected an African accent.
Even after being kidnapped, with us not knowing what the Rodríguezes had put her through, she was still so pretty.
Not a blemish was on her face, and her high cheeks and chin were rounded.
The braids fit her face well, and they were done to perfection.
Her lips were plump, and her eyes curved upward at the corners in a seductive manner.
Even I could see her body was to die for under both the torn clothing and the silk pajamas.
She’d carried a child and done it well. A child for Shio.
She was the mother of his baby, a baby I hadn’t known existed. A baby Shio hadn’t known existed.
But the Rodríguezes had known, and it made me wonder how long they’d known about me living under Shio’s roof.
Bahati and Uriah were proof that Shio had a type.
Both women carried a certain confidence, confidence that I’d never possessed and probably never would.
I’d only been in the same room as Uriah once, but the power she possessed in simply existing was compelling.
Bahati had a different kind of confidence—one that screamed I’m beautiful, and I know it.
Her attacking me was strange in the sense that I hadn’t been in situations where I’d had to fight a woman.
However, I knew how to fight. My brothers and I had countless physical fights.
She had a right to be upset, but I preferred questions over reactions.
She’d found drugs in her baby’s hand and automatically accused me.
While I was upset, I did understand her plight.
I, being caught on drugs by Shio, didn’t help my pleading of being innocent.
But even being childless, I knew that if it had been my child, I would have attempted to fight me too.
“So, you a quitter?” The voice on the other side of the door—Italian—asserted.
“I’m a—” I thought of the best word to use in English. “I’m a realer.”
“The word you lookin’ for is realist, Mexi-Mami.” He corrected me, but not in a mocking manner.
“Si. We don’t belong.”
Silence again.
“Besides cocaine, what do you wanna do with your life? What are you? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-six,” I corrected.
“That’s still young as fuck, Mexi-Mami.”
“Yeah. But it does not feel that way… I… I have been told that I would be a wife since I was a child. There had not been time for me to think otherwise,” I confessed.
“So, just thinking… and I’m talkin’ thinking hard as hell about it, what you wanna do? It’s okay if you need time to think or if you change your mind later but tell me what comes to your mind first.”