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How many more people are involved?
Why use me?
My reflection in the mirror later that evening doesn’t represent what’s going on inside of me. The things that make the most sense hurt after I watched the burned copy Erik made me.
My father’s involvement. Mildred’s hate toward me.
I’m angry. I feel betrayed. There are more questions than answers now.
And yet, as I watch the girl in the mirror pass the straightener through another stray auburn curl, I don’t recognize her. She’s here, but not. She’s aware, yet a part of her hungers for the one thing that will sever all ties to those who brought her into this world.
Revenge. Blood. Peace.
All these years, I believed my father to be harsh and at times a sexist jerk, but this goes beyond that. He made me a pawn—a movable piece in a game I wasn’t aware of playing.
Another pass, and I twist my wrist when reaching the end, giving the bottom of the strand a bit of wave. It swishes into place when I release it, joining the others as the wild girl from this morning that Javier admired is put away and Mariah Asher takes center stage.
This woman looking back at me is everything she’s been taught to be, but behind the ire is a shine in her eyes that hasn’t been there before. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel alone and the small curl to her lips and hint of a blush destroys all notion of the persona she’s let herself hide behind for fear of:
Love.
A four-letter word that can destroy even the strongest. That if she embraces, will end her.
“It’s just dinner with him. Doesn’t need to be anything more.” A lie. Even to myself I lie, and it’s pathetic because a second later when the doorbell rings and I look through the phone app to see who’s at my door, my heart races and that tiny smile grows at the sight of him.
I know this is fast.
I know things won’t be perfect.
It’s a somersault of emotions running rampant through me—a battle between my heart and mind where both agree that no matter the leap, things could end badly and leave me with a broken heart.
However, I trust the man on the other side of the door wearing a bowtie and a smirk more than those of my flesh and blood. Deep down I know—feel it in my bones—that he wouldn’t deceive nor put me in danger and right now, that’s good enough for me.
With him, it’s the opposite. Javier would avenge me even against Malcolm if it ever came to that.
Give him an honest chance. Taking in a deep, cleansing breath, I press the green button on the screen and wait for the crackle to talk. “Be right out. Give me five.”
“You get three and a half, Muñeca. Not a second more.”
***
18
SHE LOOKS STUNNING and nothing like the happy girl I left a few hours ago. Something is off. The softness I’ve come to crave as much as I love the snark that rolls off her tongue with venomous ease—gone.
Mariah’s sitting across from me inside of a riverfront restaurant enjoying a glass of Malbec while we wait for our starters to arrive: a crab and corn chowder for her, and bacon-wrapped scallops for me. We’ve made conversation, admired the interior of the steakhouse, but still, I sense that she’s holding back, and I don’t like it.
I don’t like the lack of eye contact and how the Chicago river outside these windows holds her attention. How she looks at me for a second or two and then turns to find something random to comment on.
“Those lamps are from…what?” my girl asks with her face scrunched up in false confusion while pretending I’m the one with the issue.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me.” At my words, she looks away briefly and those rosy pink lips purse. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing is—”
“Don’t.” The low hiss makes her look back, and the expression on her face is contrite. Guilty. “There’s nothing I hate more than a liar, Muñeca. Please, just don’t.”
“Can we talk about it later?”
