Maybe we were alike.
Finally I had to look away, my gaze directed at the base of the palm in front of us. In the grainy twilight I could barely make out tiny red ants scurrying up the tree. They had absolutely no interest in the brutality of our compound, the screams or the breaking hearts or the ending marriages or the lives full of bad choices in order to live selfishly. They didn’t care. We were insignificant to them.
Suddenly, Esteban reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, a disarmingly tender gesture. I couldn’t help but freeze, afraid for my eyes to meet his again, afraid that this weird electric current in the air was more than it should have been.
“I won’t leave you behind,” he said. “You’re coming with me tomorrow.”
With us, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Because at that moment, what he said sounded real.
I wanted real.
I just wasn’t prepared for how real it was going to get.
CHAPTER SIX
Javier
I wouldn’t admit many things to people, but I would admit a lot to myself. And when I hit Luisa, I knew I had done wrong. Taken it too far. That I’d become less of a man for doing that.
All my life, I thought I could operate under my own code of morals and ideals. It was no different than most, I supposed. The cop who had to shoot someone in self defense. The soldiers that go to war and raid villages in the name of freedom. Everyone made excuses for what they did, because they believed in it. Because they believed they were in the right.
I had always thought of myself as a somewhat civilized, almost classy, narco. I, at least, wanted to bring purpose and grace to what I did. I didn’t believe in killing mercilessly. I believed in mercy, in forgiveness, in giving people second chances. I believed in letting people go after I got what I wanted from them.
I believed that to snitch was an outrage, even though we were dealing and fighting and killing each other to work in a billion dollar industry. I believed that religious celebrations were to be respected. I believed that family came first. I believed that women and children were not to be harmed.
I believed a lot of things. I also believed that I would never hit any woman. I knew that it didn’t make sense, considering that I could carve up their backs without a sweat. But there was something elegant and sexual about knife play. Whips, chains, ropes? Sure. But to hit was ugly. Brutal. Unbecoming.
Cheap.
So when I found myself striking Luisa across the face, I thought for a moment that perhaps I had lost my mind. Never mind the needless, senseless deaths that were at my hands over the past few months. Never mind that I had broken promises to others and to myself. Dirty, filthy promises. It was then and only then that I knew I had lost who I was. That every moral fiber that I based myself on was threadbare, and I was close, oh so close, to losing all sense of myself forever.
It scared me. I watched her leave the room, and though I was reeling from her own words, the callous ones that reached deep inside me and left a scar, I knew I might have damaged her beyond repair. I could heal myself in time, but could she? Would we? I didn’t think so.
I tried to tell myself that it was for the best. That things were so strained between us that we never had a chance of coming back. But the fact was, I didn’t want her near me anymore. Not because I didn’t love her, but because I didn’t want to do that again. I didn’t want to see that look in her eyes, the betrayal. Not just because of how I slapped her, but because the truth was, I was a terrible, horrible husband. Unfaithful, cruel, and cold.
I knew she wouldn’t be in my bed that night; regardless, I decided to sleep on the small couch in the office. Perhaps a mistake, considering the big day I had ahead of myself. I needed as much sleep as possible.
But who was I kidding. I didn’t even close my eyes for a second, and it had nothing to do with the couch. I kept seeing Luisa in the black and did what I could to absorb the guilt that was threatening to eat me from the inside out. So I did what I always did when it came to those kind of feelings — I blocked them out, shut them down, and told myself I didn’t feel a thing.
The next morning there was a knock at the door. I’d just finished doing my morning exercises, push-ups and sit-ups to get the blood flowing, and a small part of me was hoping it was Luisa, perhaps here to apologize, maybe to spare me from apologizing to her.
But it was Este. He came in and gave me the once over.
“You look like shit, esé,” he said, and though his tone was juvenile as always, he didn’t smirk. In fact, he looked rather grave.
“Even on my best days, I’d rather look like shit than you,” I answered quickly, reaching for the hand towel and dabbing the last vestiges of sweat from my face. “What do you want? We don’t have much time before we push off.”
“It’s about Luisa,” he said. He was hesitant, probing.
I made sure I gave him nothing to go on. “What about her?”
“I don’t think …” He paused then seemed to compose his thoughts. “It’s not safe to leave her here, Javi. I know you trust Artur and the others, and I do too, but I just don’t think it sends the right message.”
I eyed him curiously. “And what message is that?”
“That you’re afraid to bring her along,” he said. “Or that you just don’t care for her anymore.” He seemed to watch me closely. “That makes you both more vulnerable.”
“She’ll be fine here,” I said, even though I was starting to doubt it myself. What if I came back and she was gone? I remembered everything I’d said to her last night but it all still scared me. I wanted to push her away, yet at the same time the thought of losing her entirely wasn’t something I could handle at the moment.