Primitivo

by Croft, Rose

  Sofía pulled back as we approached the roller coaster. “There’s no way I can get on that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “No. Emilio, this looks dangerous.” She pointed in the distance at the attached cars full of people screaming with hands in the air as the roller coaster sped through a loop.

  “Hey, you can do this. You’ll love it. I promise.”

  She shook her head. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

  You had to be blind not to see the apprehension shining bright like an aura around her. I reached in and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, I know you’re scared, but it would mean so much if you rode it with me.” Her expressive eyes were like mirrors to the soul, and I knew I was about to share something personal. Freely. “This ride is sentimental. The first time as a child I was scared to go on it, but Mami convinced me it would be fun and all I needed to do was hold her hand. And you know what? She was right.” I cleared my throat as her face softened. “I have a lot of family members, so my mom divided her time between all of us. But this was the one ride where I had her sole attention. It was our special time together. I looked forward to this ride every year up until her death.” Sofía’s eyes glistened as she listened to my every word. I cradled her cheek. “I want to create new history… with you.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’d like that, too.”

  When it was our turn, I knew she was nervous. I helped her slide into the car and sat down beside her.

  “Hold my hand,” I offered, and she gripped my hand so tightly I think I lost circulation, but I would gladly take the pain to relieve her anxiety.

  The first climb up the rails had Sofía shaking.

  “Just breathe, preciosa.”

  She inhaled and exhaled while her nails dug into my skin. “We’re going to die.” She gasped as we climbed closer and closer to the peak.

  “No, we’re not. Look at me.” I leaned in and gazed into her wide eyes. “We’re going to live and have no fears or regrets.” The car now crept almost to a stop. I didn’t completely understand my choice of words. I only wanted to calm her nerves, but it came out more like overdramatic dialogue in an angsty chick flick. Either way, Sofí took in my words, and her claws eased up before we started to free fall.

  In the end, she let loose and enjoyed the ride.

  Later, we walked through the park hand in hand, and her steps slowed as her eyes crept to mine. “I had so much fun tonight. Thank you.” She took a bite of the blue cotton candy we shared.

  “So… did we create enough memories?”

  “More than enough.” We stood outside the gates of the park.

  “This is only the beginning, Sofí.”

  The loud boom and crackle of fireworks filled the sky behind us, and Sofía jumped, startled.

  “It’s just fireworks.” They usually had a fireworks show on weekends.

  “I know.” She chafed her arms although it was a warm night. “Fireworks always make me nervous.”

  “Why?” I felt like there was something deeper going on than being afraid of loud noises.

  She forced a smile and shrugged. “No reason. I’m fine, really.”

  I filed this under investigate later and stepped closer. “Then, you need a distraction.”

  “I do?”

  I tilted her chin up. “You do.” I heard her breaths quicken and her pulse at my fingertips thumped erratically. I leaned in and claimed her tempting mouth. Soon, the sounds of fireworks and conversations of people filing out around us faded away. It was just us. My tongue pushed through her soft lips, while I gripped her head angling her the way I wanted, relishing in capturing her soft moans and the sugary taste of cotton candy. I wanted more. Hell, I wanted everything. As I devoured her mouth, I realized I never knew how sweet and thrilling a kiss could be. I never took the time to savor kisses in the past. This was my first. A first to end all firsts. And I knew as I delved in deeper not giving a shit how we were PDA’ing it the fuck up amidst a crowd of people, this kiss would be my last, and our lips withdrew sealing the deal. Last girl because whether Sofí knew it or not… she was now mine, and I’m not talking about “let’s be girlfriend and boyfriend” material. I was definitely headed toward forever and ever territory with her.

  Present

  Sofía

  “You did good, Gatita. The whole virginal act served you well,” Tito said as he trailed behind me. “You were turning me on.”

  “You’re sick,” I said emotionlessly. How many times had I said that in the past to him? How many times had I fought off the advances of my cousin? “You’re my primo, Tito,” I added as I always did, but he didn’t seem to care. The words had been played on repeat so much they had no meaning. To him. He just didn’t care.

  “I love you, Sofí.” He pulled me against his chest, and I stiffened. He had no right to call me Sofí. That name was reserved for the people who truly loved me… my mother, my brother Oscar, and Emilio. Always Emilio.

  “Don’t ever call me that!” Something set off in me, and I jerked away from him. “You never have that right!” I pounded him in the face, chest, and any other body part I could hit. He tried to grip my hands, but I was amazingly fast tonight and had some kind of strength out of the ordinary.

  “Whoa, girl.” He was trying to catch my fists in his hands. He smiled, disturbingly amused. “You’re fuckin’ spunky tonight, aren’t you? Normally, you’re so docile. Are you so used to the Valium you take you’re not getting that high you normally do, girl?”

  I dug my nails into the palms of his hands that restrained mine, wanting to kill him for his taunting. Hating him even more. Knowing his words weren’t far off the mark. That’s how I got through days like this—popping a pill to numb the pain. I didn’t have to think about anything when I was on that trip. However, I must’ve been crazy lashing out at my ruthless cousin because no one ever confronted him unless they wanted to die. Apparently, I was at a point where it didn’t matter. My life crashed and burned the day he’d found me with my son and made an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  I shoved him with all the force I had watching in delight as he fell back against the wall. “Get away from me, Scar. You got what you wanted tonight. I did what you said.”

  I picked up my things wanting to run away because I knew it was only a matter of time until my cousin lost his temper. Tito always did this push and pull bullshit with me. He always held the cards over my head. Tormenting me. Always making me wonder if he would take it to another level and try to rape or hurt me like his father once tried.

  My cousin was like a volcano. Constantly rumbling, threatening to explode his brand of chaos all over anyone standing in his way. When he blasted, you always knew there would be devastation and death. Aniquilar y dominar. Annihilate and dominate. That was the ES-22 motto. Tito lived those words to the fullest.

  I picked up my purse and glanced around disdainfully at the dressing room wishing I could erase tonight from my mind. As soon as my “act” finished, I draped my dress over my scantily clad body and ran back to the changing room wanting to burn my clothes. I’d quickly changed into a T-shirt and jeans before Tito had opened the door.

  “As hot as it was seeing you on stage, I think it’d be in all our best interests if you just work the bar.” He followed behind me as we walked out the back entrance. “I can’t let anyone see that fine-ass body. That’s for me only.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, and I wanted to shrivel up and sink into the concrete below. “I wasn’t thinking straight when I had you get on stage. Thought it would be a good opportunity to make some easy cash.”

  I ignored him and kept walking. My dance ended with me in my cotton white bra and panties. At first, I thought Tito was going to strip those off too, but he shook his head and called out, “That’s it. Show’s over.” Then it was followed by a mixture of boo’s and people yelling for me to take it off.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna see you like that but me,” he stated again as we both slid into the seats
of his classic Mustang. “I’d kill a man before I’d let anyone else touch you, Gatita.” The engine revved, and he sped out of the parking lot. City lights flashed off the windows like tracers.

  “And I’d kill you before you ever touch me,” I spat contemplating opening the car door and hurling my body into the street. Why not? You’ve lost everything, Sofía. Did it really matter? Tito was speeding down the road, and I would rather take my chances with dying than living this shitty-ass life. But I didn’t. I guess I hadn’t crossed that threshold. Instead, I closed my eyes trying to drown out the sound of the bass from the speakers and Tito’s laughter.

  The club was full tonight. There was a wet T-shirt contest and every girl that hung around Los Malos was here to participate. The normally half-empty, run-down place had magically transformed into a gansters-r-us haven chock-full of testosterone and tough girls claiming their man. It was always like this when the ES-22 boys were gathered together—sex and violence, violence and sex, dominate, mark your territory, throw up some signs, grab your crotch, treat a girl like shit, pick a fight, and start over again.

  I wondered why these girls put up with it. I wanted to tell them to run. Run away. This isn’t the life you think it’s going to be. I wondered if they were caught up in the whole “bad-boy” thing. Did they have daddy issues? Were they runaways because, quite frankly, I knew some of the girls had to be underage. The prime candidates for Los Malos. Prey on the weak. Prey on the needy. Get ’em young, then you can mold them into whomever you want them to be. And once you’re in, you can never leave.

  Something felt different, and the hairs on the back of my neck twitched—like someone was watching me. It wasn’t a new feeling, actually, my guard was usually up most of my days since I lived with a group of insane people. However, I knew Tito wasn’t here. He was making a run with Bolivar, one his boys.

  I scooped crushed ice into a glass and grabbed a bottle of Jack in one hand and the handle to the soda dispenser in the other. As I filled the cup, I swept my eyes around the room again. Men were dousing some of the girls on stage with beer and cheap champagne while they squealed and bounced around in pretend surprise. Sticking their braless tits out among hoots and hollers of a bunch of drunk-ass horny men wearing their uniform of wifebeaters and saggy jeans. Hard, tattooed arms slithered around soft, curvy bodies. Business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. This place alone had set the women’s movement back one hundred years.

  “The only thing women are good for is cooking and fucking.” I heard Tito say one night to his friends as they watched some messed-up amateur Euro porn.

  “Wow, Tito. Don’t give us so much credit,” I said as I passed by them on my way to my room.

  “Come on, girl. You know you’re different. You’re royalty.” He said it like I should be thrilled my father was head of a street gang that was going nationwide and still running the operation from prison. “You’re a gangsta princess, soon to be my queen.” No. I’m a prisoner who traded in her soul to keep her son from getting killed—and a fucking coward.

  I set the drinks on the serving tray Mia held out in front of me on the bar. “Anything else?”

  “That’s it.” She smiled at me. “The boys are getting rowdy tonight.”

  “Shocker,” I deadpanned. I actually liked Mia. She was beautiful with tan skin and dark almond eyes. Her natural hair color was black, but tonight it was pink. She changed hair colors as much as the weather changed in Texas. Mia was one of the few women in this crowd I could talk to without fearing that I might end up with a knife in my back.

  “Be back in a few.”

  “I’ll be here.” I watched her walk away in her midriff tank and plaid short skirt. Standard uniform mandated by the owner. He was an older man who owned this place and the liquor store next door. He’d been the owner for thirty years (which was obviously the last time he had this place decorated). He’d migrated here from our homeland of El Salvador and allowed Los Malos to hang out here. It was their home away from home.

  The thing with gangs is they’re very territorial. There were so many in the area—the ones that congregated on the east side of town, the ones farther north, south side had its representation, too, and this area in downtown was ES-22’s playground. There was some unwritten code how gangs would never mix and you never wandered out of your territory or things could go south real quick.

  Again, a weird feeling of being watched in the shadows shimmied over my skin. I did another eye scan, still not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

  “Shit!” I jumped feeling the sharp edge of the knife pierce my thumb, and I dropped it as blood pooled around the small white cutting board seeping into the limes. I twisted my thumb back and forth, staring with some kind of detached fascination as the sting of air and acidic juices burned my skin. Blood. My blood. Another scar on my already marred skin. I still remembered the way the jagged glass shredded the padding of my hand like it was yesterday. How the body of my uncle jerked unnaturally beneath me when the sharp point lanced his jugular vein. How his body was bathed in crimson.

  “What the fuck, Gatita?” I jumped out of my stupor. Luis, one of Tito’s clones who was here to “protect me” yanked at my hand causing the knife to hit the floor. He wrapped one of the bar-top rags around my thumb. Pretty sure I’d committed my body to the threat of some kind of flesh-eating disease because the cloth was wet and dingy with stains. Who the hell knew the last time it’d been washed?

  “You trying to kill yourself?” Luis asked with concern on his face. Not for me. Believe me, this asshole didn’t care about me. He was more concerned about what Tito would do if he thought I’d been seriously hurt on his watch.

  “It’s fine. The knife slipped.” I pulled my hand away from his. “I’ll go to the back and clean it up.”

  “You do that.” As soon as he was satisfied I wouldn’t bleed out, he lost interest in this conversation as the girls were starting to take off shirts and skirts on stage. “If you need to cut anything, let me do it,” he called out half-heartedly and was already walking away to get in on the action happening front and center.

  I bit my lip fighting the pain and shook my head. My thumb was throbbing, and I could feel the blood poisoning happening with each breath as I stood in place with this damp, dirty cloth. With the thought of death by washrag on my mind, I hurried through the bar, squeezing around drunk, smelly bodies as I made my way to the employee bathroom in the back. Antiseptic, I needed antiseptic. Hell, I’d settle for soap or hand sanitizer. A bandage would be sublime. I passed through the dark hallway hoping against hope to find something other than lube or glittery whore lotion.

  The bathroom was small with a cracked, crooked mirror, a sink that sloped to the right because I’m certain someone probably sat on it while having sex with a patron and luckily it hadn’t completely been detached from the drywall. But the pipes were rusty and dangled pathetically like they were hanging onto that drywall for dear life. No cabinets though. “Gah! Does nobody here believe in first aid at a strip club?”

  I turned the sink handle and unraveled the rag from my thumb. I hissed when the cold water hit my tender flesh. There was a bar of soap though. I scrubbed my thumb with a vengeance. I still bled. No bandage. Paper towels would have to do. I pulled off a piece and wrapped it tightly around the cut.

  “La Gatita.” A familiar, gravelly whisper raked down my spine.

  I glanced up through the mirror and nearly melted to the floor seeing the man who consumed my dreams standing, no filling the doorway with his presence. He was larger than life… and looked one hundred variations of cool rage. Emilio.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asked sarcastically as I stood and stared dumbly like I was seeing a ghost.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” He watched me as if I were a stranger with a bored expression. Indifferent. “You aren’t performing tonight?”

  “What? You were here the other night?”

 
His head moved up and down slowly. The dead expression on his face never wavered.

  “It’s not what you think?”

  “I don’t give a shit what it is,” he said in a flat, emotionless voice. “We both know you aren’t trying to win an award for mother of the year. Right? So why the fuck does it matter?”

  I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “Don’t ever say that to me!” His voice rumbled through me. “You are what you are, Gatita,” he stressed my nickname like it was a curse. “I didn’t come here to hear your apologies. What the fuck’s the point? You abandoned your own child. Your own flesh and blood. Nothing you say could ever make it right.” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to get himself in check. “I’m only here to warn you that if you ever come around Eric, I will fuck up your life. You’re lucky I didn’t have you arrested when you confronted Belinda… because of you and your selfish ways, my son could’ve been killed that day. I would’ve had your ass thrown in jail if I could’ve found you, but you’re like a ghost. Nonexistent. And that’s how I want to keep it.” He said “my son” knowing I’d forfeited that right, but I would never forget that fateful day where I thought there was a slight chance I could make it right.

  My life was dwindling before me. Living with Tito was a one-way ticket to Hell. I had to get away. My heart was shattered. The guilt over not seeing Eric and Emilio smothered me. I was beginning to have suicidal thoughts, but memories of my son and love of my life kept me going. The only way out of this mess was to bring Tito down. Luckily, he was gone for a few days. He and Luis were making a trip to El Salvador to conduct “business.” Business for him could mean anything thing from smuggling drugs into the country, recruiting new members, or plotting how they would destroy any enemies.