Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

“But that wasn’t the deal and I’m not about to watch you fall back from it,” Javier counters. “I fought like a man to be here, I fought harder to claim her and I won’t stop fighting now.”

  “Isla...” Joaquín dismisses to Javier by turning to me. “You know what you need to do... those drugs won’t swallow themselves,” he says, and I nod. “And I want you all in Long Island by nightfall.”

  Yet another form of torture has risen.

  I sit, rolling the tiny balloon around in my fingers, trying to resist the urge to split one and indulge. Sitting in the girls’ dorm, I look at the plate of heroin balloons and hate that I’m left to my own devices for this. There used to be times where I liked to do this in solitary, but today isn’t one of those days, but I knew I couldn’t stand to have Javier watch me, not with the stress so heavily placed on my shoulders as it was.

  He only knew part of why I was so reticent to go on this run, but he’ll never know how full of fear I am. I can’t let it win and if he were here, it would. I would beg him to stop this, to take me now, to make me not have to go there with Santiago hot on my heels.

  He isn’t here, though, so I have to do what I always do and as I swallow the tiny pellets, I tell myself this is life, this is survival. When really it’s another stark realization of what my life has come to.

  I’m no longer a girl.

  I’m a drug mule.

  I’m a vessel for them to get their sexual highs from.

  I’m a nobody when it comes to working for Joaquín.

  On that thought, I make quicker work of swallowing the rest of the pellets and drown them with what remains in my bottle of water. For a few seconds, I allow my body to become used to the uncomfortable fullness and look down at my stomach. Already it’s bloated and I press my hand to it and stand up.

  This is the part that I hate the most about when we do these runs, the uncomfortable feeling, the impending feeling of doom and the nerves that shake my hands so viciously.

  Staring at myself in the mirror I wonder why I fret over someone recognizing me when I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’m a ghost of who I was. I’m the product of this lifestyle, of this job, of this curse.

  I am what Joaquín Salvador made of me and I hate him more every day for it.

  What my mother would think of me if she could see me now. I shake my head with sorrow, I knew she disapproved of my party girl attitude, even though I never drank, but now, I can’t even fathom what she would think. I’m now the girl who begged for drugs and I know full well I was brought up better than that.

  The thoughts are met with a sudden pain in my stomach, nothing more than a twinge that I quickly forget and I start to get myself ready to go. I make my way over to the shower, turning on the water before I start to undress. With a heavy heart, I start to take my clothes off one by one and I step under the ray of water that beats down.

  It doesn’t take long for me to steady myself against the wall, bracing my entire body with just a flat palm to the tiles. I’m going home, but cruelly I’m not allowed to stay. My breathing begins to pick up, racing upon waves of panic as it hits me and I let out a wail of misery as anguish befriends me.

  This isn’t how my life was meant to be!

  My mind howls and screams out as it loathes the reality I’ve been cruelly thrust into all over again. No matter how long I live here, breathe the hot air around me and endure every piece of torment these men can throw around.

  I can’t escape it.

  The only peace that can penetrate this life is Javier.

  He’s all I have to live for, but the threat of losing him is so enormous it eclipses what it is I feel. In the back of my mind, I know we aren’t made to last, not while we both remain trapped here.

  After all, like all highs we aren’t made to last forever.

  The comedown won’t be beautiful, it’ll be unforgiving and I’ll do whatever to make him stay here with me. I’ll deal every prayer, every last ebb of hope to keep him here with me because while I have him, I’m reminded that there is life after this.

  In Javier, my mind can start to think about a forever state.

  Why?

  Because love isn’t a drug, it’s a tonic. It’s something that brings life to the coldest of souls, breathes faith back into the most lost beings, and causes a new strength to grow.

  Javier’s done just that.

  He saw me at my highest, met my lowest too quick, but stuck around long enough to pick me up when all my strength was lost. He’s the reason I’m still alive.

  He’s the one thing that’s keeping me going.

  Because with a man like Javier beside me, life after this place is no longer inconceivable, it’s not unreachable. No, life outside of this place is just outside the gates to this hell.

  It’s just finding that magical moment to strike, to run and to leave behind this world. Right now, I don’t see that path clearly lit. Instead, I’m met with brick walls and fears so large their talons are ready to wrap around me and suffocate me into submission.

  After all is said and done, I will come home after this run and it’ll be another reminder that what Javier promises isn’t an easy feat. Perhaps impossible.

  I find I can’t stand being cloistered under the shower, locked in the confined space with only my thoughts as company, and I turn the water off ready to flee. Stepping out, I take a deep breath, telling myself to calm and as I dry my worn body I feel myself start to forget about where I’m going and concentrate on the task at hand.

  I don’t last long when my stomach cramps and I double over. I grab the basin as my legs weaken beneath me. My arm snakes around my stomach and I struggle to right myself. Red hot tears pierce through to line my eyes and I can’t help the cry that escapes me.

  Oh God no!

  “Isla?” I hear Javier call out. “Where you at, cariño?”

  At first, my words are stolen with the pain but I push through, knowing I need him.

  “Javier, help me,” I say, my words coming as one breathy whisper of pain.

  My hand clasps tightly around the basin and I use it to hold up my entire body.

  “Isla, what the fuck?” he asks, crossing the room to reach the bathroom with warped speed to grab me and support my ailing body. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think one of the balloons have burst,” I cry, disarray becoming heavy. “My stomach hurts so bad.” I sob, falling against him more than ever, one arm still wrapped around my midsection. “I was starting to feel a little weird, but then my stomach...”

  As if to prove me right, another pain hits me and I howl.

  “Fuck,” he says, preparing to move me across the room.

  I muster every bit of strength I have to grasp onto him, preventing him from moving me anywhere. I hold on tightly to the sleeve of his shirt and stare up at him with a wild gaze.

  “Help me,” I say, my words caught in a medley of painful sobs. I wince as the pain hits me and my breathing starts to race. Panic is a smothering emotion, choking me ever so slowly. “Don’t let them find out!”

  “Isla, listen to me,” he says, not reacting to my hysteria. If anything, Javier remains calm, not looking at all spooked. He takes my hand from his arm and holds onto my via my wrists, forcing a space between us. “It’s not a burst balloon,” he says, taking my hand to support me. “It’s...”

  “It’s a burst balloon!” I cry out, not listening to him. “I’ve seen it happen! I saw Gabi go through this,” I say, only pausing as a fresh pain rips through me. “Javier,” I gasp, breathlessly. “Please, don’t let them see me like this. They’ll kill me,” I gasp, my tears only getting heavier. “I don’t want them to do that to me. I’ve seen what they do to girls...”

  “You’re having a panic attack,” he tells, so calmly, interrupting my terror. “This isn’t you overdosing from a split balloon. Trust me.”

  “I’m not!” I exclaim, terror claiming me theirs. “It’s not a panic attack!”

  He goes to argue, but
I cut in first.

  “Please, Javier,” I beg, trying to shake him away. “Don’t let them get to me. Don’t let them be the ones that have to kill me.”

  I see his eyes soften before forming tears. He knows what I’m asking of him without even having to ask, but I can’t bear the thought of Santiago finding me like this. There’d be no mercy and there would certainly be no quick death.

  “Please, you have to promise you,” I say between panted breaths. “Don’t let them kill me.”

  I break away from him, falling backward with enough space to reach one of the drawers. I yank it open, still cuddling myself with one arm as I pull a knife from the drawer. It’s one I’ve kept hidden since the siege that Javier saved us girls from. I turn around, the blade held out in a shaky grasp.

  He looks horrified, but as the pain intensifies the further I push the knife at him.

  “You aren’t dying today, Isla!” he tells me, alarm raising the tone of his voice. “This isn’t going to happen!”

  “It has to!” I say, shouting to get my point across. “I can’t let them find me first!”

  “Can you trust me?” he asks, a quiver reaches his words. “Like you have done before... can you trust me, Isla?”

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper, tears wrecking my voice. “I can’t be this any longer, Javier. It’s killing me.”

  While my words are literal to how I feel, I can’t stop the feeling that I can’t keep being theirs to use like this. I wasn’t made to be a drug smuggler. I’m a good girl from California. I never step out of line, I never got into trouble, yet here I am forced to do dirty deeds for dirtier people. I put my life in danger and I risk getting caught every time while I work against the fear that I’ll become like Gabi or Jenny.

  And now I’m just too tired to keep it up.

  This is my way out.

  “Please,” I plead.

  “No,” Javier denies my wishes.

  While I hate him for it, I do allow him to take the knife from me and he places an arm around me, leading me to the bath. Slowly he starts to lower me to the floor, placing the knife on the sink as we fall to the floor with gentle ease. My breathing is starting to slow, the pain still pulsating and my tears continue to fall, but just having him here has me calmed.

  I hiccup upon my sobs, falling completely against him, spent and mindless.

  We sit in silence, both of our backs to the bath while he holds me. Neither one of us speaks even after he refused to kill me. All we do is sit here in next to near silence, his arms wrapped around me.

  “Long Beach is home, isn’t it?” he suddenly asks, casually breaking the silence. “That’s why you’re such a mess.”

  “How am I going to survive this one?” I ask, my words faltering as desolation hits me hard. “The one place I want to get back to and I can’t stay there.”

  I reach up shakily wiping my tears away.

  “You’ll do it with the same strength you have done everything else with, cariño. You seem to have forgotten I have seen you hit rock bottom and come back fighting. Santiago only did this to get a rise out of you and hit you where it hurts most.

  “You’ll be back there one day soon... that’s a promise I vow to take to the grave.”

  “I hope so,” I say and silence beckons as I ignore the situation soon to transpire. I sit, cradled in the arms of my sanctity, never wanting to leave. “How did you know it was a panic attack?” I ask, out of the blue.

  “I didn’t completely,” he admits bashfully. “I’ve seen all sorts of anxiety in all different people, I know some get stress stomach aches and there is so much pressure on you, I wasn’t about to believe you and Gabi shared a fate.”

  I look up at him, finding I’m more grateful he came into the room when he did than ever.

  “Plus I’ve seen my share of overdoses... if a balloon had split, you wouldn’t have been so coherent.”

  “I didn’t think I was,” I mutter, jesting lightly.

  “You were when you pulled out that knife,” he replies and I hear the grit in his voice. “Isla, killing you would be like killing myself and I’m not prepared to die anytime soon.”

  “Same here,” I say, rubbing my stomach, taking note that the pains have ebbed to nothingness. “I feel so stupid.”

  “Don’t,” Javier utters. “I think it’s time we really thought about a way out instead of waiting for the right moment. I’m not prepared to see you quite that close to the edge again. I’ve seen it a few too many times, I’m not ready to see it again any-time soon.”

  His lips meet my temple and I close my eyes.

  Everything would be perfect if I could stay locked in his arms.

  I’ve lasted exactly thirty-eight hours in my hometown without as much as a hiccup. I spent the drive here in the back of the SVU hidden by tinted glass and sunglasses. I watched as buildings went passed and neighborhoods I knew grew.

  I was essentially home, but the promise was just too far out of reach.

  I wasn’t allowed to leave my hotel room and Diablo stuck out of the room even though Javier was in with me. I stayed, did what I needed to, passed over the drugs and prepared to go back to Mexico. When Santiago declared it time to go, I was more than happy to be ushered back into the SUV and carted away with nothing but fleeting memories.

  I leave my hotel room and make haste for the exit, breathing out a sigh of relief at the thought that we’re finally about to depart from Long Beach and I won’t have to hate that I can’t run to my family. When I break into the sunlight, I see a tense Javier standing beside a packed SUV while Santiago stands with the backdoor to his opened.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Santiago states, a smile climbs upon his lips.

  He comes over to me, grabbing me harshly and yanking me toward the awaiting vehicle.

  “Isla will be driving back with me,” Santiago remarks and I feel myself stiffen as he puts an arm around my waist. “I felt we needed a quiet drive home.”

  My eyes slowly raise, wanting nothing more than to meet Javier’s, but as they do I take in his thunderous expression. Both he and Santiago have been dangerously close to killing one another since Joaquín broke the fight up and this trip has exacerbated all of those feelings.

  “I’ve told you I’m not letting you,” Javier argues, his anger multiplying by the minute.

  “And I’ve told you, I’ll bring her back in one piece,” Santiago replies all too sweetly.

  “Physically or mentally?” Javier asks, voicing his concerns.

  “I just want a little alone time with Eighteen now she’s been palmed off onto you, Santos,” Santiago sneers, releasing me only to push my body toward the SUV. “Behave and get in the other car. We’ll see you back home.”

  Javier goes to respond, possibly striking out in a meaner fashion.

  “I’ll be fine,” I comment quickly, trying to defuse Javier’s anger. “I promise.”

  In all honesty, I’m worn out. I haven’t got the energy for this. I have no yearn for him to fight, for him to endanger himself once more. Plus, we’re not home, we’re not allowed to cause any drama, to make ourselves known to others. We aren’t allowed to cause a stir that’ll gain us unwanted attention.

  I get into the car without another word or a proper goodbye, Santiago ushers me to move across the seat to the other side and as I do I realize Diablo’s behind the front wheel and I’m trapped in the back behind tinted windows once more.

  There isn’t a moment between Santiago getting in and Diablo accelerating away and that ball of dread starts to fight back, the pangs of pain starting again as paranoia casts aspersions. I’ve heard the stories of what Santiago does to good men who no longer serve the El Salvador. I wonder wryly if I’ll be one of those who ends up in a ditch on the side of a dirt road with a bullet in the back of my head execution style. I shiver at the very thought.

  I’m so wrapped up in seeing my own bloody dumping site I haven’t taken in where we are and when I come back to this
moment I realize we’re closing in on my old neighborhood. My breathing starts to race, my mind becoming dizzy and I beg this to now happen.

  However, as we turn onto a road I know all too well, my eyes burn with tears as my throat dries.

  “Surprise, Eighteen,” Santiago mutters, a sense of wickedness pierces his every syllable as Diablo parks up, putting the handbrake on before turning the engine off. “Brought you home.” He leans forward, pointing out and up a flourishing yard to a yellow painted two-story home, two cars parked on the drive. “I’m going to take a stab in the dark and assume that’s your mom?”

  I say nothing as I watch, casting my gaze across the front yard. I see my mother in the yard and even though she has my back to me I’m comforted by the sight of her even though it causes my eyes to water. She’s wearing those same god-awful pastel floral leggings she only brings out when there’s house-work or gardening to be done, paired with the same straw sun hat she was hell-bent on never putting in the trash.

  It’s like nothing else has changed.

  I catch movement and my head darts in that direction taking in the sight of my father, dressed in a suit shirt and pants. He walks straight past my mother even as she looks up and speaks. He doesn’t kiss her goodbye as he heads for the SUV and my heart seizes to find a beat. Pain rips through me, hot and vicious, tearing me limb from limb. My father refused to ever leave the house without kissing me or my mother goodbye.

  Apparently, not everything stayed the same.

  I reach out of the door handle. It’s an instinctive move, not one I countered on doing, but just seeing my father and mother in front of me has me wanting to go to them. I want to run at them and tell them that everything can go back to how it was now. Regardless that I’m not the same girl, I could pretend if it would bring them both together.

  I would die to fix them.

  “Don’t you dare even think of it,” Santiago says, pressing the barrel of a gun into my side, painfully striking my ribs. “You open that door and I’ll shoot you and make them watch you die.”

  My hand falls away from the handle, limp at my side with easy defeat. I’m left to watch helplessly as my father reverses from the drive and speeds off.