Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  “Were you really going to run?” he asks me, pulling away. I don’t utter a word, just look downwards. “You were going to run to them weren’t you?” he asks again, laughing. “Oh, you’re classic. As if I’d let you get out of this car, Isla!”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, looking at Santiago as he sits beside me. “Why would you bring me here?”

  “Because I enjoy seeing you suffer, Isla.”

  I drop my head, knowing this is what he wants to see of me. He wants me to be reduced to a pathetic version of myself, whimpering and obeying to him.

  “I brought you here for just one reason really... to give you a reminder of what your forever state looks like... without your parents in it.”

  My forever state - it's dipped and curved and changed its meanings so many times in my life that I forget which is the correct meaning.

  He was giving me my parents to tear them away from me all over again.

  “I know when we took you, you were partying with your sorority girls rather than spending Spring Break with your family, but you wanted to live a little and be a little wild... that was what you told me that night, wasn’t it? You told me how you hated being away from them, but you wanted some freedom, some chance to dance dirty and go wild.” He moves my hair out of my face using the barrel of the gun to do so as he speaks with a soft tone. “The truth is, you weren’t ever wild. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t even look at drugs, but now look at you... I’ve seen you high, I’ve seen you drunk, I’ve seen you desperate and best of all, I’ve seen you hit rock bottom.”

  My hate fire ripples to life, igniting immediately and it’s almost as if his every word strokes the tongues of every flame.

  “What would they think of their precious baby girl if I let her walk over there now... you look like you need a good meal, Isla. You also look like a recovering junkie, and let’s not forget how much of a fan of self-harm you are now.”

  “I did that because of you!” I yell, snapping back at him. “I did that to myself to get your mark off me.”

  “You’ll never get rid of my mark,” he says, grinning at me. “Doesn’t matter if you get out or not, Isla, I’ll forever be a reminder for you because when you look at your thigh, you’ll always remember who did it to you to begin with.”

  “I cut you out once,” I mock, my emotions deriding him and me all at once. “I could do it again. Hopefully, when cutting you.”

  Bringing me here has caused an almost animalistic rage. He’s presented me with my entire life, cast it in front of me, but I’m not allowed to approach it. I have to live on the outskirts of my own life and it kills me slowly from within.

  “I’d do anything to kill you,” I say, uncaring of punishment.

  I told Javier I couldn’t do this anymore and I’m sure I’m proving it with my death wish.

  His reaction snaps me out of it immediately. With one lunge, he pins me by my neck into the corner of the SUV, both hands wrapped completely around my throat with breaking force, cutting off my air supply. His face reddens with the strength he holds me with, and as my visions starts to fill with black spots, he releases me, resuming his seat on the opposite side of the car.

  “You really should learn to not anger me,” he counters, cracking his knuckles. His lip twists up to the side as he continues to look forward, but I can tell he’s watching my mother as she continues to garden, oblivious to me. “Now you know I know where they live, I can use them to keep you in line.” He turns his head ever so slowly to me. “One phone call, Isla, and Diablo will have your father gutted like a rotten little pig ad your mother bought to La Ponderosa to join her beloved daughter.”

  “I’ll behave,” I submit, obeying to him to take the threat away from those I love the most.

  “I’ll have to try and test it before I believe you,” Santiago mutters, and reaches out to touch Diablo’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

  I take one last look at the sight we leave and I allow the fresh pain to course through my veins.

  “I think you’ll need this after today,” Santiago says, reaching out to me. “Especially after everyone disowns you... you’ll be looking for a good high to escape to get rid of all the pain... especially after seeing your parents.”

  As he pushes a small, clear bag into my head, I swallow hard. The moment I decipher what it is, it seems to weigh a ton, burning my palm.

  Heroin.

  He’s right, I will need this.

  Instead of tossing it aside, I curl my hand around it and as my vision blurs with more tears, I’m reminded that no matter how high Javier builds me, Santiago will always hold the power to tear me down.

  I’m a weakling like that.

  Right now, all I’m thinking about is what I’d do for a sweet overdose.

  I spent the rest of the journey emotionless, holding onto that one chaste memory of my parents. I knew we were back home, but denial filtered into my being, telling me to come back to reality with that loud resounding thud.

  Santiago has been burning up the entire ride, his anger becoming so much more than even he can handle.

  When Diablo shut the car off, but Santiago gets out first and marches around to my side of the SUV, anger radiates off him and I know I’m about to fall victim to it all. Throwing open the door, I’m greeted with the Mexican heat and a violent grasp around my wrist. With a yank, Santiago pulls me from my seat and starts to drag me toward the front door of the house.

  “Santiago,” I say, struggling to resist his aggressive hold.

  “No, you’re about to be meal time entertainment... again,” he says, his tone calculating. “It’s why I delayed us coming home.” He throws me against the wall, leering at me. “I knew how you’d be the moment you saw your parents. I knew you’d fucking run, Isla. I knew you’d betray every girl in there the moment you saw them.” He gives me a smirk, one so full of venom I feel the dread ball in my stomach all over again. “The best part of it all, though, is watching Santos suffer for your greediness.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, my voice crippled by my emotions.

  “Easy,” he starts. “I knew it’d be enough to get you back into line because your delinquent behavior is seriously fucking me off now.” He reaches over, grabbing at me, and out of fright, I cower. “And quit with the tears, no one in that room is going to care about them when they find out how you tried to leave them all.”

  He laughs then, releasing a full-bellied chortle that is swathed in such malicious tones that I can feel the fear being driven into me.

  “As if I’d let you out of that fucking car,” he tells me, shaking his head as his laughter begins to die. “I’d have shot you right when they thought they had you back.”

  My eyes widen, the blood drains from my face, but he seems to like that reaction. What else did he expect from me? He presented me with the one thing I’ve dreamt of getting back for nearly three years. Now I find out he did it with more malevolent intent than ever before.

  He’d have shot me point-blank and at close range and he wouldn’t have thought anything of it.

  That thought is enough to keep me in line.

  I’ve caused them enough pain already, I refuse to inflict any more on them. Knowing I’m gone is one level of pain, but seeing me alive and watching me die is something they would never truly recover from.

  He knew it was enough to stop me running.

  It worked.

  “Now, march...” he orders, pulling away from me enough to push me in the direction of the main mess room.

  As we walk the noises of conversation grow with intensity, and with it, my nerves begin to fray, wreaking havoc on me. Tears burn my eyes again, forming that cement-like lump in my throat as I begin to wonder what people will make of me after Santiago humiliates me yet another time.

  His hand grabs onto my bicep with bruising force and I realize he isn’t going to go gently with me, not for one second.

  As we march into the
room, all noise quietens, all eyes stare.

  “Took you long enough to make it home,” Joaquín states, still eating his meal. “The rest of your convoy made it home nearly six hours ago.”

  “Sorry about that, Padre,” Santiago states, a monotonous tone to his voice shows he isn’t really apologetic. “I thought that Eighteen deserved a little bit of understanding of what’s happened in the time she’s been gone, so I took her passed her old family home.”

  “Why would you do that?” Joaquín asks, finally setting hi cutlery down. “She could’ve been seen you fucking fool! We knew going to Long Beach was a risk, but you pull this sort of stunt?”

  “Don’t panic!” Santiago exclaims, putting his hands up in mock defeat. “She wasn’t seen... although, had she had her way she would’ve.”

  He pushes me, I stumble right into center stage.

  “Little puta was going to do a runner,” Santiago sneers, snitching on me. He grabs my hair, pulling tightly so my scalp starts to burn. “She was going to leave you all behind to run to her mommy and daddy.”

  He steps up behind me, pushing every stone of his heavy body into my back, causing every hair on my neck to stand on end and I cringe.

  “Think you should apologize, Eighteen, especially to the man who’s fought most for you.”

  He throws me so violently this time I fall and land on my knees, immediately pain explodes in them and I brace myself to look up at the people in front of me. I gulp harshly, swallowing my tears as I start to raise my head and I catch sight of the military style boots Javier wore on the way home.

  He’s going to hate me.

  He gave me everything, sacrificed everything, and my repayment was to run.

  I look up, across the table and find him watching me. His face is full of thunder, his brows so tightly pulled his glare is menacing and I have to look away.

  I’ve done it now.

  Everything I had worked toward with – and because of – Javier is now going to end.

  “Leave!” Joaquín orders, sitting back in his seat, unable to form a sentence. “Santos, take the girl and clean her up. She’s a mess.”

  Javier is quick to stand, walking around the tables to greet me. He grabs my bicep, in the same place Santiago caught me, and he pulls me to my feet before pulling me from the room, wearing the right demeanor for all to see. He even keeps it up as we walk to his room.

  We make it, he finally lets me go and I can’t bear how claustrophobic the room now feels. I walk to the window, telling myself to breathe. As I hear the door click shut and lock, I brace myself, allowing the apology to come tumbling out.

  “I’m sorry, Javier,” I say, the tears burning the backs of my eyes as they prepare to betray me. “I wasn’t thinking.” I put my hands up to my head, pressing my fingers into my messy blonde curls and I start to panic. “I saw them and I just wanted them.... wanted them to hold me even if just one last time.”

  I finally turn to him, a destroyed character.

  “I got greedy,” I say, falling deep into the depressive emotions howling for me. I start to pant, hating myself for thinking I could live with just leaving this place and leaving those behind. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Isla, Isla,” I hear Javier’s voice as strong hands capture me. “Stop this, Isla!” he yells, but he sounds so muffled, lost in the confusion of my panic. “Isla, I’m not mad!”

  I look at him, trying to figure out if he’s telling me the truth, but when I’m met with that soft, caring expression, I break.

  “You’re not?” I ask, exhaling the words heavily. “How can you not be?”

  “Because I’d have been worried to find out you didn’t try to run to them,” he states, his expression soften furthermore. “You thought I’d begrudge you running to your parents?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about you.” My comment is greeted with a downward look.

  “Isla,” he says, releasing a mirthful little laugh. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d have run, I’d have found you.” His gentle tones break down my barriers, quelling my anguish and guilt. “Haven’t you realized that by now?”

  “I don’t think you will soon,” I utter, a bleak tone. “Not after you find out what else happened.”

  “What did happen?” Javier bites, already doubt scratches his tone.

  “He gave me this,” I say, pulling the bag of heroin out of my pocket. I look at it as my fingers unravel to reveal it to Javier. “He told me I’d want it when I was back and everyone would disown me for being so selfish. He gave it to me to numb the pain of seeing my parents again.” A tear falls, a morsel of what I’ve become because of Santiago’s new bout of torture. “And I really want to give him the satisfaction.”

  But I don’t.

  I do the one thing that rattles the addictive voice in my head and I allow the bag of heroin to fall from my hand as if to forbid all signs of weakness to come to life.

  But it’s there.

  It howls at me to pick it up and run from Javier. It screams at me to go and find Santiago and get myself that hit. It screeches through every twisted abyss and recess of my mind that I need to escape, I need that drug and I need that high.

  But I don’t listen.

  Instead, I cry out because I hate myself for taking the drugs out of Santiago’s hand and I cry for allowing that niggling voice in the back of my head to keep having a say on my life. But what choice do I have?

  None of that matters, however, when Javier reacts.

  He wraps his arms around me as I falter and his timing is perfect as my body shudders into a heavy sob and I crash into my woes. I was a fool for giving Santiago the first ounce of satisfaction by taking the bag, but I’m a bigger fool for wanting to go and find a syringe and a lighter so I can boil it down and give myself a high to get away.

  “I can’t let you live like this anymore, Isla. I can’t keep doing this... this has to end,” he whispers, his words falling almost inaudibly.

  Another beautiful promise spun by the most believable of the devil’s advocates.

  This time, I don’t vocalize how I don’t believe him, instead, I remain against his chest, listening to his heart-beat away.

  It doesn’t have to have a pleasant end, living in this moment will do.

  Reunited with him, this is the only overdose I want.

  That overwhelmingly, suffocating feeling of being someone’s one.

  Not their Eighteen.

  “Joaquín, I have a confession.”

  “Oh, this should be good!” Santiago expresses, sitting back comfortably.

  “What’s that?” Joaquín asks, ignoring his son.

  “While we were in Long Beach, I got in contact with my cousin,” I start to say, unafraid of my admission. “I know one of your rules is to not make contact with anyone outside of the cartel, but I couldn’t help it. When I left, we were estranged, but he was facing issues. With my deportation I didn’t stand a chance, I had to leave him to deal with it alone.”

  “So why are you telling me this?”

  “He needs bail money,” I grouse upon the illicit detail. “I’m his last hope.”

  “So you want money is what you’re saying?” Joaquín asks but doesn’t let me reply. “How much?”

  “$200,000,” I begin and watch their faces change. “For assault and battery. Not his first charge either,” I add as if the fact will lessen the blow of the money.

  “Another violent Santos...” Joaquín mocks, looking at his son with a mirthful gleam in his eyes. “Was it with intent?”

  “No, Sir,” I say, keeping my cool. “He got into a fight at a bar... he beat the man quite heavily, got caught and now can’t get out to await his trial unless he’s bailed out.” I run a hand over my head, trying to come across a little more compassionate. “I wouldn’t ask... but I’m all he has left.”

  “I thought you said you had no family.”

  “I don’t... not really,” I say, half admitting the truth. “He’s the only person left of
my family... I was glad to cut a loss, but I can’t turn my back on family when they need me.”

  “Do you want some men to go with you?” Joaquín asks.

  “I’ll go with him,” Isla ops, stepping forward before I can answer.

  “No, you won’t.” Joaquín cuts her down from her approach and waves her off. “Do you need a man with you, Javier?”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply, shrugging. “If anything, I would like to do this alone before I have to come home.” I meet my boss’ gaze, keeping hold of it strong. “And the only man I trust by my side I would rather leave here with Isla. If I can’t protect her then he can... and he’ll look after the other girls too. I trust him.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Hector.”

  I look to Hector himself and he nods his head at me as if to wordlessly say he has my back with this one. I know Isla doesn’t fully trust him, but my gut instinct isn’t one I can ignore. I know Hector is sincere when he says how he wants to make a fresh start, break away from this place and right his every wrong.

  “Done,” Joaquín allows. “Isla,” Joaquín says, repositioning his attention. “Help him pack. If he’s got to help family, standing around here won’t help him.”

  Isla nods, but doesn’t utter a word. She just moves from my side and out of the door. I throw a look in Joaquín’s word and he gives me a nod, silently ushering me out. As I leave, my thoughts are consumed with Isla and the fact that this was actually allowed.

  If I’m honest, I think Joaquín gets a cheap thrill from the prospect of getting a new recruit, someone who knows how to fight with their fists without a care for the repercussions.

  “Hey,” Hector calls out, following me up the corridor. “Take this,” Hector says, pressing a cell phone into my palm the moment I face him. “You need me at all... I’m the only number on the cell.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, looking at the cellphone before I lift my gaze. “Please, make sure you look after her. I want nothing to happen to her while I’m gone.”

  “You have my word,” he vows, giving me a sincere smile. “She’ll be well looked after.”