Stealing Phin

by Avery Hale

  “Well, then maybe he can use his party-boy connections to get us some free drinks,” Dez said, still slightly annoyed at Carlito.

  “Don’t worry, mi princesa,” Estevan kissed her pouting lips. “Whatever you want, Estevan will get for you.”

  “You two look so cute together. Let me take a picture of you.” I dug around my purse for my phone.

  As I snapped a picture of them using the camera on my phone, another text message popped up. It was from Douglas again.

  Phin, I love you. Please respond. This is killing me.

  A hurricane of emotions churned my waters the moment I read it. Finally, for the first time since I’d caught Douglas cheating on me, he expressed remorse.

  When I broke up with him and he got angry instead of sad, defensive instead of contrite, I’d wondered whether he actually cared about me at all. If he’d said these words to me sooner, it would have made all the difference. They would have meant so much more.

  But things had changed for me. Things were more…complicated. I thought of Byron and the note I left in that empty room of his, and a thousand strings tugged on my heart. My hands began to shake.

  “Are you okay, amiga?” Estevan asked.

  Dez saw the look on my face and grabbed my hand so she could look at my phone screen. After reading the message, her lips pressed together. “Let’s get you inside, Phinny. We’ll deal with this later. You need a drink.”

  ***

  The Aqua Disco was unlike any dance club I’d been to. There, the music pumped out so loud there was little to no opportunity for conversation. The beat was continuous as the DJ rolled seamlessly from one song to the next. The people moved to the steady beat in synchronized fashion, making it feel as though the club had a pulse. I often felt lulled into a trance at those clubs.

  By contrast, the Aqua Disco was awakening to the senses. The music, a mix of reggae and house, was lively, as was the conversation. Bodies moved not in one pulse but independently to the beat. Scantily clad Costa Rican women shook, gyrated, and swiveled their hips in ways I didn’t know hips could move. The men didn’t just hang off to the side leering at them either. They were dancing enthusiastically with the women, responding to their hip shaking with pelvic thrusts of their own.

  “These people can really move!” I said admiringly. The atmosphere of the club was intoxicating and alluring. I wanted to be a part of this place and to have fun.

  Suddenly, I felt pissed about Douglas’s text. A part of me began to resent him for ruining my trip. I’d been waiting for days to hear back from him. The more I thought about the anguish he’d put me thought with his radio silence, the angrier I got. I was the one he’d hurt. The one who’d been betrayed. Sure, he may have been hurt when I dumped him, but he had no one to blame for that except himself and his indiscretions. For the first time since we broke up, I felt less hurt and more angry. Almost as angry as Dez was on my behalf. He had taken his good old time thinking over his response to my calls, so maybe I should do the same. Maybe he needed to sit there and feel sorry for what he’d done for just a little bit longer. Tonight wasn’t going to be about Douglas. Tonight was going to be about me.

  I felt a hand slip into mine. Carlito’s lips touched my ear as he said, “I will teach you how we dance in Costa Rica, cariño.” He led me to the middle of the dance floor. He placed his hands on my hips and pushed gently on one side then the other, in time to the music. With his expert guidance, it didn’t take long before I got the hang of it. Carlito pulled my hips closer to his, which he moved in circles as we ground on each other.

  I raised my hands into the air, tipped my head back, and closed my eyes. I felt his hands slide up and down my sides. I could feel his arousal as our bodies moved in time to the music. I felt sexy. I felt desirable. In a word, the Aqua Disco was uplifting.

  No guilt tainted the moment this time, as my anger toward Douglas flared up to extinguish any sense of guilt. I realized just how big a hit my ego had taken during those long months Douglas showed no interest in me physically. It was time to bandage up my bruised ego, and take my sense of self-worth back into my own hands.

  “You move well, cariño,” Carlito said with a smile. “I knew you were a dancer.”

  I laughed, remembering the last dancing feat of mine he’d witnessed. It felt so good to laugh. We’d just gotten here, and already, I didn’t want the night to end.

  A few songs later, my skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. But I was having such a good time, I didn’t want to stop. Carlito, on the other hand, seemed a bit preoccupied. He glanced as his watch for the third time since we’d started dancing. His eyes quickly scanned the room again.

  “Are you looking for someone?” I asked.

  For a split second, he had the look of someone who’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Just as quickly as it appeared, the look was gone, replaced by a big smile.

  “I am just checking on Estevan and Dez,” he said. “I can’t see them, can you?”

  I turned my head and looked around the room. It was dim, but not so dark that you couldn’t see. I caught a glimpse of the couple doing the Costa Rican version of Dirty Dancing in the far corner of the club.

  “They’re over there.” I pointed in their direction.

  When I turned around, Carlito was no longer at my side. He was several feet away, weaving his way through the crowd toward the bar.

  “Hey, where are you going?” I yelled over the music.

  Carlito turned around briefly, made a sign that he was going to get a drink, then gave me the thumbs up.

  “Get me one, too?” I shouted, but I wasn’t sure he heard me.

  Weird, I thought. But then again, we had made a big deal about getting piña coladas before entering the club. Carlito was probably just making good on his word that the drinks here were quality.

  I danced happily on my own through the next two songs. When the third song started, I craned my neck to scan the bar area for Carlito. I knew the lines at the bar were usually long at places like these, so I didn’t start to wonder if I’d been ditched until the fourth song ended. Where the hell did Carlito go? I decided to check out the bar.

  As I fought my way through the crowd, which seemed to have tripled since we’d first arrived, I didn’t make much headway when I felt a hand touch my elbow.

  “Geez, what took so long?” I said as I turned around. But instead of Carlito, a thicker, darker man stood behind me. He looked well over thirty and had the build of someone who lifted weights seriously. In his hands he held two glasses half-filled with a clear liquid. He handed me one of them.

  “A drink sent by messenger to the beautiful American from Carlito,” the man said in a husky voice.

  “Where is he?” I wasn’t sure if I should take the drink, so I simply held it as we spoke.

  “He had to leave.” He smiled apologetically. “He wanted me to tell you he is sorry, but he had to meet someone. It was an emergency.”

  “Is everything all right? Did someone get hurt?”

  The man laughed. “Knowing Carlito, it is probably another beautiful girl he must attend to. He has many such emergencies.”

  “And how do you know Carlito?”

  “He is my cousin. I am Marco.” He bowed as he introduced himself.

  “Your accent is a little different.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You are very observant. I live in Argentina and am only here for a brief visit with friends and family.”

  His eyes fixed on me a little too intensely for my comfort. I grew uneasy and looked to the corner of the club for Dez, but she and Estevan must have moved to another section.

  Another guy walked up to Marco. He was several inches shorter and thinner. He also wore a camera with a large flash bulb around his neck. When Marco saw him, they clasped hands and greeted each other warmly.

  Marco turned to me. “This is another one of my cousins, Pablo.” He said something in Spanish to Pablo and mentioned Carlito’s name.

>   Pablo shook my hand and smiled at me. “Marco tells me our cousin has done a very impolite thing.”

  I relaxed a little. Maybe I was being a little paranoid. The guy really was just politely covering for his young and fickle cousin. I returned his smile, even though my night suddenly went from fantastic to bleak as I realized I’d either have to fly solo or else play the third wheel, both of which were awkward. “Yeah, well I guess he had better things to do than entertain this American girl.” Damn you, Carlito. I’m no longer sorry I ruined one of your shirts with my Guaro vomit.

  “He is a donkey’s ass,” said Pablo, “and I will tell him that when I see him later. You should stick with Marco. He is a much better dancer than Carlito anyway.” With that, he left to get a drink from the bar.

  I sniffed at the drink the Argentinian gave me. “This isn’t Guaro, is it?”

  Marco laughed. “So, you’ve been bitten by the Guaro monster, eh? Most people don’t go back after the first bite, so I understand your fear. No, this is a special Argentinian rum. Try it. You will like it. Not as strong as the Guaro.” He held his glass up to me, then swallowed his drink.

  Suddenly appreciative that Marco had obviously bought me a drink to make up for his cousin’s faux pas, I raised my glass and took a sip.

  My face twisted into a knot. “Ugh,” I shuddered.

  Marco smiled again and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “It is good, no?”

  “Um, yeah,” I lied. “The aftertaste is...bitter.”

  “You know what makes everything that is bitter, sweet again?” Marco took my hand and pulled me back toward the dance floor. “Dancing.”

  Although I hadn’t drank that much, the rum went straight to my head. As I half-willingly followed Marco, I felt like I might wretch.

  “I don’t feel right,” I told him.

  He didn’t seem to hear me, though, and pulled me closer to him. He draped my arms around his neck, which I didn’t really like, but I didn’t withdraw them because I felt unsteady on my feet.

  The music went in and out—sometimes sounding muffled. The flashing lights bothered my eyes. Suddenly, the floor beneath me shifted, and I lost my balance. My body lurched against Marco.

  “Sorry,” I slurred. My voice echoed in my ears, the way it did when I had water trapped in them.

  Marco grunted and held me too tight. “It is all right, amiga. Everything will be all right.” He turned ninety degrees, taking my body with him. Then he turned another ninety degrees. A camera flashed from directly across the room. I thought I saw Pablo holding his camera up. The flash hurt my eyes. Marco turned another one hundred and eighty degrees, so that we were facing the original direction. I could see another flash from behind us reflected in Marco’s eyes. His movements made me dizzy. By now, my ability to stand on my own was severely impaired.

  “I need to sit down,” I said.

  “You can sit on me, amiga,” Marco grunted. The look on his face turned predatory. No longer admiring, it made me feel threatened. I tried to create space between us, but my body and mind weren’t responding right.

  Suddenly, I felt his hands go to my ass. The next thing I knew, he reached under my skirt.

  “Stop it!” I cried. I tried to yank myself out of his grasp, but he was so much stronger than I was. He held me in place easily with one arm while his hand came to the front of me and reached up between my legs. And then, oh God, his fingers were inside me.

  I bucked against him and opened my mouth to yell. But he was too quick. He clamped his hand over my mouth. His mouth was at my ear, spitting harsh Spanish words into it. I recognized the word for whore.

  The world around me spun, and I was barely able to discern the fact that he was half-dragging me toward the back exit of the club. I tried to fight my way loose, but my sense of balance had disappeared and my strength was gone. I felt drunker than I’d ever felt before. The entire place swayed, and my focus went in and out. I wanted to grab one of the people we passed and ask for help, but my wits and my voice had left me, too. I heard Marco telling anyone who looked our way something in Spanish. Panic filled me as I recognized the word Guaro and the word for girlfriend. Some of the passers-by laughed and nodded in response to his false explanation.

  This can’t be happening, I thought through the fuzz obscuring my mind. Where are you Dez?

  Suddenly, Marco stopped. I turned my head and saw a figure standing in front of us, blocking the path to the back exit.

  “Fuera de mi camino,” Marco growled.

  I looked at Marco’s face just as a fist connected with his jaw. Marco let go of me and stumbled backwards. I crumpled to the floor. I struggled to get up but only fell over again. I tried to keep focused on what was happening.

  A man moved into the space between me and the angry Argentinian. It must’ve been the person who hit Marco because he lunged at the man. The flash of a knife blade in Marco’s hand caught my eye.

  Look out! I tried to yell.

  The man was ready for him, though. As Marco slashed at him, the man grabbed his wrist, twisting it expertly. The knife fell to the floor. Then, he cocked his fist back and slammed it into Marco’s cheek. The Argentinian landed in a heap.

  Then, another man, smaller than Marco came at him. It was Pablo. The man easily handled Pablo, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and lifting him off the ground. Pablo looked afraid. The man said something I couldn’t hear, and Pablo responded. But the man didn’t seem satisfied with the answer because he shook Pablo, until he relented and said something else. The man released Pablo, who hit the ground like a sack of flour.

  He turned toward me, but the back of the club was much darker than the front, and I couldn’t see his face. As he approached me, I relented to an overpowering urge to close my eyes. While I tried to fight it, I felt my body being lifted into the air. The stranger had me in his arms, and though I didn’t know who he was, I felt safe.

  “Thank you,” I whispered. It was the last thing I remembered before I blacked out.

  Chapter 12

  AWAKENINGS

  Slowly, layer after layer of dense fog lifted from my mind. My senses also began to come back to life. My ears picked up a sizzling sound. My nose twitched at the pleasant smell of bacon. A bitter taste stained my tongue. The taste triggered fear in me. The image of a thick, ugly troll came to mind. He looked as if he were going to eat me. His features were twisted, and he looked like a monster. I didn’t recognize him, but he felt familiar. Maybe it was just a remnant of a bad dream—one that I didn’t remember having…or necessarily want to remember.

  Eventually, I was able to open my eyes. I rubbed the sleep out of them and yawned deeply. My head was throbbing, and my mouth felt cottony. I needed a drink of water in a bad way. I just needed to roll out of bed and make it to the bathroom.

  Wait a minute. Something wasn’t right. I wasn’t in my bed. I was on a couch. There was no couch in my suite. Where the hell was I?

  Frightened, I sat up and immediately regretted it. I groaned and clutched at my head. Someone came running.

  “Dez?” I whispered hoarsely.

  A hand touched my shoulder and steadied me. I looked up.

  “Byron!”

  “Hey there,” he smiled, though there was worry in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’d been cryogenically frozen and brought back to life,” I croaked.

  His smiled faded, and he looked serious. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the next room, which looked to be an en suite kitchen.

  How does this guy always manage to get the best suites?

  A few minutes later, he came back with a tray full of offerings. A glass of juice, some iced water, a steaming mug of coffee, a plate of scrambled eggs, pancakes, and bacon—my favorite breakfast.

  “Drink the water first,” he instructed. “You’re dehydrated.” He set the tray down on the coffee table in front of me and handed me the water.

  I gulped it down. Already, I could feel an imp
rovement. I reached for the coffee next, thinking the caffeine could help my headache and already knowing that Byron had fixed it just the way I liked. I tried not to give him too much credit for this, though. After all, what was a cup of coffee compared to the shit he’d put me through?

  Byron sat in a chair next to the end of the couch where I sat and watched me carefully.

  “Try the pancakes,” he said. “I made them from scratch. My mom’s recipe.”

  “Byron, what am I doing here?” By now, my mind was functioning fully enough to be increasingly confused by the situation. How did I end up on Byron’s couch?

  “Eat first, then I’ll explain.”

  I started to protest, but my stomach chose that precise moment to growl very loudly. I felt terribly hung over. Maybe some food would help. So, I picked up a pancake from the plate and bit into it.

  Byron grinned.

  “What?” I said through a mouthful of pancake, which was, in fact, delicious.

  “I’ve never seen anyone eat a pancake like that.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I eat pancakes?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that you eat it like a giant cookie.”

  “Well, it sort of is.” I put down the pancake, suddenly self-conscious. I wasn’t used to a guy noticing all the details about my habits…or me, for that matter.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said, holding a hand up, “I’m not making fun of you. Please, eat. Before it gets cold.”

  I obediently ate a bite of egg, making sure to use my fork this time. “Will you tell me what happened?” As I chewed, I realized that every time I tried to remember the events of last night, all I drew up was a big blank. It gave me a bad feeling.

  “Do you remember any of it?” Byron turned serious again. He flexed his hands. His knuckles cracked. I noticed they looked bruised.

  “I remember going into the club. Dancing.” I pressed my fingers against my temples, as if that might help me channel my memory banks. “Then, Carlito ditched me.” I frowned. “He kept looking at his watch.” I furrowed my brow, trying hard to sort through the fuzz in my brain.