“That’d be good,” I say, knowing they wouldn’t get close to helping.
He turns, getting up and stalking across the room to the bathroom. I hear him in the room but can’t work out what he’s doing. When he comes back, he has his right hand closed and his eyes set on me. He puts his hand out for me to take the pills in his hand and he drops two white ovals into my hand. He reaches by the bed, passing me a bottle of water. He watches me vigilantly as I take the pills and down a large gulp of water. My mouth and throat lavish the wetness so I chug some more, allowing it to take the dryness and the vile taste of vomit away.
Taking the bottle, he lowers the sheets and helps me settle once more.
I refuse to believe that I have earned this goodness. I deserve to continue on this path. I don’t feel like I’m at that point of forgiveness or to be free of my guilt. I don’t deserve a loving nature like Javier’s when he has every right to hate me for the rest of my life.
But he doesn’t seem to think that way.
“You rest, I’ll clean up,” he says, reiterating the fact I need to rest.
I listen. Not because I want to, but because I want faith that I’m stronger than my addiction.
When I wake up the room is strangely calm. I take note of Javier’s soft snoring and I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s not awake for this. Slowly, sitting up, I see him asleep on the floor beside my bed. I notice all the girls sleeping, too, only a couple of the beds remain empty.
My eyes flit to the door, the light from the corridor coming into the room. I take this moment to get what I want. Carefully, placing my aching limbs to the cold floor, I forget about every ailment affecting me and creep around Javier, passed the beds until I get to the door.
I find freedom in the corridor, looking both ways before I start my walk toward where Santiago could be. After he’s had a long day he usually likes to drink himself into oblivion, take a girl or two to bed and defile them all night long.
Walking toward his room, my bare feet plodding along the floor, I feel a sense of calm begin. It’s almost like I know what’s to come and my body starts to settle, waiting in suspense.
I can hear him sniggering, cussing someone for something or other. I don’t care for any of that, just what he can offer me. I stagger into the room, scratching at my arms, running my nails over the tracks on my skin. I don’t knock, definitely do not my make my appearance known until I’m stood before my boss’ son, eager, pleading eyes.
“Ah, our little puta is up!” Santiago announces as he looks to me. “Come back for more?”
While I hate the man for what he’s done to me, he’s my last hope. He’ll willingly hand me whatever I want in order to make me vulnerable, to cause me harm. He’ll give anything to supply me with another drop of heroin.
“I need a hit,” I say, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Please, I need to stop this itch.”
“Get on your knees,” he orders, pointing to a spot between us.
While I move closer, he stands up, approaching me with sly, cunning steps. He moves with agility and poise while I stumble my way to a vain triumph. I drop to my knees and he stops shortly before me, reaching out to touch me.
“I know what you want...” he trails off, his fingers grazing my skin until they still at the curve of my chin, keeping my head tilted backward. He stifles on laughter. “My little junkie...”
The men behind me laugh, chortling at my greedier nature, Diablo joining in.
“I’ll give you a bag, it’s up to you how you want to take it,” Santiago offers, reaching into his pocket. “To be honest, I’m shocked you trust me with dealing you anything.”
“I knew you’d have it,” I say, pathetically.
A smirk crawls upon his lips, his watchful gaze heavily set upon me. He pulls his hand out slowly, raising it and he hangs the bag above me, my eyes lift from him and become drawn to the bag. That deep need becomes an urge which morphs into a violent storm. My mouth waters at the thought of ending all of this pain. The immanence of my high is so tantalizing I can almost trick myself into feeling the burn of heroin in my veins already.
“What would you do for this, Eighteen?”
His hand comes to his belt buckle, thoughtfulness envelopes him as he stares at me interested in what I have to say.
“Anything,” I vow putting my hands out for the small pouch.
“Isla!”
My name bites the air, causing me to cringe. He’s caught me in the act with the devil himself. I’m on my knees, every bit as pathetic as I feel. Here I am, hands out, prepared to take the nectar Santiago so willingly offers.
My hands drop and Santiago releases a full belly laugh. I look over my shoulder and I see disappointment masking Javier’s face. He looks angry, too. What else do I expect? Approaching me, Javier grabs a hold of me, pulling me away from my knelt position in front of Santiago.
“You heard Joaquín’s orders! He wanted her sober and you’re so prepared to set her back!” Javier yells, his voice full of every bit of anger I depicted in his face.
I can hear the fury in Javier and it scares me. I can’t deny that his wrath worries me because I’ll bear the brunt of this. I got greedy and sought out the comfort of drugs rather than those who are prepared to help me. I found a moment where I could get them and I took it.
He says nothing more just starts to pull me from the room.
“Should learn to keep her on a leash, Santos,” Santiago sneers as Javier starts to pull me from the room. “They always come back to their masters.”
Javier doesn’t react, even though I half expected him to.
Instead, we leave, his hand like a vise around my wrist. I try to fight him off, begging him silently to let me go, but he doesn’t. He’s more hell-bent on dragging me away from Santiago than caring for me at this moment in time.
“Let me go!” I yell, shaking him off me, but I feel his fingers snake tighter around my wrist.
He keeps a hold of me, dragging me through the labyrinth of corridors. I don’t even take notice that we aren’t going back to the dorm until he throws me into the room, uncaring of his harshness.
I stand before him and even while I’m dressed, I feel at my most vulnerable.
The way his eyes cut into me, they leave a mark I’ll never wash away because right now, I can tell he’s striving to make a plan. He’s trying to solve what I’ve become, but it’s not that simple anymore. I’m not a clear-cut image, I’m warped by drugs, giving in to their overwhelming power at last even after striving to ignore their potency.
It’s in the silence of the room I break.
“Why are you doing this?” I beg, pleading to know why he’d be so cruel. “I just need one hit! Just one tiny hit!”
“No you don’t!” he yells back, his voice ricocheting from the walls. “You want just one hit, but that one hit will disappear and you’ll want more until there’s no saving you. I won’t let you become that sort of girl.”
“I just wanted one more bit,” I bargain with him, my teeth grinding together. “That was it. One lousy hit.”
“One turns into another one and then another one until there’s no stopping you. I won’t let you destroy your body like that. I won’t let you get lost like that.”
“Maybe I want to get lost!” I yell, shaky hands flying up to my head, scraping backward through my messy, greasy hair as frustration wraps like a noose around my throat. “I don’t want to be here anymore, Javier!” I admit, my words viciously cut the air. “Don’t you see what I’ve become?”
I lower my hands, the shakes growing slowly. He can only see so much of my physical anguish the rest is beneath the skin begging for attention it’ll never get.
“Can’t you see that I’m broken goods now?” I question, thinking of the branding on my thigh. “Officially.”
“That’s not true,” he says, stepping closer to me.
I shake my head. “It is.”
He grabs me, his hands like vices around
my biceps as he holds me in my spot, forcing me to look at him. For a moment, it’s just him and me, suspended at this moment. I could allow him to fight for me now I’ve lost the urge to do it myself. I could give up everything to have him bring me back from the brink of the unforgivable.
“It’s not,” his comment comes with a little shake as if to further assure. “I won’t allow you to become this anymore, Isla. I can’t let you get lost. I won’t allow it,” his argument is stern, unforgiving. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but I need you trust in me, Isla. I need you to believe that I’ll be here. All things forgotten, I just need you to realize that I’m not going anywhere until I know you can stand alone.”
I allow the words to begin to sink in, feeling them implanting into my rationality.
“Okay,” I relent, not all trustingly.
My eyes don’t even look at him. I know I can’t be strong enough, no matter how much he says he’ll be by my side, I’ll still want to get to the drugs. I’ll still want that high to block everything and that’s the worst part. I now doubt my own integrity.
“You all good in here?” Hector asks, frozen in the doorway.
He lets go of me, putting a hand to the back of his neck, I watch as he rubs hard against his skin and exhales. He looks torn up, like he hates himself for what he’ doing to me. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be me. I know he wants me sober, wants me back to me, but I fear I’m far too lost for that now.
“No,” he grounds out, dropping a hand and looking over at Hector. “Plan B, Hector.”
The shock that graces Hector’s face concerns me.
“Javier... are you sure it’s time for that?”
“Plan B?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two men with bewilderment. When I receive no response, I step toward Javier, grabbing harshly at his hand. “Plan B?” I ask, my voice rising an octave as paranoia starts to weep into my system. “What is plan B?”
Javier’s brown eyes come to be trained upon me. They don’t pressure, they don’t cause harm, they just look at me – really look at me. In that one glance, I see it all – regret, sorrow, hope. There’s a gauntlet of emotions held so vibrantly to his eyes, but his face is still stony and expressionless.
“Total lockdown,” he states, his eyes narrowing. “You could barely look me in the eyes when I asked you to trust me. So if you want to behave like a dirty junkie, we’ll treat you like one until you see passed the addiction.”
I feel like he’s just slapped me. Hell, I’d rather he did slap me. His words cut deeper than I expect and the filthy look he’s giving me makes me feel exactly like what I’m acting – a dirty junkie. He’s right to be like this. I tested his kindness and betrayed him. While he offered me comfort, I sought that feeling in an inanimate substance. He would be here long after any high.
“Lock the door behind you,” Javier orders, his eyes no leaving me.
“Okay, I’ll bring food in the morning,” Hector replies and I look as he starts to back out of the door, pulling it behind him.
“No!” I scream, running at the door. It’s shut before I make it and I cry out as the lock clicks shut. I slam my hands against the wood, flat palms pounding weakly as I desperately begin to feel trapped. “Hector! Open this door!” I screech.
“It’s just you and me, cariño,” Javier says from behind me, far too calm for his own good. “Neither one of us leaves this room until you’ve kicked this.”
Slowly and with my head still pressed against the door I begin to turn to face him. I’m angry – viciously incensed with the man before me. His unwillingness to let me get what I need has caused a burning rage within me, one I have never felt before.
“What if I don’t want to kick this?” I ask, heated breath crosses my words. I stand fully facing him crossing my arms over my chest. “What makes you so sure I want to kick this?”
I mean what have I got left to kick it for?
A life sober is one with no breaks, no breathers, and no escape.
A life high had black spots. A life with drugs has small escapes. A life tied to this cartel offers me forgettable moments.
Slowly sitting on the edge of his bed, Javier relaxes, placing hands behind his back as he rests upon them, casually watching me from his spot.
“Because I can see it in your eyes how you hated begging that cunt for a hit. I saw how disgusted you are with yourself! I know how you’ll hate yourself for this in the cold light of day,” he tells me, clearly paying more attention than ever. “So get yourself comfortable, because we aren’t leaving until you’re able to refuse the need.”
“And how long will that take?” I ask, hoping it’ll take too long for him to keep attention.
“Not too sure,” he says with a casual shrug. “But I’m willing to be here every step of the way.”
“You can’t keep me here indefinitely,” I state dryly, but I’m doubtful of that comment.
“You just watch me,” he says, trailing off. “I have the boss’ say-so on this. He wants you sober, not what his son made you.”
A small smile begins to creep upon his lips, reaching his ears and lighting up his eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask again, repeating my earlier question.
“Because I won’t lose you now, Isla. Not when there’s still more to us than arguing and drugs,” he doesn’t touch me, allows me space. He understands how much havoc the drugs are wreaking on me. “So trust me like you did back there to take care of you. You took that drug off me because you knew I wouldn’t harm you. Trust me again...”
He puts a hand out, willing me to trust in him.
I don’t have to take a moment to think, I take his hand.
I worry that if I sleep, I’ll miss something.
Like her chest moving, her restlessness, or a moan of pain I’ll want to calm.
I hate I’m forcing her into this, but what else is there for me to do?
I was left with no choice.
I was handed a girl who was tried and punished publicly without a single breath to defend herself. She didn’t get a chance to reason with Joaquín or Santiago, nor did she get a moment to plead guilty and apologize.
The moment I said that she had killed Gabi the jury had spoken.
Now, because of me and because of them, Isla is a victim to drugs – something she managed to avoid the addiction of for so long.
I rub my hand over my jaw, wracking my brain for every single detail that came with my fallen career. I had a professor who always said how nine out of ten people will take drugs and get addicted from that moment onwards, but there was that one out of ten that would never find the addiction follow them after the high ended.
Isla was once that.
She would be forced to take drugs, pressured to try them, but never have a constant experience of them to build any type of tolerance.
In a way, this life was a cold turkey for her.
She hit the drugs, she hit the high and then she hit the sober period running.
Now, however, Santiago built her tolerance up bit by bit, and she’s paying for it.
I’m not an expert. She should get over this quicker than some, but it’s getting her through this part that is the killer.
The sound of a key in the door shakes me from my reverie and I watch with bated breath as the door opens. I relax as Hector comes in carrying a tray of food with him. With a smile, he breezes in, casting one look over at Isla before moving further into the room.
“Morning,” I say, sitting up in my seat to rest my elbows on my knees. “We made it through one night,” I struggle to give him an inkling of positivity.
“You look like shit for it,” Hector grouses, offering a crooked smirk as he kicks the door closed. “Joaquín ordered for someone to go and get more meds just in case she needed them. They got more supplies for the burn on her thigh and some antibiotics in case she gets an infection.”
He sets a tray down on top of the dresser and looks over at
the best. Isla hasn’t even moved. She just lays fast asleep, curled up on the bed and I’d prefer it if she stayed that way.
“How’s she doing?” Hector asks, clearly following my gaze.
“She’s okay,” I say, standing up. “She’s been restless most of the night. She didn’t calm until this morning when she exhausted herself.”
“How much longer do you intend to do?” he asks, watching as I grab a slice of buttered toast. “It’s not good for either of you.”
“I’m eating,” I chide, putting my hands up in mock defeat. “What more do you want?”
“To know when this ends,” he replies, a blasé tone.
“When she’s strong enough,” I remark, giving him that curt reply. “You know she never liked drugs. She’ll hate herself for taking them. We stay here until she’s able to just say no and she’s through the worst of it all.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” he relents, pointing to Isla. “Seems sleeping beauty is up and she needs food as much as you do. Get a good meal in her for once.”
“I will,” I say, watching him leave as I cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Morning.”
She gives me a tired smile but doesn’t say anything quite yet.
“You want to eat?” I say, leaning in a little to move a tussle of hair out of her face. “It will help. Plus, you’ll need to eat in order to take some pills. I’m not letting you take them on an empty stomach.”
“Will it kill the pain?” Isla asks, not moving anything but her eyes for me. “I’ll force myself to eat if the pills will help.”
I hate that if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t take the pills at all. I can’t keep medicating her to substitute the void the heroin’s left, but in the same essence, I can’t lie to her. So I sigh, letting my shoulders drop before I form my response.
“It’ll take the edge off,” I tell her weakly. “I could probably up the dosage, but it means keeping a closer eye on you and leaving it longer before I give you another lot later.”
Heroine Hearts Page 17