by Ward, Deena
“I’m glad,” he said, putting on his best sincere expression, made all the more poignant by the dark circles under his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done what I did. I realized it not long afterward. I let my emotions get the better of me.”
“I see. Did your remorse come around the same time you fled the country to avoid Gibson?”
“No. It wasn’t that. I woke up finally, realized I had lost control. I was jealous, Sweet. I never had any intention of posting those vids of you. Then I saw you with Gibson and I didn’t think it through. I just acted. I was wrong. I’m okay, now, seeing that you’re still with Gibson, and glad that I didn’t take that from you after all.”
“Wow.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think. You don’t know how many hours I’ve spent, reliving the past. Most of what I think about is the time I spent with you. You were special to me, always, even when I blew it.”
I noted that his hands trembled slightly when he spoke. I reached into my bag and pulled out a few snack bars I brought along for the trip. After holding them up for the guards to see and getting a nod from them, I slid the packages across the table to Michael.
He grabbed them up greedily and tore into one right away, his wrists straining against the shackles and his head ducking to reach the food. He ate half a bar in one bite, closing his eyes in rapture as he chewed madly. It was impossible not to pity him.
Within a few minutes, he gulped down both bars.
“I’d give you more, but that’s all I’ve got,” I said.
“You’re an angel. That’s the best food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
“Good.”
“You always were special, Sweet. I mean that. Here you are, giving me food after what I did to you. You’re lovely. I know I’m foul-smelling and you couldn’t possibly —”
“I’d like to know something, Michael.”
“Anything.”
“The night of my punishment, the night of the video in fact, everything that happened. Were you moved by it in any way? I mean, it was like a watershed moment for me, and I think that what hurt the most about your betrayal was that it meant nothing to you, it was all just a con job so you could make a cheap buck.”
“That’s not true. It meant something to me. I told you that. I didn’t know how incredible you were until that night. I swear, I cared about you, and would have sent away the crew if I could have. Actually I did send them off as soon as I could.”
“I see. That’s something anyway.”
“I want you back, still. I realize you’re with Gibson and you probably don’t want me after what I did, but I can’t help wishing for it.” He gave me a defeated and thoroughly sorry look.
I stiffened. “There’s one more thing I was hoping you could clear up.”
He waved a hand, chains clinking, indicating I should proceed.
“The last night we were together,” I said, “when we were at your apartment with Kamun. You recall that night, right?”
“Of course. It’s the night you left me.”
“Right. So, you had Kamun there to make it up to him for driving him off the night of my punishment. Correct?”
“Well —”
“Never mind. I know I’m correct. I’ve wondered though, when you were in your little room watching Kamun and I on the monitor, did you decide to come running before or after I shoved Kamun to the ground? I’m just trying to get the timeline straight.”
He flinched, visibly. “I ... I ... should have destroyed those files before I left. I should have realized you’d find them.”
“Interesting,” was all I said. I waited, trying my best to maintain an expressionless facade.
After an uncomfortable minute or two, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking the silence. “Of course I came running as soon as I heard you use the safe word and I realized you were actually scared. I would have stopped him, but you shoved him down before I got there. I protected you from him, if you remember, when he came after you.”
“Oh yes, I remember that night well, Michael. And I’ve thought about it many times because I still had questions about the parts of your story that didn’t add up.”
He licked his lips, a nervous gesture.
“Knowing whether or not you recorded me that night was a way of answering those questions. And now, I have the answers. I didn’t know for sure there was a video until you just confirmed it.”
“Fuck. Listen, it’s not what you think. I ...”
He didn’t finish his sentence, his voice trailing away. I could see him frantically thinking, trying to come up with some justification, some cover story.
I was in no mood to wait for his excuses. “I’m glad to know the truth of that night. There was no misunderstanding. You would have let Kamun rape me, you would have watched it in fact, if I hadn’t fought back, because you didn’t want to stop him twice.”
“God no. That’s not true. I just said I was coming to help. It was all a mistake. And I didn’t realize how upset you were.”
“I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve gotten all the answers I need.”
He made a few more weak stabs at explanation, but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy determining my verdict. While Michael tried to rewrite history, I decided his future.
My choices were simple. One was to save him, to ask Gibson to spare Michael, and to do whatever was necessary to free him. Gibson had already told me this would be a simple thing to do if that’s what I wanted. Michael had been right about what money, lots and lots of money, could buy.
The other choice was to tell Gibson I didn’t want him to intercede on Michael’s behalf, that I wanted Michael to stay put and deal with the consequences of his actions. Basically, let him rot in jail until an alternative revealed itself, or never at all, for that matter.
If I told Gibson yes, Michael could be out of jail in hours, and heading home with us. If I told Gibson no, who knew when or if Michael would ever leave this place.
I thought about what he’d done to me. I thought about what he’d done to others before me, women like Lilly. And an image of Rose passed through my mind. I also thought about the Castillo woman he and Kamun had been with, wondered if the accusations of rape and assault were true or if they were manufactured by a protective, deluded father. I couldn’t know for certain. My best guess was that it was a mixture of fact and fiction.
Mostly though, I thought about how many other women Michael would hurt in the future. He had never been forced to deal with the consequences of his actions. I doubted dealing with them now would change his character in any way, but it might make him less likely to take advantage in the future. He might think twice. For once.
My decision was clear.
Michael gave me a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I didn’t smile back. “I’m over it. Don’t worry. I thought that I needed you to care about me and what happened between us. Turns out, I don’t need your validation for any of it. I don’t require anything from you at all. I’m done.”
“You can’t mean that, Sweet.”
“It doesn’t even bother me that you’re still calling me that silly nickname. I just don’t care. I feel practically nothing. I’m going to see what’s keeping Gibson.”
I stood up and headed to the door, ignoring Michael’s request that I stay, that I give him a chance to tell his side, to explain better. I turned the knob and left him talking as I closed the door behind me.
Flanked by the other two bodyguards, Gibson waited in the hall. I thrilled inside, felt an inward pull toward his sturdiness, his clean, honest self. He gave me an inquiring look.
“I’d like to leave him here,” I said.
A satisfied smile spread across Gibson’s face. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“I think so, too.”
He hugged me, and kissed my forehead. “Shall we go finish it?”
“Yes please.”
And we turned back to the door.
/> Michael cut the supplicant act when Gibson and I returned to our former spots at the table. He eyed Gibson with eager expectation.
“What did he say? How much do they want?” Michael asked.
“There is interest in monetary reparations. However, I’m not going to pay it. And as you said, you personally don’t have the funds to do it.”
Michael stared in astonishment, then his expression shifted to anger. “You’re not going to pay it? You can’t leave me in this hellhole. I’m your family! You can’t do that.”
“It wouldn’t be ethically responsible of me to bail you out on this one. How will you ever learn your lesson if you’re never taught one?”
“What lesson? The bitch is lying about me. We’re talking rape, Gibson. That could mean a life sentence if they find me guilty. You can’t possibly —”
“Exactly. And there’s the charges of assault and attempted bribery. All in all, it doesn’t look good for you. You might get lucky and they’ll let you stay at this local jail. Mr. Castillo doesn’t relish the idea of putting his daughter through a trial. It would be simpler to let you cool your heels here, indefinitely.”
Michael turned to me. “He can’t be serious. Tell him not to do it.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but Gibson cut me off with, “Nonnie’s got nothing to do with this. It’s between me and you.”
Michael looked angrier than I had ever seen him, his wolfish eyes burning with hate. “Our fathers were brothers and this is how you treat me? My uncle would never approve of this. He always said family is the most important thing.”
Gibson hardly blinked. “True, he probably wouldn’t approve of my not trying to help in some way. So I’ve decided I will help you, but not how you want.”
“Don’t be cryptic. Just tell me.”
“I’ve brokered a deal for you with Mr. Castillo. He’s a devout Roman Catholic.”
“What kind of deal? And I don’t care what religion he is.”
“You should. Mr. Castillo is concerned about his daughter’s reputation, her spiritual safety, and what he wants more than anything, is to ensure that she has a respectable future. He’s willing to drop all charges against you on the condition that you make an honest woman of his daughter.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. Marry Miss Castillo and your troubles are over. Or anyway, you’ll get out of jail. This jail.”
“Make an honest woman of her? That’s a joke. She’s a slut who’s slept with half the district and she’s an idiot on top of that. I had her blow me just to shut her up. The only thing she’s got going for her is a good pair of tits and those won’t last much longer.”
I glowered at his description of the woman, but Gibson didn’t seem put off by it.
“It may be as you say,” Gibson said. “And perhaps that’s why Mr. Castillo is so eager to find a husband for his daughter that he’ll actually consider you as a candidate for son-in-law. He made it clear, by the way, that you’ll stay in country after the wedding. To ensure this, he’ll retain your passport. He says that if you satisfy his daughter then you can all work and live together, and everything will be well.”
“And if I don’t tow their line,” Michael said, “his implication is that a widow is as respectable as a matron.”
“I’m sure that’s not foremost in his thoughts. He wants a happy daughter more than anything else. And you can turn on the charm, when it’s in your best interests.”
“Right. Well, it doesn’t matter. I won’t be anyone’s bitch. Not hers and not her father’s. I won’t be forced to marry anyone, and especially not some stupid tramp. I’d rather stay in this hellhole.”
“That’s certainly your prerogative. If you change your mind later and decide marrying Miss Castillo is a better alternative to life behind bars, then all you have to do is inform the inspector. It’s simple. Glad to have been of help. You’re welcome.”
Michael clenched his hands into fists, the muscles in his neck straining. “You’re a real fucking bastard, you know.”
Gibson appeared bored by the insult. “You’re angry. It’s understandable. You’ll want time alone to decide what to do. We should be going anyway. Nonnie, shall we?”
He stood up and held out his hand for me. I took it and stood beside him. When I tuned to say goodbye to Michael, I was taken aback by the hatred disfiguring his features.
He glared at me, then at Gibson. He spat across the table. “Go on, then. Get out and take your piece with you. I don’t blame you for fucking her, you know. She’s an enthusiastic lay. I remember it well. So does Kamun.”
I stiffened, as did Gibson. His hand tightened around mine, then his other hand pressed into the small of my back and he gently propelled me toward the door.
He stopped when I was in the hall. “There’s a few things I have to clear up yet. Why don’t you wait in the front for me? These two will escort you. Don’t leave their sides, okay?”
I nodded. Then he returned to the interview room, closed the door and I was left with the two bodyguards who had been posted in the hallway. I fumbled with my purse, a little shaky and keyed up from Michael’s last insult. In a bumbling move, I dropped my purse and a few items shot out and scattered across the floor.
The guards stepped forward and bent down to help me gather up my things. I was just standing up straight when I heard a voice on the other side of the door.
It was Gibson, muffled, but clear enough. He said, in a dark tone, “Unchain him.”
I swallowed. The two guards caught Gibson’s command, too, and in a heartbeat hustled me down the hall and around a corner. I wanted to stay, but I wanted to leave, too. In the end, I let them take me away.
I didn’t have to wait long before Gibson arrived to usher me out of the jailhouse section. He spoke a few words with the police chief, who appeared disappointed at what Gibson said, likely because Michael didn’t accept the offer of marriage. Then Gibson led me out to the black sedan, and we settled into its cool back seat.
Our entourage pulled away and headed back the way we had come.
I reached over and took Gibson’s hand, unwrapped the handkerchief tied around it. Using a clean spot on the cloth and some bottled water, I cleaned his bloodied, scraped knuckles as best I could.
I studied his face, and saw nothing more than a red spot or two, one high on his cheek and one on his jawline. Clearly, Michael hadn’t landed any serious blows in return. The rough state of Gibson’s knuckles declared him the victor.
I re-wrapped his hand in a fresh handkerchief and lightly kissed his swollen knuckles. He was stoic throughout the process.
I gave him a small smile and he returned it.
No man had defended my honor before. I wanted to crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around him. But we weren’t alone, so I settled for sitting beside him, touching his arm.
We rode in silence for a while, until I was sure of what I wanted to say, not about his defense of me, but about something else entirely.
“Thank you for lying to me about the second video,” I said. “I couldn’t have handled it back then. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“Michael told you about the other recording?”
“I kind of tricked him into admitting it. I was ready to know the truth.”
“I’m sorry. I never wanted you to know about it.”
“I appreciate that. But it’s okay. I had all these questions about that night, and now I know the answers, so that’s a good thing. And it helped me realize his feelings don’t matter, how he saw any of it. I can put it away now.”
“Good. That’s what this trip was about.”
He put his arm around me and I leaned against him.
I couldn’t help my thoughts from returning to the jail. “What about Kamun?”
“What about him?”
“What do you think will happen to him?”
“I don’t care.”
I heard the determinati
on in his voice, felt the force of his distaste for the man. I was more than aware of my own. I, too, didn’t care if Kamun ever got out of jail.
As for Michael, whether he did or did not marry the Castillo woman, I didn’t care about that either. I was done with it. With him.
I was through with the blame, the guilt and regret. I was finished second guessing and wondering at the truth. It didn’t matter, in the end. It was over.
Michael didn’t ruin me after all. I could only wonder that I ever thought he could, that I imbued him with enough power that such an idea was possible. He could never ruin me. Hurt me, yes. Ruin me, no.
And now, he couldn’t even hurt me again. It was finished. The end.
So this was closure. Wonderful. And the feeling was immediately followed by a freshness, a hinted whiff of beginnings coming my way. The future.
The sedan bounced over the rutted roads and I squeezed Gibson tightly. We were safe. No one could stop us. An hour later, we pulled into the small airport without incident and boarded the plane that would fly us back to Belize City, and I knew then that everything would be fine for certain.
Gibson was my future. And I was his.
To hell with the past.
Goodbye, Michael Weston.
Chapter 14
The next month passed in a serendipitous dream, the pieces of my life tumbling together and combining into a new, exciting creation that required little oversight from me.
A few days after returning home from Belize, Xavier approached me with an offer. He had scavenged some of my sketches from the guests at the picnic and taken them to a friend of his who taught at an art school in the city. His friend liked my drawings enough to send them on to the admissions board. Now, they wanted to interview me for possible late admission.
Xavier said that although I had said I didn’t want to return to school, he thought I might feel differently if it were art classes. And it wouldn’t cost me much, since there was a scholarship available for an older student returning to school. He argued that while artists don’t necessarily need college, they do need exposure to technique and theory, and this school could give me both.