El Diablo

by M. Robinson

  “Thanks, Anna. See you tomorrow,” I announced as she slid the doors open to let me out.

  “No problem, sweetie. I’ll bring some of that yogurt you love in the morning.”

  I smiled, I loved Anna’s breakfasts. They were the best way to start the day. I often didn't get breakfast from home before I had to leave for the bus. Mom was always asleep, never bothering to get up and help me get ready for my day. I was lucky if I got lunch on most days.

  Stepping off the bus, I looked back at Anna one last time. She was shaking her head in disappointment, and it made my heart hurt. I didn’t like it when she got sad, especially when I was the cause.

  I was around enough sadness.

  My mom wasn’t there, again. I was not surprised. It was rare for her to pick me up from the bus stop. I made sure to always smile wider and bigger as I stared back to show Anna I wasn't fazed by my mom’s absences. Trying to ease the worry I knew she felt. Anna hated that I had to walk home by myself. She said six year olds are too young to be walking by themselves. It wasn’t that bad, except in the summer, I got really hot and sweaty. Anna always made sure to bring me a water bottle so I wouldn’t get dehydrated.

  Sometimes if there were enough kids absent, she would drop me off right in front of my house. Those were my favorite days, but they were few and far between.

  Anna waved one last time and I waved back. Watching some of the kids stick their tongues out at me as the bus drove by, but I didn’t pay them any mind.

  “Sticks and stones,” I whispered. Repeating what my stepdad always said, over and over again in my head.

  I never met my real dad, but my mom had shown me a few pictures of him. Including the one that's framed on my nightstand. She didn't tell me much about him, but she did tell me he wasn’t a nice guy and I was better off without him. My stepdad, Phil, wasn’t so bad, but he worked a lot. Which made him cranky. As much as I wished he was home more because he played with me, the house was quieter when he wasn’t. He yelled at my mom all the time to get out of bed, take a shower, clean up the house, and I didn’t like that very much. It scared me sometimes when he was in a really bad mood. I always made sure to give my mom extra hugs and kisses after he was done making her cry.

  They fought a lot.

  I thought about my mom as I was doing my ballet walks down the sidewalk. Pointing toe to heel, with my feet turned out, but putting my arms out at my sides to practice my balance like my instructor showed me. Humming a tune from Swan Lake as I danced my way home. I’d been a ballerina for as long as I could remember. It was my life, the only time I was truly happy. Not having to worry about anything around me, but the music and rhythm. My instructor said I was born to dance, picking up on new techniques without any hesitation at such a young age.

  I would always rush home from class to show my mom all the new moves I learned. She would lay in her bed and watch every last one with a sparkle in her eye, telling me I looked beautiful. Then she would pull me toward her, rolling me onto her bed and we would cuddle for hours, watching movies while she played with my long hair. I slept in her bed more than I slept in my own, always scared of monsters under my bed. She understood my concern, so she let me sleep with her almost every night. My stepdad usually slept on the couch, especially over the last year or more, but I don’t really remember.

  “Momma!” I shouted, walking into my house, shutting the door behind me.

  Silence.

  “Momma! I’m home!” I made my way toward her bedroom, down the narrow hallway, off the living room. Knowing exactly where she would be. She wasn’t laying in her bed, which only left one other place.

  “Momma,” I said again as I opened the closet door in her room, and peeked in.

  She was sitting in the small space at the far end of the closet, where she tucked all her junk away. She would sit on the ledge, breaking down all alone. She didn't acknowledge me, just continued to cry, staring off into space. I grabbed the stepping stool, placing it along the edge of the ledge. Giving myself a boost, so I could crawl to her, like I always did when I found her in here.

  “Hey, Momma,” I whispered, wrapping my arms tight around her waist, laying my head on her tummy. “I’m home now. No more crying.”

  She sniffled, kissing the top of my head and rubbing my arm. “I’m so sorry, Lexi. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow. I... I lost track of time.”

  “Okay.” She wouldn’t.

  “Maybe we can go to the park? Get some ice cream? I'll make it up to you,” she promised, pulling me in tighter.

  “Okay.” We wouldn’t.

  “I’ll be better tomorrow. I promise.”

  I looked up at her tear-stained face and nodded, wanting to believe her. My stepdad said she lost me one time and since then, she barely left the house.

  I just hugged her and kissed her like I always did, wishing tomorrow would be better.

  Knowing it wouldn’t.

  “What are you still doing up? You need to be sleeping,” I stated in a harsher tone than I intended.

  Daisy’s eyes widened with fear, shying away from me, immediately reminding me of her mother. Amari used to make that exact same face when our father spoke to her with the same dominant tone.

  After all these years of not wanting to be anything like him, I was my own worst nightmare, my reality.

  I was my father.

  We were both one and the same.

  It was the price I paid for the choices I made and the life I led.

  El Diablo.

  Daisy, or Briggs, as she called herself now, was the spitting image of my sister, except she had Michael’s fair skin. During her parents’ funeral she told me she was no longer Daisy. Her new name was Briggs. I let her have it because it granted her peace, though to me, she would always be Daisy. My sister’s favorite flower.

  Even after two years of living with me, my eight-year-old niece was still fucking terrified of me. Not that I gave her a choice in the matter, it was easier for her to see me as a monster. I never wanted her to love me. I didn’t deserve it.

  She didn’t deserve it.

  The two women who loved me the most were both six feet under. There was no way in hell I would provoke fate again. Which was why she had a nanny, but Esteban was responsible for her. I assigned him as her permanent bodyguard. If anything happened to her, it was his life I would take, and he knew it.

  “I can’t sleep,” she whispered so low, I could barely hear her. Tucking her tiny frame into her chest, leaning deeper into the couch as if she wished it would make her disappear.

  “It’s late, Briggs. You have school in the morning, and I don’t have time for this. Go to bed.”

  She bowed her head with the shame I wanted her to feel. I swallowed hard, knowing all she needed was for me to take her into my arms, and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  It wasn’t.

  I refused to lie to her, making her think it would. The nightmares she had every night were proof of that alone.

  “I don’t want to be by myself, Uncle,” she murmured again, peering up at me with hopeful eyes. The same eyes Amari would use when she woke me up, crawling into my bed late at night.

  Keeping Daisy at arm’s length wasn’t just for her benefit. It was also for mine.

  “You need to get used to being by yourself. That’s life, peladita,” I called her, “Little girl.”

  She nodded, holding back the tears that were threatening to surface. I reprimanded her anytime she cried in my presence, telling her it was a sign of weakness. It didn’t take long for the crying to stop when she was around me, scared of the consequences it might evoke. She scooted off the couch, so tiny and frail, walking past me. You would think after two years I would have built up enough resistance from wanting to hold her, comfort her, tell her I loved her.

  If anything, the urge became stronger.

  I watched her go into her bedroom, closing the door behind her, as I made my way over to the makeshift bar.

  Waiting.


  Rubbing my forehead from the constant splitting goddamn headaches, which never seemed to go away. My doctor said it was from lack of sleep, and diagnosed me as an insomniac. He prescribed sleeping pills, but I never took the fucking things.

  My demons wouldn’t let me.

  I was worth more dead than alive in this world. And the second I forget that, would be my demise.

  I downed my glass of whiskey as I heard Daisy crying from a distance, slamming it onto the bar when it was empty. I grabbed the bottle instead. It was the same thing almost every night. Her room was the only one in the penthouse that wasn’t soundproof.

  I needed to hear her cry.

  My feet moved of their own accord, my body being pulled by a string. Or maybe it was my heart. Drawing me closer and closer to her door like it did every night. I stood there, leaning my forehead against the cool wood. The bottle of whiskey firmly clutched in my grasp. My other hand gripping the doorknob, fighting everything inside of me to turn it. Feeling every last ounce of her pain and distress, silently praying I could take it all away.

  I couldn’t.

  The sobs came harder and harder, twisting the dagger in my heart just a little bit more. All I could imagine was her little body shaking with her blanket pulled tight under her chin. Maybe pretending her mother was there, or worse…

  That I was.

  I turned around, sliding down her door like I always did. Sitting with my back pressed up against it, my elbows resting on my knees out in front of me. I took another swig from the bottle, leaning my head back and listened to her cry all night long.

  It was my way of being there for her.

  Even though I would never allow her to know it.

  There were times when she would sleep through the night, undisturbed by the nightmares that haunted the both of us. I would slip into her room, and sit in the armchair by her bed. Watching her sleep through the darkness until the sun started rising. I’d allow myself to kiss her forehead, letting my lips linger as I made the sign of the cross like my mother had done to me, time and time again.

  And then I’d leave. Vanish like I was never there to begin with.

  Letting her continue to think she was alone, when in reality, she always had me.

  Three years had gone by and not much had changed. I was now nine years old, still holding onto the hope that my mom would miraculously become an attentive mother, not lost in her own world anymore. I longed for a mother like most of the kids at my school had. Overhearing kids in my class talk about how their moms would attend meetings, recitals, or even the simple gesture of making breakfast for them, always filled me with envy.

  I hated that feeling.

  My mom never attended any of my school functions, award ceremonies, or parent/teacher nights. Most people assumed I didn’t have a mother, which was really sad. She still barely left her room, or got dressed for that matter. She struggled day-to-day to keep pushing through the haze that clouded her mind.

  I wanted her. No, I needed her, to be a part of my life outside of our house. To take some interest in my life, since I always took so much interest in hers.

  Trying to push all the sadness that lived inside of her away.

  The recital of Swan Lake for my class was only three days away, and I was beyond excited. I auditioned for the lead role of the white swan, and to my surprise I got it. I remember that day, running into my mom’s room, jumping into her bed to tell her my big news. She just smiled, pulling me in for a hug. Not saying a word.

  I practiced all day and night, till all my steps were perfect. I wanted to make my mom proud of me. Maybe then she would come to more productions in the future.

  She swore she would make it to this one. She wouldn’t miss it for the world, she said she couldn’t wait to see me on stage. This would be the very first time she would see me dance outside of our house. My stepdad on the other hand, never missed any of my shows, but it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t wait to have her there, sitting in the front row, watching all my hard work pay off.

  I was on my way home from my rehearsal. I could hear them from the driveway before I made my way to the front steps. They were fighting again, calling each other names. Our house was small, so it didn’t take much for their shouting to echo off the walls into the night. No one came to pick me up once again. It was a normal occurrence. I wasn’t sure if they just forgot about me or just didn’t care how I made my way home. I was lucky enough to have one of the girl’s moms bring me home. It was a long walk in the dark for a girl my age.

  I chose to believe the second one.

  It hurt less that way, but not by much.

  I went straight into my bedroom, not bothering to tell them I was home. They were too caught up in whatever argument they were having this time. I threw my bag on my bed and grabbed my ballet shoes. I scooted my dresser out of the way, transforming my room into a stage. Putting on my headphones to drown out their yelling coming through the thin walls.

  I listened to Act II, XIV from Swan Lake, one of my solo pieces. Getting lost in the music, the intensity of the instruments vibrated through my core, translating into movements through my body. Turning each step into an extension of the music. Pirouetting in tight circles around the small space, gracefully stepping, leaping into the air effortlessly. The balls of my feet pounded into the floor in a quick pattern, getting ready for my big finish. Feeling as if I was one with the music. Sauté, step, arabesque, and pose. Repeating the steps over and over, until my bones ached and my joints were raw.

  No pain, no gain.

  It was the only time that happiness surrounded me.

  The only time I felt free.

  I was just about to go on piqué when I felt the front door slam, rattling the whole house. Breaking my concentration, and making me miss the next step. My toe slipped on the hard wood floor, causing my heel to fall awkwardly.

  “Ouch!” I whimpered, catching my balance before I twisted my ankle.

  I sat on the floor, removed my shoes, and stretched my ankle. I decided to call it a night, and headed straight for the shower. Hoping the warm water would loosen my sore muscles from all the rehearsing. I stayed in there until the water ran cold, changed into my nightshirt, and got ready for bed.

  I still slept in my mom’s room, but not because I was scared any longer. It was our time together, just her and I. Usually, it was the most time we spent together all day. I looked forward to it. She would hold me in her arms all night, hugging me close. It was the only time I felt truly loved by her.

  Taken care of and safe.

  “Momma,” I whispered as I walked into her room. “Momma, you awake?” Tapping on her shoulder. “Momma.”

  She startled. Turning over to face me, her eyes hazy and confused. “Hey… baby…”

  “Can I sleep with you?”

  She nodded, her eyes already shutting. She was always so tired even though all she did was sleep. She scooted over, opening her arms for me. I smiled, crawling toward her, nuzzling my body into the curve of hers. She immediately wrapped her arms around me, pressing my back firmly against her front as tight as she could. Like she always did.

  She was so cold, her skin felt like ice. Not like the warm, comforting heat I was used to every night.

  “Mom, why are you so cold?” I asked, shivering. Snuggling deeper into the blanket that was laying on top of us.

  “I don’t know, baby. You’ll keep me warm.”

  I happily nodded, smiling again, kissing the palm of her hand.

  “You’re such a good girl, Lexi. I don’t know what I did to deserve such an amazing daughter. I love you so much,” she declared, kissing my head.

  I felt tears fall onto my neck, as she squeezed me harder.

  “Momma, are you crying?” I tried to turn to look at her, but she wouldn’t let me. As if it pained her to have me see her like that.

  “I wasn’t always like this, baby. I remember the day I had you. It was the happiest day of my life, Lexi. You were the most b
eautiful thing I had ever laid eyes on. I used to spend hours just holding you tight, staring into your bright green eyes. So proud that you were mine. I think that’s why you like to snuggle so much with me now.” She let out a small chuckle between the tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for everything. You deserve a better mommy than I’ve been to you. I wish I could change things. I wish I could be what you deserve,” she cried into my hair.

  “Shhh… It’s okay, Momma. You can still change. I know you can. I’m here to help you get better. We can start a routine together, get you out of the house more.”

  “I love you, Lexi. I need you to always remember that, my sweet girl. Please remember that. You are such a strong little girl.”

  “I know, Momma. I love you too. You will be better after my recital. I know it will make you smile, and proud. You’ll want to come to all of them. I just know it. I can’t wait for you to see me up on the big stage. I wish it were tomorrow.”

  She cried harder. Sobs wreaked havoc on her body, shaking the entire bed.

  “Momma, please don’t cry. I hate it when you cry. It hurts my heart too much,” I said, my voice breaking. Tears began to form in my eyes. It wasn’t easy seeing and feeling her break down, unable to do anything for her. Unable to stop the pain that always took her away from me.

  “I’m so sorry, Lexi. For all the pain I caused you,” she sobbed.

  “Momma, you know I’ll forgive you for anything. I promise. For anything,” I cried right along with her, unable to control the emotions soaring through me. I would do anything to take her pain away.

  “I love you so much, baby. Don’t ever forget that. Not for one day.”

  “I know, Momma, I know.” I fervently nodded as she kissed all over the top of my head. Her skin was still freezing cold. “I’m going to get another blanket. I think you’re getting sick.” I tried to get up, but she held me firmer.

  “No. Don’t leave. All I need is you. Just you.”