Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (16 page)

    
             
But my anger
that shielded me in the past,
drove me into the clutches of a madman? How could I fuck up so badly? If tonight was bad, what would tomorrow be like in this quagmire? What about next week, next month?
I need to get away.

             
Maybe I could kill Diablo. Yes, somehow use a knife – whatever, just kill him. That would solve my problem. Then I would be free. Free. Brilliant idea.

             
Hang on …but then I would have to contend with his brutal family if he is dead
– Christa, Santana and Tongue, especially.
Fuck! Never thought of that. There’s no lesser and more evil here; all are equally evil.

             
Christa is psycho.

             
Diablo is a rabid animal.

             
I am trapped.

*
             
*
             
*

It’s past midnight and I’m awakened from my sleep when
my door creaks open.

             
Diablo
!

             
Fear grips me
and balloons
in my throat
.

             
A figure, black and ominous looms towards me in the dark.

             
The shadow reaches my bed and falls across my body and my heart clangs in my chest, deafening me. Wide-eyed, I look up
into
Diablo
’s face, l
ooking every bit the demon, the beast, the monster I’ve seen and fled from in my nightmares.

    
             
I know why he’s here
. The thought of him touching me repulses me.
In the dark I frantically scramble for the light switch on my b
edside lamp, but in my haste I knock it to the ground
and we remain in the dark.

             
He inches closer
.
I turn my face away unable to look at him, hoping that by some miracle he takes offence
at
my rejection and leaves
. Or
even kills me. I don’t mind dying right now.
Please, let me die.

             
He lowers himself on my bed and I’m forced to
look
directly at him
. I clamp both my hands over my mouth to suppress my scream. All I can really see is the whites of his eyes, but even though it’s
dark, in my mind I
see every detail about him. It’s burned in my memory. I conjured him – he was the bogeyman going to get me when I was bad
,
when I didn’t listen to mommy and daddy. Somehow I managed to breathe him to life and here he is. 

             
‘
S ... stay away from me!’ I cry, but my voice lodges in my throat, just like it did in my nightmares.     

             
He
hesitates, then
unsheathes his knife and brings it slowly towards my face and I feel I’m going to pass out from fear. Earlier on, he used that same knife to kill a man and now, he’s about to use it on me. I know the man’s blood
may
still be on it. 

             
Transfixed by the gleaming knife, I can only watch as it inches closer and closer to my alabaster face, then my breasts. Is he going to stab me in the heart? Cut my throat? Slice my face?

    
             
But he does nothing of that sort. Instead, he slices at the straps of my night dress, nipping my skin and exposing my breasts. For a few moments he stares at my breasts. Then suddenly, he stabs the knife downwards and I scream in terror.

             
Strangely, I feel no pain.

             
Gasping,
I look down and see the knife plunged inches away from my abdomen
, into the mattress
. He has not stabbed me. By now, I’m hysterical
and
gasping and to silence me, he
clamps
his huge hand over my mouth.

             
Using his knee, he shoves aside my thighs and rips of my panties.

             
I scream into his bare shoulder as he plunges into me.

    
             
I suffer the stench of stale tobacco and sour whisky breath while he thrusts
violently
into me, hurting me.
H
e’s super strong
a
nd I
don’t even try to fight him. The knife next to me
terrorise
s me
into submission.

             
As he plunges into me,
I feel myself slipping away and it feels really good to slip away. I’m in the ocean ... deep ... scuba diving. Everything is in slow motion. I close my eyes
,
see nothing, hear nothing,
my mind is deserting me.

             
After what feels like an eternity, h
e rolls off me and staggers out of my room
. I lie frozen, s
hell-shocked
.

    
             
For a long time I stare silently in the dark,
trying to keep my mind from functioning, a trick I’m becoming a master at. Finally, I drag myself into the shower and scrub my skin till it bleeds, wanting to rid myself of his flotsam - scour away the stench, the
feel, the weight of the beast that
assaulted me and invaded my fragile body
.
I only leave the shower when
my hands turn blue from the cold water.

   
             
M
y mind refuses to stay empty and I fret over practical concerns - Aids, sexually transmitted diseases or worse
,
an unwanted pregnancy. Then I remember that although he did not use a condom, he ejaculated outside me. That will lessen my chances of falling pregnant. I’m relieved
,
one less thing to dread in my fucked up life.

    
             
As I lie in the dark, I
plot his
death
. It
w
ill
be horrific, gruesome, painful.

             
I do not cry. I’m beyond crying. Besides, tears
are
for sad people. I’m angry.

             
Actually, I’m beyond anger too.

             
I want to maim, mutilate, disfigure.

             
I’m raging.

CHAPTER FOUR

I
t’s
morning
. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Maybe I
just dreamt it all
. When I touch my hair, it’s still damp from last nights shower. Angry bruises on my arms tell me it wasn’t a dream.

             
It really happened.

             
I was raped.

             
As the minutes tick by, I fight to put things in perspective. I can’t call it rape. How can it be rape when I agreed to be his woman? What did it matter that I said ‘No’?

             
I
squeeze
my eyes
shut
and tunnel under my bedcovers. 

             
At 10:30AM,
Maria and Rosa
enter my room and throw open the blinds. ‘You must not sleep all day, Senorita,’
Rosa
says.

             
‘Yes,’ Maria says. ‘It’s not good for me.’

             
‘I want to sleep a little longer,’ I whisper then turn to face the wall.
I’m not tired but thankfully, sleeps comes easily to me.

             
They shake me vigorously around
5 PM. ‘Diablo, he come Senorita. You must dress up.’

Diablo. The name alone makes me want to puke.

Eventually,
I drag myself out of bed do and go through the motions of getting ready for dinner.

             
Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. 

             
6 PM. I’m dressed and sitting on my bed when suddenly, I hear,
‘
Gringaaa
!’
Diablo’s
trademark s
hout
.

             
T
oday
, I’m ready for him and
slowly
I
walk to the dinner table.
Forcing myself to hold
my head high
, I sit down and
eat with the dregs of society
- m
urderers, thieves, rapists.

             
Christa vies for Diablo’s attention which suits me. I can’t wait to retreat to my bedroom. In the meantime, I slip away, back into the vast ocean in my mind
where everything is muted and serene and sans Diablo
.

             
Finally, dinner is over and I’m excused. I make my way back to my room dreading tonight
. Midnight … that’s when he’ll visit. I shiver and wrap my arms around my body.

             
As I walk
down the passage,
Santa
na appears and blocks my path.
‘Gringa,’ she scoffs. ‘You still here, eh? So tooough. Just how old are you, li’l girl?’

             
‘Leave me alone,’ I mutter and side-step her.

             
She
matches my steps and blocks my way.

             
Not now, please.
Please! Please!