Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (18 page)

             
They’ll save a fortune on shrinks and heal themselves by performing barbaric but cathartic acts against their abusers. As I said: the drug should be used for something more useful.

             
Back to my fantasy – by the time
Diablo
realises he’s drugged, it’s too late and he’s at my mercy
and ..
.

             
Today, he
’
s taking longer than usual and I’m running out of fantasy. Why the hell
doesn’t
he hurry up?

             
Maybe I should think about
Austin
. If only
he
was on top of me. I would hold him and kiss him and ...

    
             
Diablo rolls off me, grabs his
pants
and leaves the room and once again,
Austin
is shoved into the attic of my mind.  

Weeks go by. Rosa and Maria kick me out of my bed again and again,
I venture beyond the hills around Tana-Mera
. I
discover a babbling brook. Great! A little more wandering and I find and a natural rock pool, almost the size of an Olympic swimming pool. I swam almost everyday in LA, so I’m thrilled. Swimming energises me.

             
I walk on and arrive at the top of a cliff. More breathtaking views, this time of the ocean. Under normal circumstances, the ranch coupled with these beautiful views and picturesque surrounds would have been regarded as a private haven. But right now, it’s a cage - a beautiful, comfortable, 22 karat cage.        

             
I
sit on the grass, hug my knees and
think about my family
. Actually I think of them a lot
these days. Even though they’re fucked up and dysfunctional, I still want to see them. See if they’re okay and tell them I’m still alive. I’m sure my dad worries.

             
I want to visit them but I know I have to ask Diablo’s permission first. How do I do that when I never speak to him? I suppose if he’s going to give me permission, I need to talk to him.

             
Damn! I shudder at the thought of looking at him, let alone talking to him. After mulling over it for awhile, I pluck up the courage.

A
fter grunting for one minute and forty eight seconds, he rolls off me, scoops up his clothes and begins leaving.

             
I make my move. ‘I wanna see my family,’ I say. I don’t say
please
or address him in any way.

     
             
His head jerks to look at me. Of course he’s surprised – I’ve never spoken to him in three weeks. 

             
He stares at me in the dark, then flicks the switch on the bedside lamp
and peers at me.
The light blinds us both. I hate this close up – it’s unnerving. Especially since I see his bare, tattooed chest up close and personal. Yuck!

    
             
‘Haven’t seen them for a while,’ I mumble as I draw the sheet around my naked body.

    
             
He nods and appears to be considering it. ‘No,’ he finally says and turns to leave. 

    
             
‘But ... but ... I want my clothes and my stuff,’ I protest, prepared to argue.

    
             
He stops and slowly turns around to face me.

    
             
Another close up. I cower inside but fight to maintain eye contact. ‘I left with just the clothes on my back, remember?’

             
He doesn’t answer.

             
I
hop
out of bed since I plan to take my usual shower to rid myself of his jetsam.

             
His eyes sweep slowly over my naked body and I balk – it’s the first time he’s seeing me naked with the lights on. Now I remember I too have scars – scars on my chest from his bullets and scars from the injuries I sustained when I was thrown off the cliff.

             
Feeling terribly self-conscious, I drape a towel around me. ‘I don’t have clothes of my own. Everything’s at Siempre. All these belong to your sister,’ I complain, jerking my head towards the clothes in the closet.

    
             
His eyes drop to my
thighs
and linger there. Then he shakes his head from side-to-side. ‘No.’

    
             
Fuck this shit! What exactly did he mean by “No”? Never again? Not now?

             
He strides out of the room.

             
‘But ... but ...’

             
He
leaves.
Cunt
!   

We’re at dinner and he’s staring at my breasts. Feeling self-conscious, I
surreptitiously
hitch up my top
. Fucking pe
rvert! After his refusal for me to see my family last night, I don’t know how to react to him.
I’ll see how it goes later tonight.

             
Later comes quicker than I want it to.

             
When he
rolls off me and I nag him again. ‘I wanna see my family.’

    
             
‘I
say no!
’ he roars
.

             
I shut up and sulk.

    
             
My desire to see my family is overwhelming and I find myself complaining to Maria and Rosa. They listen and exchange knowing glances.

             
‘Senorita Payton,’ Maria says with no trace of malice in her voice. ‘I’m an attractive young woman now that I have put on a li’l weight.’

    
             
I suck in my tummy and lay down my fork. Bitch. But it’s true – I’ve
started using food as a tranquilizer these days and have piled on the Tacos.
(And the enchiladas, refried beans in chilli, garlic nachos and the ...)
I don’t taste what I’m eating, I just swallow. I want to put on a lot of weight and becoming grossly overweight. Maybe then he would find me unattractive and let me go.

    
             
‘And Diablo - he like wha
t
he see and tha
t
is why he bring me here,’ she continues. ‘I give him what he wan
t and
he give me wha
t
I wan
t
.’ She winks at me. ‘Tha
t
is how women all over the world get wha
t
they wan
t
, Senorita.
Si
?’

             
‘Maria,’ I correct, ‘it’s – “you give him what he wants and he’ll give you what you wants”. That’s how you say it.’ I’ve been teaching her the correct use of pronouns but our progress is slow.

             
‘Tha
t is
wha
t
I say, Senorita,’ she says, eyeing my food
. ‘You going to finish that?’

             
Bitch always want my food.
I shut up and mull over her words while I finish my Tex-Mex pasta with extra mozzarella and
a double portion of ground beef.

             
I mean, maybe she’s right
,
but I shouldn’t have to resort to this. And anyway, what the fuck can I give him that he hasn’t taken from me as yet? Stolen from me? The bastard took everything including my spirit.

             
I finish my food and decide to pass on their advice. I continue my sulking
in silence.
 

             
The urge to escape from this suffocating place even for a couple of hours persists.

             
By the end of the evening, I acquiesce - I will resort to feminine wiles to get what I want from Diablo. Maybe
I’ll
try being a little friendly, instead of corpse-like?
             
Usually, I try to be anything but sexy and alluring, in the hopes that he finds me a boring fuck and pisses off and just leaves me alone. What would happen if I suddenly turned coquettish and alluring and even sexy? I knew how to be all those things. Hell, I was brought up with
Paris
, remember? She was the queen of
coquett
ish.

             
I really don’t want to have to resort to that because
w
ell, he’s revolting
,
period. How I long f
or the day when I pass my amuse-
by
date and he moves on to some other
g
ringa
, l
ike
Austin
did. 

    
             
I also notice something else - each time I talk or interact with him, I
’m
less scared of him and he becomes more humane to me. Consumed by my desire to see my family
and escape this suffocating place for a while
, I get proactive.

    
             
When he enters my room that night, I’m sitting at my dressing table, brushing my hair. His eyes are wide with surprise and he quickly glances back at the door. Looks like he’s considering backtracking
.
T
oo confrontational for him
, t
oo much light
, I think
.
Wow! I can’t believe his reaction.