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“And where is here, more exactly?” Rafaelo wet his lips as he asked.
He vaguely remembered that Armand’s home had been in the States. But based on the language of the guards and the brief glimpse he’d had of the vegetation on the outside, he was willing to bet he was either in a southern midwest state, or another country.
“Mexico. We’re somewhere in the northeast,” Charles confirmed.
Rafaelo faltered in his work as he stared at the man.
Mexico. He was in Mexico?
What the hell was he doing in Mexico?
Suddenly, he felt trapped in a never ending nightmare with no way of getting out.
Out of nowhere, a blow to his back made him reel as he tripped, falling forward and hitting his head against the wall.
“No hablan,” the guard snapped, hitting Rafaelo again.
He was so weak, he couldn’t put up a fight. He could only allow blow after blow, his pain increasing exponentially.
No one intervened. Everyone continued to work, watching him from the corner of their eyes. Some looked at him with pity, others with disinterest.
Even Charles was newly focused on his work, bringing his tool against the wall and chipping at the hard stone.
At that moment, Rafaelo realized he was truly on his own.
“Regresa a trabajar,” the guard ordered.
Blood coursed down his chin, his lip split open.
And as he stared at the hammer in his hand and blood that kept on dripping on the floor, he couldn’t help the manic laugh that escaped him.
Yes, there was pain. Yes, he wasn’t free.
But he was free of Armand.
Aside from that, nothing else mattered. One way or another, he would find a way out.
But for now… He wouldn’t be raped anymore.
two
It tookhim a few hours to get into the rhythm, but with a couple of instructions from Charles and other English-speaking prisoners, he got the hang of it and he stopped getting reprimanded by the guards.
He didn’t know how long they had worked until lunch was announced.
In the same queue as they’d come, they were led outside of the temple where someone was handing out food and water. Everyone found a spot on the ground to rest and eat. Unfortunately, there was no shade or any accommodation made for them.
The sun was blistering hot, the heat making him sweat profusely as he took a big swig of water. He followed Charles to a more secluded corner where they took a seat.
Everything was dry and dusty, and though he’d taken a shower just hours back, Rafaelo felt dirtier than before.
As they sat down, he swallowed hard against the discomfort in his bones, focusing on his food instead. But as he looked at the meal he’d been given, he quickly realized the difference with the others— thekidnapped, as Charles had called them. They got half the rations the others got. Their water alone wasn’t enough to hydrate a normal person, let alone one working in such conditions.
“That’s why they don’t last.” Charles nodded toward them.
They were skinnier, and generally in a worse shape than the others.
Rafaelo decided not to comment. Instead, he wolfed down his sandwich, nearly starved to death as he was. The drugs he’d been administered were still in his system, and he realized that he would be sluggish and otherwise dazed for a while longer until they flushed out completely.
