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“You know what? Never mind.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head, looking disappointed. Disheartened. “You’re right. I gave myself a concussion. After giving her two black eyes. And I kicked myself in the ribs too. That’s what you believe, right?” She sits up against the headboard, pulls the blankets closer and glances at her phone on the duvet. “You went through my phone? You have no right. How did you even get the password?”
“Santiago.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, looking hurt and betrayed. I understand. “Did he look through it too?”
“Are you pregnant, Mercedes? You need to tell me now.”
“Oh, my God, you’re serious. No, Judge, I’m not fucking pregnant. How would I be pregnant?”
“Your texts with this man—”
“You don’t know anything!” She shoves the blankets off, taking a moment to look down at the unfamiliar shirt she’s wearing. It’s mine. I put it on her last night. She swings her legs over the side of the bed. “I’m going to my room.” She stands but wobbles.
I reach her in time, catching her just as her knees give out. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I put her back in the bed, and she doesn’t argue. But I think that’s because she’s too weak. And I can see she’s nauseous. I see it in the way she clutches her stomach. How she squeezes her eyes and mouth shut.
“Un-fucking-believable,” I mutter and walk away, raking a hand through my hair as I wear a hole in the carpet. I glance at her to find her watching me and go into the bathroom to wash my face. I haven’t slept more than a few hours. I’ve been keeping an eye on her, waking her every couple of hours on doctor’s orders. And it shows in my reflection. Mercedes De La Rosa will age me.
Mercedes watches me with cold indifference when I return to the bedroom. Someone knocks on the door.
“Enter.”
Miriam pushes in and smiles at me. “Good morning, sir. I brought breakfast.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Mercedes mutters.
I give her a look to shut her up. “Thank you, Miriam. I’ll take it from here.”
Miriam glances at Mercedes, who’s staring daggers at her, but then turns to go.
“Just a minute,” I say.
She stops and turns back to me.
“Mercedes. I think you owe Miriam an apology.”
Mercedes snorts. “When hell freezes over. I didn’t do that to her.”
“Mercedes,” I say again. She's not looking at me, though. She’s still glaring at Miriam. “Apologize.”
She shifts her gaze to me. “No. I don’t care what you do to me, but I won’t apologize for something I didn’t do.”
“Do you apologize for things you do do?”
She folds her arms across her chest and looks away, the line of her jaw tight as she clenches her teeth.
“We’ll try again tomorrow, Miriam. Perhaps Ms. De La Rosa will be feeling better by then. Thank you.”
“Sir.” She nods, turns to exit.
I bring my attention to the tray of food. If that’s what you can call it. It’s a lump of some unrecognizable slop. I pour coffee for Mercedes and carry the mug to her. She takes it and brings it to her lips, pauses to inhale as if she thinks it may be poison, then sips.
“I will punish you in front of her if you don’t apologize.”
She looks at me, quiet for a moment. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“Who gave her two black eyes then?”
