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That doesn’t mean all the men treated their women badly. Far from it. Some were protective, and some, over time, learned to love their partners, as in my mother and father’s case.
But then some were nothing but monsters. They were revered by men and feared by women because they knew if they ended up with one of the bad ones, that was it for them. There is no escape once the vows have been said. The legally binding contract declared you the property of your husband.
My sister and I were aware that life as we knew it would be over once we turned eighteen. Nobody would come to our rescue after the vows were exchanged because what happens between man and wife is protected by the sanctity of marriage. Even if that means the wife is left bloody at her husband’s feet. Everyone knew what Santos was like, even those who pretended otherwise. Any woman of his, wife and mistress alike, would know that their days were numbered. I wanted to live my life the way I wanted for as long as I could. But in the end, we all became nothing more than casualties of a war.
I spot a photo of the two of us hidden just behind the others. Reaching for it, I lift it and study us. We looked so much alike that people often mistook us for twins, despite the three-year age gap. With our arms wrapped around each other and our heads thrown back in laughter, the only obvious difference is the two inches in height.
I turn to the white lace bedspread and flash to a memory of my sister and me lying side by side laughing. I can’t remember what we were laughing about anymore, but whatever started it turned somber when the subject of weddings arose. We knew things then that other girls our age didn’t. They had their adolescent hearts set on fairy tales and white knights. They wanted to fall in love and live happily ever after. But dreams like that were foolish for girls like my sister and me.
I remember her playing with a strand of my hair, her other hand clasped in mine as she sang softly to me. The lyrics spoke of hope and dreams but the melody was full of so much melancholy it was almost mournful. It hurt to listen and yet I urged her on, still hoping for something more; in that way that only a dreamer can.
Thinking back, I’m pretty sure if we knew what would befall us, we would have run far away from the life neither of us wanted. We thought we’d have time to figure everything out, but we were so naive. I trail my fingers over the bedspread and fight back the urge to cry.
A sharp breath behind me signals the arrival of the man who hasn’t strayed far from my thoughts. I don’t turn and look at him, though. I stare at that damn bedspread as if I can somehow make myself go back in time and change the outcome. Maybe I should have fought harder or run faster, but I did neither of those things. I think that’s the part I find hardest to deal with now, being who I am, the knowledge that I went willingly to my death. That I did nothing to save myself or my family.
“You were just a kid.” Calix’s voice makes me turn to look at him and find him staring at the book on the bed.
First Kiss Fiasco.I vaguely remember it, though for obvious reasons I never finished it. I do remember that it was a teen romance novel, and I was easily captivated by that type of book.
“You both were. How did I not notice how young she was?” He gazes around the room—the shelves that hold books, the posters on the walls of the teen idols we crushed on, and the stuffed teddies sitting on the shelf looking down at us.
“You were not here to notice things, Calix.” I cough to clear my throat, which has gone dry. “You were here to retrieve my sister for your brother. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He doesn’t answer, but then what could he say? I might have forgiven him for the most part, but forgiveness doesn’t erase my memories or the knowledge of the part he played. Being back here is making everything I suppressed and hid from roar to life.
“Where did you go?” I ask as I back away from the room, forcing Calix to back up too. Being in here with him right now is too much. I close the door behind me and look up at him.
“I have some people who are loyal to me. I need to reestablish those connections if I ever want to stop looking over my shoulder,” he replies.
I nod, even if I still think he should be lying low. I bite my tongue. He doesn’t need my opinion here. If he ends up dead, that’s his problem, not mine. Okay, I’m still a little salty about the whole disappearing act.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” I admit without looking at him. I head back downstairs with him right behind me.
“I wouldn’t just sneak out and disappear, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It might have crossed my mind. You sure as heck lost your mind when you thought I had left you without saying anything.”
He sighs. “We still need to talk. You said a lot of shit—” I hold up my hand to cut him off.
“Let’s go to the kitchen. I made a salad if you’re hungry, and I need coffee.”
I don’t give him a chance to say no. I head to the kitchen and walk straight over to the coffee pot. Something tells me I’m going to need it.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Istare out the window, the silence weighing heavy on me as Calix processes everything I just told him, minus a few details I’m not sure I’m ready to share with him just yet.
He sighs and leans back, drawing my attention back toward him. “That doesn’t explain how or why you think Santos is alive right now.”
I bite my lip and offer him a little more. “The nature of my job means I can find out things not everyone can.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not a cop, are you?”
I snort. “After everything you’ve seen me do since we met?”
“Some of the most crooked people I’ve met are cops.”
I nod and concede his point. “No, Calix. I’m not a cop.”
