I have been sitting on a chair in the middle of an empty Mexican restaurant for a good hour, my hands tightly taped to the armrests, and my feet taped together. I tried to get free of the tape but the only thing that got me is sore wrists where the thick tape cuts into my skin. I have watched enough movies to know that letting me wait all alone, fear rising to levels I didn't even know were possible is a power move. Joaquin wants me to know who's in charge here. As if I needed this to know. The wait is part of his torture. Emotional torture can be as horrific as physical torture, trust me. I sit here, my eyes closed, listening to the noise coming from the street. I hear cars driving by, loud honks echoing from time to time. Life goes on outside of this place while no one knows what's happening, or is about to happen in this restaurant. Will people be able to hear me scream? Will someone come help? Considering the type of neighbourhood we're in, I highly doubt it. Plus, I don't think anyone will be brave enough to come against Joaquin's gang.
The clock hanging above the bar area in front of me seems to be nagging me. Tic toc. The minutes pass, atrociously slowly, and not a sound resonates in the restaurant beside that of the minutes passing and my heavy breathing.
After another hour, I start to wish he'd put an end to all of this already. The wait is killing me. Not knowing what's in store for me, and imagining all the things he might do to me is driving me insane.
I've never really known pain. A twisted ankle when I was a kid, or a superficial cut from trying to be healthy and cutting fresh veggies myself is basically the extent of physical pain I've known in my life. Until Joaquin broke my nose. I had never felt such pain before. A pain so intense you not only feel it in the injured area, but also everywhere around it and down to the pit of your stomach. I swallow hard at the thought that what's about to happen to me is going to be at least 10 times worse, if not more. Joaquin will make sure of it, I have no doubt on that.
By the time the clock reaches the three hour mark, my wrists are raw from my vain attempts at freeing myself. Drops of blood are dripping down onto the tiled floor, ending their course in a small puddle on each side of the chair. It hurts, but the adrenaline of knowing it's getting closer to the moment Joaquin arrives eases the pain. He ought to arrive at any moment now, right? Is that a question or a prayer?, I think to myself.
It's only after I've been sitting here for over four hours that I hear noise coming from the back of the restaurant behind me. Doors suddenly open and footsteps echo in the room. From the sound of the footsteps and the voices, I'd say there's four people coming towards me. My entire body tenses up as my heart starts to race in my chest again and my stomach tightens. My breathing is far less steady now that I'm no longer alone.
It doesn't take long for the group to reach me and I am soon faced with not four by five heavily tattooed guys. I recognize most of them from the few times I hung out with Joaquin. They all look like they're fresh out of prison with their tattooed faces and dirty looks. Not really the type of bad tattooed guy you'd fantasize about. Except if you have a thing for torture and pain I guess.
Joaquin grabs a chair and places it with the back of it facing me, and straddles it, resting his arms on the back of the chair. The four other guys just stand there next to him. I fight to keep my gaze focused on Joaquin despite my instincts screaming at me to look at the floor. He sits there without saying a word for a moment, simply looking at me with a smile worthy of a psychopath. I bite my cheeks in order to stop my teeth from shaking. As if he didn't already know how terrified I am.
"Hi pretty face", he eventually says, bringing his chair closer to me. (A/N: If you haven't seen the 'Hi mama' scene from Good Girl, Google it and you'll know what Joaquin sounds like at this moment - and you're welcome)
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I wouldn't be surprised if all of them can hear it.
"Wanna tell me why you lied to me?", he asks, his tone flat and calm.
I stare at him, unsure of what to answer. I lied about a few things.
"I'm asking nicely. Don't make me damage that beautiful body of yours already"
I try to think of what he might know already. My spending time with Brad is at the top of the list for sure. He might not know about my working with Isaac's gang yet. But if I admit that something happened with Brad, it would put him even more in danger. I swallow the lump in my throat before opening my mouth.
"Nothing happened with Bra—", I start to say but a hard slap on my cheek cuts me off.
The strength of the slap combined with the rings Joaquin wears on multiple fingers has left a cut on my cheekbone, I can feel it. My skin is burning where his hand met my cheek, tears already forming in the corner of my eyes.
"Don't underestimate me, pretty face", he says with the same calm tone. "If you keep on lying to me like that, I'll have no other choice but to ask Rodriguo here to take a stab at you. And I'm sure you don't want that, do you?"
I shake my head.
"That's what I thought", he answers, talking to me as if I were a toddler being reprimanded. "Now, answer the question. Why did you lie to me?", he asks slowly, marking every consonant.
I don't know what to answer. I don't understand his question. Why doesn't he simply tell me what I lied about? Is this really all about Brad? It can't be.
"I don't know what you're talking about", I say through shaking teeth. "There's nothing between Brad and I"
And that's true, there is nothing between us.
Joaquin stares at me intently, his lips soon curling into an ironic smile.
"Do you hear that guys?", he says with an amused laugh.
His guys join his laugh, all looking at me with hungry eyes. Joaquin suddenly stands up from his chair and moves it further away from me. My breathing starts to jerk even more as I realize he didn't like my answer.
"Well you can't complain I didn't warn you", he adds as he nods at one of his guys.
My body jerks up at the sight of the guy removing his jacket and cracking up his fingers while looking at me with a psychopath smile. I know exactly what's coming for me, and it won't be pleasant.
"I don't know what you want me to say!", I cry out, tears running down my cheeks like waterfalls again. "What did I lie about?"
I am shaking like never before, trying vainly to get myself free from the tape, not caring about the pain in my wrist anymore. I know it's stupid to even try to get free because there's five guys around me and nowhere to run, but I can't help it. Survival instincts I guess. My tears and agitation only seems to make the guys enjoy the situation more. They are taking pleasure in torturing people, no doubt on that. But one thing is for sure, I won't give them the satisfaction of hearing me beg them to let me free.
"Let's see if you feel more talkative after this"
Joaquin hadn't even finished his sentence that I felt the first hit. Strong and powerful, right on my already broken nose. The shock is so brutal that I don't feel the pain at first. But when it comes, I can only scream in agony. The strength of the punch must have shattered my nose in a million pieces considering the amount of blood coming out of it, leaving me choking in my own blood. I barely have time to realize I can't even breathe now that my nose and throat are completely obstructed with blood, that a second blow hits me, right on the cheekbone this time, where the skin was still warm from Joaquin's hard slap. And another one on the upper corner of my eye where my eyebrow ends. The intensity of his punches almost knocked me out. I wish it did, I really do. I can't handle the pain. Make it stop.
I try to speak, to ask them to stop, but the blood in my mouth makes it impossible for me to talk. Crazy how fast one changes their mind about begging when in so much pain.
"I guess I'll need a new nickname for you now", Joaquin says with a laugh, making everyone around him laugh too.
The guy who was hitting me wipes his bloody hands while his boss brings his chair back in front of me. I know I'm going to die tonight. I am not stupid enough to hope someone will magically come and save me. The thought of leaving this world so abruptly makes me mad. I wish I had time to say a real goodbye to my parents. I wish I had time to find James. Thinking of my friend sparks something in me. Anger? Probably. It's most likely that James went through the exact same thing I'm going through, and it makes me both mad and sad. Mad because I put him in that spot. And sad because I know exactly the kind of pain he went (or maybe still is) going though.
"Where— Where's James", I manage to say between two chokes.
I spit the blood from my mouth in an effort to clear out my breathing tube. Finally I can breathe a little.
"Who the fuck is James", Joaquin answers, making me frown.
I instantly regret the facial cue as it leads to another rush of pain. But what does he mean who's James? He has him. Of course he knows who he is. Doesn't he even know his name?
"My friend", I answer more clearly now that I can speak better. "You have him. What— What have you done to him"
"What the fuck is she talking about?", Joaquin asks his guys who look as clueless as him. "Do we have him?"
"I don't think so", one answers, clearly not sure.
"Do. We. Have. Him. Or. Not", Joaquin says, accentuating each word.
"We don't", another guy who was typing on his phone answers with conviction.
I don't understand. I know they're not lying, what would be the point? So if they don't have James, who does?
"I told you she's just a whore", another guy with bleached blond hair says.
He stands out from the crowd being the only caucasian in the group of olive skin guys with dark hair.
"She'd have said something by now if she was with them", he adds and I suddenly realize what Joaquin expects me to say.
He knows I'm with Isaac and his gang. Well at least he suspects it.
Joaquin ignores the guy and keeps staring at me as if deep in thoughts. The silence in the room is deafening and astonishingly long.
"Do you want me to let you go?", he asks after what felt like a century, his eyes fixed on mine and his face empty of any emotions.
That was the last thing I expected him to say. I am so taken aback that I don't answer anything.
"I could cut you free right now, and you'd be home before dinner", he continues when I stay quiet.
I am not dumb enough to believe him.
"All you've gotta do is tell me what they sent you to do"
Again, I don't answer anything. My answer won't change anything to my fate. In both cases, he'll kill me, I am sure of that.
"If that's how you want to play it", he then says before getting up from the chair again. "Rod, she's all yours"
Rodrigo's fist connects with my jaw and my head jerks to the side, blood filling my mouth again. This time the first punch doesn't hurt as much. Maybe because my level of pain has already reached its peak, or because my soul has given up on me and granted me an early death. As the punches continue, quickly moving from my face to my stomach, I suddenly see Charlie standing in the corner. He doesn't look mad or disappointed like before. He looks sorry despite the recomforting smile on his face. He almost looks like he's trying to tell me everything is going to be okay, that it will soon be over and we'll be together again. And the moment I finally make peace with the fact that I am going to die, the punches suddenly stop, and Rodrigo drops to the floor.