Firstly, I'd like to say that I know this chapter is short, but I wanted to give you guys something as soon as I had power and a steady cellphone signal.
As some of you may know, Puerto Rico has been hit with a category five hurricane named Maria. This hadn't happened in almost a century and the results have been catastrophic. There's no power and no water, there's even more poverty now, head lice, skin rashes and pink eye have infested the shelters. Some places are in worse shape than others.
I am okay. I have power and water. However I worry for my people who don't. This has been one of the hardest periods, not only in our history, but also in our lives. No one in my generation or the ones before us, had seen a monster hurricane like this one.
For me, I ask for patience. Nothing more. But for my people, I ask for education. For those of you who don't know, research. For those of you who can donate, donate. We have a strong community here, we will rise.
As for the story, the little diddy you came for, I will continue updating as long as I can. I love you guys and thank you for the support.
-Cassandra
Emma's POV
"We humans are so interesting." I said, taking a sip of my blueberry slushy.
"Oh okay, Ryuk. Where the hell is this coming from?" Tessa said, in her usual irritating tone.
"Who's Ryuk?" I asked, since I normally had no idea what this girl was yapping about.
"It's from-you know what? Never mind. So, where did that come from?" she asked, sitting closer to me, with her now usual dead expression.
"Since when do you care? You haven't even bothered to pick up my calls lately." She's been ignoring me ever since Xiomara came back. Every time with less efforts to keep me in the dark about it.
"Oh, come on, Emma." She started with her goddamn whine.
"Don't even fucking start." I said, getting a shocked face in return.
"Woah." She said, backing up. "I'm not your lap dog. You can't just whistle and I'll come. I'm a goddamn person, Emma. A person who's tired of you!" she said, looking at me as if I had done something horrible to her. Just now.
"Are you kidding me? Now you're tired? Not after the years of bullshit or humiliation? Or after I fucked your boyfriend? No, it's now, that Xiomara's back when you realize you're tired." I said, rolling my eyes at this pathetic bitch standing in front of me.
"What the fuck did you just say?" she said, being serious.
"Tessa, you're truly always going to be pathetic." I said turning around, giving my, apparently, worthy opponent my back. Always one step behind, I heard my mother's words in my ear right before hitting the ground.
--
"You really know how to pick your company, huh?" I heard mother's faint voice. "You really don't even have selective skills. Have I taught you nothing? You don't mess with superiors or their followers, they will retaliate and you'll lose."
Always superior than me. Always one step ahead of me. Always one level above me. Even my mother considered her a superior. She got the chance to do everything I wanted to do, she danced, she got pretty, she got good grades, she had the best house, the best car, the best clothes. She has everything I ever wanted. That includes a dead mother. I guess I'll have to sit back and wait for a moment to take it all away.
--
Xiomara's POV
The day I dreaded came again, just in time for Aunt Mary's arrival. Visiting day.
"Are you ready, honeybee?" she asked, gathering her things.
"I guess. Hey, by the way, Marcela Machiago wrote again." I turned around, paying close attention to Mary's expression. She froze for a moment, looked up and gathered herself again.
"Where is it? Did you read it?" she said, turning around to face me. I studied her expression. She feared something.
"It's on the counter and no, I didn't." I said, I creased my eyebrows in suspicion. I never really noticed how weird Mary got whenever this woman wrote. She sighed and grabbed the letter.
"Okay, thank you honey." She said, slightly nervous. "Are you ready to go?" she asked, shoving the letter in her bag.
"Uh. Yeah." I answered, remembering where I was going.
We drove for an hour. An hour. How does anyone drive an hour to see someone they wished was dead already? I played with the hem of my skirt. Cream with flowers, I thought to myself as I saw the gate of the institution become bigger. I used to repeat different details to keep my mind busy. Broken handle, I remembered when I broke it.
I had sprained my ankle in rehearsal and the pain was so excruciating, I broke the door handle for pulling on to it so hard.
"We're here." I heard her say. I stayed motionless for a few seconds. I took a deep breath and blinked. Sometimes I forgot to do so around Marco.
I stepped out of the car, my stomach making all kinds of nots. I couldn't understand why, I had already seen him after six years. Maybe it was the fact that he did look so different. He sounded different. He spoke differently. Maybe he was different?
"Ms. Vaccaro and Mrs. Malhotra have arrived." I heard the nurse say as we faced the registration counter. I wasn't looking up, I was still playing with the hem of my skirt. Cream with flowers, cream with flowers...wet floor sign...black scratch, white wall...
"Ms. Vaccaro, Mrs. Malhotra." Black shoes. I looked up and there was the man. The man who has taken most of my head space in the last few days.
"Marco." I said, looking up, his green eyes not meeting mine. Looking down at my feet, as if to say, "I'm not worthy".
"Let's sit." Mary said, feeling uneasy as I just stared at my father switching between the floor and my eyes.
We sat. In front of each other, of course. Because there's no way life could get any easier.
"I'm very happy you could make it, Xiomara." Said, the therapist who had materialized beside me. "To our session."
"Session?" I asked, following her movements, as she walked to stand behind Marco and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, a family therapy session." I stayed quiet. Thinking. She continued. "I understand, this is the second time you've seen each other after six years and I know this is challenging but-"
"Challenging?" I said questioned, interrupting the intro to her poetic speech.
"Yes, Ms. Vaccaro." She responded, knowing I wasn't done.
"You mean torturous. I didn't even know I had to be part of therapy." I said, getting slightly irritated.
"Well, we spoke with your grandmother and-"
"Of course, you did." I interrupted her again. "My grandmother and I aren't speaking, so that had absolutely no thought put into it. What's your name again?" I asked, definitely doubting what this woman's point was.
"Ms. Ginala." She said, taking a deep breath and holding her papers tighter against her figure.
"Ms. Ginala, if you wanted to contact me, you should've called my legal guardian, Ms. Mary Malhotra. Something you didn't do. Which means there wasn't any professional protocol followed here. No ethical acknowledgement. Absolutely no thought put into your "family therapy" method. I was abused by this man. Beaten, spit on, thrown bottles at and tortured in more than one way. I don't need you to explain what happened to me. He happened to me." I said, now directing my eyes to my father. "He did. His self-hatred, his alcoholism, his disorder is what happened to me." I looked at the therapist, Ms. Ginala, now clutching her papers, wrinkling them, against her chest for dear life, worried for her career in the institution by now. "So, I don't need your "humanizing the abuser" tactic. Been there, done that and over it. I've been treated by the best psychiatrists and psychologists in New York. All these methods are familiar to me. As familiar as my father's fist on my face right before seeing black. So, excuse me for not buying into your professionalism when it's obvious by your proximity and familiarity to your patient, that you two have had sexual contact before." I heard everybody in the room gasp slightly, like when you solve the big mystery as its being spelled out for you.
"Ms. Vaccaro, are you suggesting I've-" cut off again.
"No. I'm stating it. No matter how close the relationship might be, no patient smirks as their therapist confronts a battered daughter. Which means something else has been happening behind closed doors." I looked at my father as he raises his eyebrow at me, not really surprised. I redirected my eyes, to the therapist. "Am I wrong, Ms. Ginala?" I asked, as she looked down.
"Ms. Ginala, come with me, please." The nurse, who was still standing close to me, looking at me with wide eyes. He looked at her and picked his phone up and began walking. Signaling to the therapist to follow him. She took a longing look at my father, who was too busy fixating his confusing stare at his daughter as she followed the nurse.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, after doors closed behind them.
"Wasn't it the truth?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
"You feel entitled to my personal life, Xiomara?" he asked, actually getting pissed.
"You wanted me to be a patient to a woman you're fucking. Even you can see the impossibility in that equation. I'm entitled to whatever you do that involves me." I said, my mind getting slightly clouded.
"I'm your father." He said, his voice just above a whisper.
"No, you're not. You stopped being my father the moment a Bourbon bottle became your wife." I said, feeling light headed suddenly. "I need to go." I said, awkwardly getting up finally feeling Mary behind me.
"Honeybee, what's wrong?" she whispered in my ear.
"Let's go." I said.
"Xiomara, that isn't what happened." Marco said, pleading.
"Let's go." I said, walking weakly out the clinic and into our car.
"Are you okay, Xiomara?" she said, looking at me worried, but suspiciously.
"Yes, I feel better. When did you pour water on my face?" I asked, wiping it away.
"I didn't. You're crying." She said, sighing. I touched my face. Tears wouldn't stop streaming down, between the confusion and slight betrayal, I found myself sobbing. No intention to stop anytime soon. I had hit it, again. Rock-bottom.
"Please, take me to their house." I said, between sobs.
"Honeybee, let's just go home." She said, worried for my mental state.
"Please." I said, finally looking at Mary. She sighed.
"Okay, darling." She said, putting the car in drive and taking me to where my heart was.
After about five minutes, I was drifting away to sleep as I starred at the tiny gate behind us, until it all went black