CHAPTER 14
ARI
Had I made a mistake?
I knew what I had done was a crime, but even so, I couldn't regret it—not even after getting up from the floor.
I didn't feel satisfied.
The laughter was still there, repeating itself in my head, and that was what disturbed me the most: that no matter what I did, the feeling wouldn't disappear.
None of this could give me back what they had taken from me.
Nothing was going to make up for it, no matter how much I wished it would.
—You deserved it —I said to Santiago's body in front of me, motionless, as the blood ran down the couch and slowly stained the floor.
I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I wiped my tears away with my hands; the contact was rough, I was still wearing the gloves. I studied my face closely, as if I were searching for a reaction that never quite came.
I went back to the living room. I dragged a large airport suitcase over and opened it on the floor. First, I threw the body onto the ground so I could drag it toward the suitcase, measuring the effort, calculating every movement.
Before continuing, I took a glass of water and swallowed a pill quickly. I needed stability.
I held onto the nearby chair and let out a long sigh—far too controlled for the scene surrounding me.
I tried to lift the body little by little so it would fall into the suitcase, but the sound of the doorbell stopped me cold.
It wasn't a neighbor.
I knew that because I had reserved the entire building. There shouldn't have been anyone else.
—Ari, open the door. I know you're in there.
Sebastián's voice.
I took off the gloves and let them fall to the floor. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
—What's going on? —I asked from the narrow space between the door and the frame.
Sebastián was standing in front of me. He wasn't wearing his police uniform.
—Why weren't you answering your phone? Everyone's been calling you. They're worried about you —he said.
I smiled. It wasn't planned; it just appeared.
—I just put my phone to charge. I didn't think they'd worry —I replied.
He looked around suspiciously. I noticed how his gaze tried to slip inside the apartment. Before he could, I stepped out and closed the door behind me.
—Why are you here? —he asked—. Who are you with?
I didn't answer right away.
—I saw the car parked outside —he added—, so don't try to lie to me.
I stayed silent, watching him, evaluating how much he knew… and how much he was willing to see.
—I'm with a friend, but he's not feeling very well. I'm keeping him company… and I didn't realize how late it was. I just put my phone to charge —I said.
It sounded convincing; it was a good lie.
Even so, given the situation, I knew Sebastián was going to doubt it.
—Keeping him company? —he repeated—. You have more serious problems. You'd better pack your things and let's go home.
I looked at him. I knew my expression had to be serious, so I forced it for a second… and then I let out a laugh.
—Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking —I said, wiping away a tear I didn't know whether it came from laughter or exhaustion—. I'll go back home.
—Tell me something… did you sleep with him? Or something like that? Did you get mad at Liam or…? —Sebastián tried to say, but he didn't finish the sentence, as if even he couldn't convince himself or didn't know what was happening to me—. Don't make decisions you might regret later. Better focus on tomorrow, on going to the search for Ámbar that was organized.
—I'm going back home by myself, so you'd better leave. I won't be long, I promise —I said.
It wasn't an unusual request coming from me; we were never close.
I stepped closer to the door to look at him better. His face was tense, weighed down by stress. I caused that expression most of the time… and even more now that he had returned to Mexico because of me.
—So leave —I added at the end.
I opened the door to go back inside, but he pushed me in. I slammed into the wall.
Sebastián entered behind me.
He looked around: the floor, the couch… the body.
He stood still for a few seconds, staring at it. Then he turned toward me.
He moved quickly. He grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me roughly.
—What did you do? Damn it, what did you do?! —he shouted, so close I could feel his breath.
He let go of me abruptly and I hit the wall again.
He ran his hands through his hair, desperate.
—Ari… for the love of God, what did you do? —he repeated, coming closer again, this time more slowly.
He touched my hair with a tenderness that contrasted with everything before.
He looked me in the eyes.
He seemed on the verge of tears.
I no longer felt remorse.
But it hurt.
—What you never managed to do for my brother —I said, without breaking eye contact.
[...]
It was a place flooded with light. White lamps hung from the ceiling like small artificial moons, and the tables were covered with light-colored tablecloths and centerpieces full of golden stars, shiny ribbons, and flowers too perfect to be touched. Everything seemed designed to impress, to pretend goodness.
Almost everything caught my attention: the decorations, the soft music, the laughter that sounded rehearsed. And also my mother… when I still called her that without it weighing on me. Back then, we got along, or at least that's what I believed.
She scolded me when I tried to pull the stars off the decorations. I wanted to put them in my hair, use them as accessories. It seemed like a good idea to me. I didn't understand why something so pretty had to stay still on a table.
—Don't touch that —she said softly, with a tight smile.
My behavior was normal for a ten-year-old girl. Curious. Restless.
Besides, I wasn't used to that kind of event. They almost never took me. They said it wasn't my place, that I would get bored, that I would ask uncomfortable questions.
That was one of the decisions that weighed on me the longest.
Because I was the one who asked to go.
I wanted to see the place, walk among the lights, look at the elegant people and believe that everything there was beautiful and fun, just as it looked before my eyes.
For years, I blamed myself for that.
For wanting to be there.
For the consequences that followed.
I reproached myself for the actions of a child, as if at ten years old I could have known that bad people existed, or that they could reach me.
Why would someone do that to a child?
—Are you going to leave her lying there on the floor? —one of them asked behind me.
I couldn't even move. I just wanted to get out of there quickly.
I felt a liquid between my legs, but my voice was tired from screaming so much and I barely had any strength left.
—Well, it's not like she can go anywhere —the other one said, laughing.
I felt a kick to my ribs that made me cough.
—Stop making noise.
He came closer and I crawled away from him as best I could. I barely moved; I couldn't.
—No, no, no —was all I managed to say.
I lifted my head to look at him as he adjusted his belt and fastened it.
—I told you not to move —he said more aggressively.
He crouched in front of me. I tried to push his hand away when he grabbed me, but then it went to my hair. I felt like he was going to rip it out.
As I spilled tears, nothing made him stop, not even when I begged him.
I wish that phrase I once heard had been true. I don't remember who said it.
"Children believe they can get anything just by crying."
But I didn't get what I wanted.
Because even so, they touched me.