TW: Mentions of domestic violence and very toxic relationships in this chapter.

I wished I could have come up with something witty, something funny to say and that could show how much I didn't care. But I cared. So I stood there with my heart in my throat and no words to spit out.

"Gordita, I can explain."

The girl's head jolted up, and Pablo winced in pain. I hoped she'd bit his dick off. She turned around to look at me, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Perhaps I'd met her before, but I could hardly make out her features through the blurry haze covering my eyes.

"She's giving you a blowjob," I croaked. "I think I understood that well enough."

"Cassie just needed a fix," he replied. "And she was out of cash."

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. I'd look stupid if I cried. I'd look weak. I swallowed back my tears and held my chin up high.

"You have no excuses, Pablo," I seethed.

He raised his eyebrows and let out a loud sigh as he pulled up his pants. Cassie crawled up on the bed, spreading her ratty hair extensions across her chest to hide her bare breasts.

"Cassie, do you plan on fucking off or are you waiting until I leave so you can finish the job?" I spat out.

"I'll just wait for you downstairs," she whispered as her cheeks turned red.

She bent over to pick up the clothes she'd left scattered on the floor, and Pablo's gaze rolled down her curves.

"I want her to leave this house," I muttered. "Pablo, tell her not to come back."

I stared at him rather than Cassie, because I knew I couldn't help but compare myself to her. She and I were opposites. I was tall and she was short, I had dyed my hair dark brown and she'd bleached hers platinum blonde. She had full lips and fake tits, and I had none of that. Although, my ass was a little bigger than hers.

I wondered what else Pablo saw in her that he couldn't find in me. Perhaps he thought she was prettier than me. Perhaps she was better in bed. Perhaps he was frustrated that I'd turned him down that morning, and seized the first opportunity he got when Cassie asked him for a bit of cocaine or whatever else she needed. Perhaps it was a regular thing, and I was either blind or stupid. I wondered if he ever brought her flowers as he did with me.

"I don't take orders from you, Gordita," Pablo retorted.

"Oh but you will," I said. "If I see her again, I'll tell her the truth."

As if he hadn't humiliated me enough, he scoffed, laughing at my threat as if he knew I'd never do it. I glared at him until his smile disappeared.

"What truth?" Cassie frowned.

"You don't want to know," sighed Pablo.

"Do you have chlamydia?" she shrieked.

"It's a bit worse than that," I sneered.

"Herpes?"

"Cassie, just get the fuck out," he spat. "Go home."

She hurriedly squeezed herself back into her dress and shuffled out of the room, barefoot and with her stripper heels in hand. She lowered her head as she walked past me, but I kept my eyes riveted to Pablo, like a laser aim on a target. The door slammed behind her, and I didn't even shudder.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Pablo yelled, his face distorted with an anger I had hoped I'd never witness again.

"Your supposed girlfriend," I spat.

"Only when it fucking suits you," he muttered.

"How do you expect people to believe it if you go around getting blowjobs from sluts like her?"

He wouldn't grace my question with an answer. Instead, he yanked a drawer open, and pulled out a small glass vial. He scooped out a little bit of white powder that he quickly shoved up his left nostril. His lips curved into a faint smile as he breathed in. The man loved his drugs more than he'd ever loved me, and probably more than he'd ever loved Cassie, but that thought hardly brought me any comfort.

"Why would you do this to me?" I wept.

He shrugged, licking off the remnants of powder that had fallen onto his fingers.

"It's no big deal, Gordita."

Pablo was right, it shouldn't have been a big deal. I didn't love him, and we weren't together, just pretending to be. What he'd done with Cassie was hardly cheating, and thus was not a big deal. Yet, it felt like a big deal, and it hurt all the same.

"Keep telling yourself that," I mumbled.

I took a step back, ready to walk out of the room, and he didn't even lift up his head to watch me leave. He didn't care, and rightfully so, because it wasn't a big deal.

I tried to move again, but my muscles seized up and my bones ached down to their core. A lump grew in my throat, and all I felt was pain, one that I hadn't felt in many days. It was a debilitating affliction, like a curse or a stroke, a pounding in my head, and a loud ring in my ears. My vision turned red, black, and then back to a searing white blur as I stood on the verge of tears.

I couldn't deal with this not-a-big deal. I couldn't deal with any of this. I couldn't fight the demons wailing in my head.

I stomped over to the bedside table, and snatched a bag of pills from right underneath Pablo's powdered nose. Before he could react, jerk up his head and grab my arm, I had already popped one into my mouth. Or two. Or three. I didn't know how many.

"Spit that out," he hissed.

I shook my head, my lips tightly sealed.

His hand clamped around my jaw, and his fingers forced their way into my mouth, trying to pry open my jaw and make me spit the pills out. I gagged between two shouts, but when I bit down on his fingers, he was the one screaming out loud.

"What is wrong with you?" he yelled, holding onto his wounded hand.

I spat his blood out of my mouth. "You're wrong with me."

"Oh, you've lost your fucking mind," he hissed.

"Did you only just notice?" I snarled. "You dumb motherfucker."

The tension that kept his fists tight and his teeth gritting burst out, and he wrapped his hand around my neck.

"You do not talk to me like that," he spat.

Just as I felt myself slipping into darkness, I kicked him in the stomach, or balls, or whatever was within reach. He let go of my throat and doubled over in pain, and I lunged at him again. He grunted, I cried, I screamed and he yelled. We fought on the bed, on the floor, slipping on the silk sheets and banging into the walls and the corners of the bedside tables.

I didn't know whose hands hit whose head, I didn't know if he was hitting me back or just blocking my blows. I didn't know where this rage came from or how to stop it, but once I'd bruised every angle of my face, I stopped caring.

Perhaps picking a fight with a freshly-sprinkled cokehead wasn't my brightest idea, but none of the hits or kicks or punches seemed to hurt me as much as the sight of him with another woman.

Somewhere in the struggle and breathless wrestling, I tripped over the night table. Its wooden drawer cracked open, and hundreds of pills spilled over the floor with a loud clatter, like hail in a thunderstorm in the middle of summer.

He grabbed my ankle as I threw myself to the floor, tried to drag me away, and I lost one of my shoes when I swung my leg at him and kicked him in the face.

As he held his bleeding nose, I crawled to the door, grabbing all the pills that hadn't yet fallen between the floor's wooden slats, and shoving them in my pockets. I got up on my feet before he could catch me again, and ran as fast as I could.

The echoes of his voice chased me down the corridor, but were quickly drowned out by music. The party was already booming, filling the house with unhinged joy. I slipped into the crowd and disappeared, fixed my hair and pretended to smile, as followed the flow of people that led me out of the hall and into the garden.

I knew how this night would go. I was going to do the only thing that had worked to keep me happy these past few weeks. I was going to give up and forget. I would forget about Cassie, about Juan, and everything that had happened. I'd even forget I had ever met Pablo.

I'd do what I wanted, with whoever I wanted, when and wherever it suited me. I'd do drugs if I felt like it. Perhaps I'd even have a drink or two. If it bothered anyone, especially Pablo, then it was all the better. Hurt people hurt people, they say, and I'd been hurt more than enough.

Tonight would be a trainwreck. I could feel it coming, rumbling beneath my feet. I'd stand on the tracks with my arms open, and let the mayhem I was about to cause roll all over me. I've run out of fucks to give, I told myself as I downed a shot of tequila.

"Hey, Emilia!" said a pretty girl as she kissed me on the cheek.

I'd never met this woman. Perhaps I had, a week or so ago on a drunken night, but I couldn't remember either her face or her name.

"Hey... bestie," I answered with a fake smile.

"Do you know where I can find that person who brought pills the other night?" she asked.

"Honey, you're in a narco's house, there's drugs everywhere," I snorted. "I have tons in my pockets."

I pulled out two small handfuls of colorful pills.

"What are these?" asked the girl, holding back a few loose strands of her hair as she leaned over to look at them.

"No fucking idea," I shrugged.

She picked one out of the palm of my hand. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, you're my bestie," I replied.

"You're amazing," she giggled, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. She grabbed a guy who was walking past us, and pulled him towards me. "Hey Javi, have you met Emilia? She's so fun. She doesn't speak Spanish. She's from Romania."

"Hungary," I corrected her.

"I'll go get you some pizza." She winked, and left me alone with Javi.

I could feel the pills starting to hit. My fingers went numb and my eyes started to twitch. Blood rushed up to my cheeks, throbbing as it rushed through my temples, and I realized I had forgotten how to breathe.

"Hey Javi, do you want drugs?" I muttered.

The guy said something, but I couldn't hear his voice over the music. I leaned closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and my ear next to his mouth. Javi's hand slipped around the small of my back.

"Are you single?" he asked.

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of my lips, as adrenalin pumped through my heart.

"Tonight, I might be," I murmured.

"Are you sure?" he said, licking his teeth. "I don't want any problems."

As our chests drew closer, heaving with longing breaths, a skinny hand slipped between us and pushed Javi away.

"Eres su novio?" Javi panicked.

Are you her boyfriend?

"Si, ya vete a la verga," retorted Juan.

Yeah, now go fuck yourself.

Javi didn't wait around long enough to apologize, and backed away with his hands up and his face drained of all color.

"Did you tell him you're my boyfriend?" I glared at Juan.

"He wasn't going to leave you alone," he mumbled. "Em, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm just trying to have fun," I sighed, pouring myself another shot of the first bottle my hand came in contact with.

His fingers poked around my jaw. "Is that blood on your neck?"

"Pablo's blood," I tutted, and swatted his hand away. "It's fine."

"Oh God, you sound just like him," he muttered with a soft frown. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we just had a small fight."

"About me?"

I rolled my eyes. "Not everything is about you, John Glade."

"Right. I just wanted to make sure he didn't know about– about what we did yesterday," he stammered, swallowing the lump in his throat. "And I wanted to apologize for that, too."

"Whatever, worse things have happened," I groaned, before I downed my drink in a single gulp. "Let's go dance."

"Are you drunk?"

"When am I not drunk, Juan?" I sighed. "Anyways, I'm going to dance, now. You do you."

I slipped into the crowd where it was thickest, pushing my way between dancing people and women wearing not much more than a small thong, hoping that if I got far enough, I'd end up getting rid of Juan, who was keeping a close eye on me. I didn't need a chaperone.

Some girl poured liquor into my mouth, straight from the bottle, as five people cheered me on, counting down for ten seconds. Some of the alcohol dribbled out of my mouth, wiping away the bloody handprint Pablo had left on my neck.

Hordes of partygoers heated the dancefloor like the firepits of Hell, and soon my entire body was glistening with sweat. Thankfully the stench of perspiration was drowned out by thick clouds of smoke, tobacco, marijuana, and any other herb humans could set fire to.

My heartbeat synchronized with the music, and some songs made it hard to breathe, but when I gasped for air, I pretended I was only screaming out the lyrics. I couldn't feel my arms or legs, and let myself float away in the ocean of people, carried around by waves of moving masses.

Something grabbed me by the stomach, and pulled me out of the crowd. Without the pressure of a hundred dancers to hold me up, I fell to the ground.

"Are you alright?" Juan shouted over the music. "You look really pale."

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I was laying in the grass, or why the night sky was bright pink, or why Juan was standing upside down.

"I'm Hungarian, it's genetic," I drawled as I sat up.

"You're not–"

I shushed him with a finger on his lips, and gently patted his cheek.

"Are you on drugs again?" he groused.

"Yup," I replied with a smug grin, softly punching the side of my own head as if it would make the world stop spinning.

"I'm going to get Pablo," he muttered.

"Party pooper," I spat.

I rolled my eyes as he walked away and once he was out of sight, I went to grab some pizza. I sat in a garden chair, just to take a quick break, but somehow found myself sprawled out on the ground again. I ate the pizza anyway, and chased it down with a glass of rum and another pill from my pocket, because I could feel the high was coming down.

Although I was blinded by the bright lights that kept shining and twirling, I looked around the garden to check if anyone else was coming to bother me. Staring for too long must have tired out my eyes, because all I could see was a colorful blur. I followed the music and stood where it was loudest, and I kept on dancing, no matter how often I hit myself on objects. I bumped into so many people that it started to feel deliberate.

The party was wild. I'd never seen so many bottles in my entire life, and alcohol flowed like a river on a rainy day. Everywhere I looked, when I was conscious enough for my eyes to focus, I'd see someone take another shot, snorting a line of powder, another hand slapping another ass. Bare skin, butts shaking, dripping with sweat or liquor. Someone falling over, a punch in the face, mouths wide open with hysterical laughter.

I traded some of my pills for a pack of cigarettes, and burnt the tip of my nose when I tried to light one. Someone offered me cocaine, and burst out laughing when I answered that I didn't do drugs. I made a bunch of new friends, but could neither hear nor remember their names, so I just made them up as I went. Neither Pablo nor Juan were anywhere to be seen, and I was having the time of my life. I was out of sight, out of mind, out of breath. Oh God.

I fell to my knees on a patch of trampled grass. As I wiped the mud off my hands on the bottom of my dress, someone picked me up. Even though he was standing right in front of me, I couldn't make out the features on his face.

"Emilia, right?" he said. "Are you okay?"

"Do I know you?" I muttered.

"We met yesterday," he chuckled.

"Oh, nice," I breathed out.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he asked me, whispering in my ear.

I shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."

I left the guy and went to dance some more. I danced until I felt I was about to collapse, until my thighs started to shake, and my calves seized up, and my feet cramped. I was so thirsty, my throat was on fire, and my lips were all cracked.

I headed to the bar, but tripped over a garden table I didn't know was there. It wasn't my fault – I wasn't a mess, this garden was. There were so many things laying around here, it was obvious someone was going to get injured if no one cleaned it up. I kicked the table away, and stubbed my pinky toe on its iron-wrought feet.

As I hopped around on my non-injured leg, I bumped into yet another person.

"Are you okay, little bird?" he asked.

"Everyone keeps asking me that," I groaned.

"Probably because you don't look okay," he snorted.

"I feel great," I mumbled.

I held my chest as I sucked in a painful breath. The man handed me a glass of cold water, and I smiled at him as I drank it. My sight was too blurry for me to recognize his face, and I couldn't tell if we'd ever met. All I could see were his two deep grey irises, staring at me, devouring me.

"You have beautiful eyes," I slurred, wiping off the water that had dribbled from my lips down to my chest.

"You think so?"

"Help me with something," I murmured in his ear, as my fingertip traced a line down his chest. "I need to make somebody jealous."

My eyes could only focus on the way he licked his lips, and how they curled up into a handsome grin.

"That sounds like a great idea," he snickered. "How can I–"

Before he could say something that would turn me off, like drunk men often did, I shut him up with a kiss.

His hand hiked up my skirt as I wrapped one leg around his hip. I tried not to wince as his tongue pushed its way between my teeth. My back hit the edge of the bar, knocking over someone's drink. Someone laughed, somebody gasped, and I pulled myself away from the man.

"Thanks," I whispered, before I winked at him and skipped back towards the crowd.

"Em, what is wrong with you?" shouted Juan, who'd suddenly materialized before me.

"That guy's spit tastes like rocket fuel and I can't get it out of my mouth," I grimaced. "I need another drink."

"Well, you are walking away from the bar, and besides, you don't need another drink. You need to wake the fuck up," he cried, as he grabbed my shoulders and shook me back and forth. "You're a fucking dumbass, I hope you realize that. Why did you kiss him?"

"Oh, that guy?" I shrugged. "I don't regret it. He wasn't a bad kisser. He just needs to brush his teeth."

He brought his face closer to me, and his dark eyes stared right into mine. They were gleaming with anger, but widened in panic. I didn't know what all this fuss was about, because obviously, none of this was a big deal.

"Em, you just made out with my dad."

"That was your Dad?" I frowned.

"Yes it was," he screamed. "Hernan Sandoval? Does that ring a bell? You've met him several times. You made out with my Dad, Em. Why the fuck would you do that?"

Juan took his hands off of my shoulders and slapped them on his forehead. Right in time, I thought, because all the shaking was starting to make me nauseous.

"Oh my God, am I going to get chlamydia?" I squeaked.

"That's not the fucking problem, Em," he yelled. "Pablo saw the whole thing. He was right behind the goddamn bar."

"That was the whole point," I muttered. "How did he react?"

"He's very calm and quiet, which is fucking terrifying," Juan breathed.

"That's weird," I mumbled. "I was hoping he'd get mad. I'll just go talk to him."

"And make things worse?" he shrieked as he tried to hold me back. "Em, do you want to die?"

"Sometimes I do," I grunted, wiggling out of Juan's grasp.

Once I'd started looking for Pablo, it was easy to find him. He was sitting on one of the chairs next to the bar, twirling the ice at the bottom of an empty glass, as the fingers of his other hand gently tapped the holster on his belt.

"Listen here, you motherfucking bitch-hole," I spat, wagging my finger in Pablo's face.

He was staring right through me like he was looking out of a window. It was as if I wasn't there. I squashed my finger on the tip of his nose, and he didn't even flinch. I just wished he would care.

"Listen, Pablo," Juan stammered as he tried to drag me away. "Don't mind her, she's drunk and–"

Pablo looked up, and glared at his godson. "Why do you care about her?"

His voice was poised, and his tone eerily light. Juan froze, and the fingers he'd been digging into my shoulders began to tremble.

"I don't," he answered, his voice calmer than his body felt. "I'm just making sure you don't kill a girl in the middle of a party."

"You're right, thanks for the advice," scoffed Pablo. "I'll wait until tomorrow morning."

"She doesn't know what she's doing," Juan said.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I hissed.

Juan let out a desperate sigh, and Pablo still refused to acknowledge I was there.

"I made out with Hernan because I wanted to hurt you, Pablo. To be honest, I didn't know it was Hernan, I thought it was just a random guy, and frankly I'm so high right now I don't know what is going on," I rambled on. "I just so happened to kiss the one guy I shouldn't have because it's super humiliating for you and he also kind of grosses me out. He tastes like gasoline. It's disgusting. But you know, it was bad luck. Too bad. Oopsie-doopsie, I guess."

"Em, please stop," Juan mumbled, as he buried his face in the palm of his hands.

"But you know why I wanted to hurt you?" I slurred, sipping in deep breaths between every other word. "Because you hurt me. Seeing you with Cassie hurt me. And the reason why it hurt me, is because I love you, Pablo."

Finally, his brown eyes connected with mine, as if he'd finally allowed me to exist again. His lip twitched, but he didn't say anything. Mine quivered, but I didn't cry. We both breathed in, slowly, loudly, but never out.

"I'm just going to leave it at that," I murmured.

I took two steps back, and a dozen blank stares followed me. I turned around and walked away, clutching my own arms and the scars that crossed them.

Once upon a time, my Mother had unwillingly taught me that lies are a precious resource that you need to use strategically. Perhaps the Hell she'd put me through for all these years, even though it was the reason why I was stuck here, might have been the reason I'd be able to see the sun rise once more.

I had never told Pablo that I loved him.

That fact alone was what gave my words all their meaning.

"Em, we need to talk," said Juan, breathless.

"What?" I mumbled.

He said something, but I couldn't hear anything over the sound of a pounding headache and the voices in my brain, whispering to me over and over that it wasn't a lie, that I'd spoken the truth, and the only person I was lying to was myself.

"Are you even listening?" he frowned, catching me by the wrist as I slipped away.

"Why do you keep following me around?" I asked him. "No one is forcing you to be with me all the time, you know."

"I'm just making sure you don't accidentally kill yourself."

"If I kill myself, it wouldn't be accidental," I scoffed.

"Then that's one more reason why I shouldn't leave you alone," he muttered.

I walked back towards the crowd, dragging Juan behind me as if we were shackled together. I just wanted to dance, and forget, leave everything behind and pretend it hadn't happened. I wanted to be mindless again, but when I reached in my pockets, they were empty. Every single pill had been eaten, traded for a cigarette, gifted to a friend, or lost in the grass when I fell over.

But the party went on, and it showed no signs of stopping, so I danced, and twirled, and spun around until everything was a blur. I turned around one more time, and the crowd was gone.

They'd left behind discarded cups, broken bottles, empty packs of cigarettes and tattered clothes lying in the grass, two sleeping girls passed out on a sunbed, and Juan, still awake, sitting in a chair.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"The party's over, Em," he grumbled. "It ended a while ago."

"Boring," I moaned. "What now? Wanna watch the sunrise?"

He nodded, and we walked over to a cleaner corner of the garden, one that had a nice view over the jungle, that stretched all the way to the horizon. Juan held me by the wrist –to stop me from falling over, he said– and I squeezed the tip of his fingers in the palm of my hand.

He threw his jacket on the ground so that we wouldn't have to sit on the dewy grass. I lay down, grateful that I could rest my sore legs and heavy head, and finally take a deep breath. I'd wreaked havoc all night, popping pills like candy, grinding against strangers and making out with Hernan Sandoval, and somehow I'd gotten away with it for long enough that I got to live at least another day.

Juan stared at the ground, pulling out blades of grass, picking flowers and ripping off their petals. I gawked at the sky, it's colors changing as the sun rose and the morning breeze molded the pink and golden clouds.

"It's really pretty," I whispered.

"Yeah," answered Juan. "It is."

I turned around to look at him. There was a faint smile on his face as he stared right at me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, as he put his hand on my forehead.

"Pablo's right," I mumbled, ducking my head. "Why do you care so much about me?"

Juan shrugged, and quietly nibbled his bottom lip. He stared at the red sun as it climbed up on the horizon.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "At first, I didn't think I would, but then I got to know you, and I guess, you know, you're cool."

"I don't think I'm cool."

"Last night you weren't, I'll give you that, but when you're not acting fucking insane, you are. You're fun to be around," he chuckled softly. "Remember the spy thing? That was funny. Sometimes I randomly think of your compowder and burst out laughing."

"But you did successfully neutralize my recording device," I snickered.

"Yeah, that still feels embarrassing," he mumbled. "You know, at first I thought you were kind of a bitch, but the more I know you, the more I like you. You're a nice girl. You're a good friend. That's why I care."

"I guess having to keep all these secrets together is what brings us closer," I sighed, and rested my head on his shoulder.

"Think you can keep one more secret?" he asked, his voice suddenly hushed.

"What is it?"

"It's not a secret I can tell."

"That doesn't make any sense," I frowned. 

Juan gulped, and stayed quiet.

"Anyways, I think if I hear one more secret I'll just self-implode." I mimed an explosion, and the sound of flesh splattering all over the place. Juan nodded, his lips a straight line.

I yawned. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Final-fucking-ly," he muttered. "Should I walk you back?"

"I'll be fine," I answered. "Thanks for making sure I didn't die. You did a great job."

"You're welcome," he mumbled, and waved goodbye as I stood up and left.

I went back to the bedroom. It seemed soft and peaceful, now that it was bathed in the cool light of dawn. The floor had been cleaned, the drawer was fixed, and the bedsheets seemed to have been changed, since they were free of any blood stains. Pablo was laying in bed, wrapped in the covers, snoring loudly.

I slipped under the sheets, but couldn't close my eyes. I could hear distant whispers in my head, and my heart still bouncing to the rhythm of a song that had stopped playing a while ago. I kept wondering how long I'd spent in this whirlwind trance.

A day ago, Pablo had gotten me flowers. They were still there, on top of the bedside table, but they had already withered away.