crying. I refuse to look at him.
Leave! Leave! Don’t see me so crushed, so shattered. Please. Please ... please ...
Finally, he has succeeded in breaking me.
As he gets dressed he stares at me sobbing. After a while, he begins walking out . At the door, he stops and turns to look at me again. He scratches his head and leaves.
My hatred for him soars and coils around my heart and threatens to squeeze the life out of me.
21 July 2002 7 AM
Don’t want to see my family anymore.
Don’t want to get dressed.
Want to sleep and sleep and sleep and never wake up.
I t hurt s like hell – emotionally, physically. Want to take his knife and plunge it into his neck over and over again and watch his pathetic life ooze out of his scarred and unsightly body. Want to hack at him until he lies in a pool of blood at my feet. Want to castrate him and let him bleed to death for violating me. Want to use the flamethrower on him.
Previous tears were from emotional pain; today, it’s physical and emotional – helplessness. Hopelessness. Pained and shamed.
Diablo must die!
Diablo must die!
Diablo must die!
I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling when Rosa enters my room. ‘Senorita, Marcus, he here to take you - see your family.’
Marcus is the ranch hand assigned to drive me to Siempre. Since I can drive myself, I suspect he’s there to keep an eye on me.
I can’t seem to get out of bed. My head throbs, my eyes are burning and I just don’t have the energy to stand up. ‘Tell him , I’m not going . ’
She takes in my swollen eyelids and blotchy face and strokes my forehead gently. Since she doesn’t ask why I’m crying, I assume she heard m y scream s last night.
Without a word she leaves my room. I hear voices outside my door – hers and Diablo’s.
Five minutes later she re-enters my room. Before she shuts the door, I catch a glimpse of Diablo standing outside my room, craning his neck to look at me .
Our eyes meet for a moment before I turn my face away.
Rosa sits on the edge of my bed and says, ‘You r family, they will be worried about you, Diablo say.’
I stare silently at the ceiling. I don’t even want to hear his name right now.
‘I bring you coffee, you feel better,’ she says, stroking my arm. ‘Coffee and shower always make me feel better, ’ member?’
I shake my head from side-to-side.
‘You mus t go. Maybe Diablo change his mind then …’
She’s right. It might be the only chance I have of seeing my family.
‘Come.’ She takes my hand and leads me to the shower.
I do feel a little better after the shower. Just a little. The coffee helps too. I look at myself in the mirror - my face is puffy, my eyes are swollen but mere slits, my nose is bulbous and my head is pounding from all the crying. The last thing I want to do right now is to see anyone. But I force myself to dress, brush my hair, look presentable.
Before long, we are heading to Siempre.
We drive in silence and I psych myself into appearing cheerful and together for my visit. No-one really cares how I feel, so what’s the use of crying in front of them. Crying will only blow my cover. I’m supposed to be fearless, angry, bad-ass Payton, remember? Not, shattered, depressed, suicidal
Leave! Leave! Don’t see me so crushed, so shattered. Please. Please ... please ...
Finally, he has succeeded in breaking me.
As he gets dressed he stares at me sobbing. After a while, he begins walking out . At the door, he stops and turns to look at me again. He scratches his head and leaves.
My hatred for him soars and coils around my heart and threatens to squeeze the life out of me.
21 July 2002 7 AM
Don’t want to see my family anymore.
Don’t want to get dressed.
Want to sleep and sleep and sleep and never wake up.
I t hurt s like hell – emotionally, physically. Want to take his knife and plunge it into his neck over and over again and watch his pathetic life ooze out of his scarred and unsightly body. Want to hack at him until he lies in a pool of blood at my feet. Want to castrate him and let him bleed to death for violating me. Want to use the flamethrower on him.
Previous tears were from emotional pain; today, it’s physical and emotional – helplessness. Hopelessness. Pained and shamed.
Diablo must die!
Diablo must die!
Diablo must die!
I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling when Rosa enters my room. ‘Senorita, Marcus, he here to take you - see your family.’
Marcus is the ranch hand assigned to drive me to Siempre. Since I can drive myself, I suspect he’s there to keep an eye on me.
I can’t seem to get out of bed. My head throbs, my eyes are burning and I just don’t have the energy to stand up. ‘Tell him , I’m not going . ’
She takes in my swollen eyelids and blotchy face and strokes my forehead gently. Since she doesn’t ask why I’m crying, I assume she heard m y scream s last night.
Without a word she leaves my room. I hear voices outside my door – hers and Diablo’s.
Five minutes later she re-enters my room. Before she shuts the door, I catch a glimpse of Diablo standing outside my room, craning his neck to look at me .
Our eyes meet for a moment before I turn my face away.
Rosa sits on the edge of my bed and says, ‘You r family, they will be worried about you, Diablo say.’
I stare silently at the ceiling. I don’t even want to hear his name right now.
‘I bring you coffee, you feel better,’ she says, stroking my arm. ‘Coffee and shower always make me feel better, ’ member?’
I shake my head from side-to-side.
‘You mus t go. Maybe Diablo change his mind then …’
She’s right. It might be the only chance I have of seeing my family.
‘Come.’ She takes my hand and leads me to the shower.
I do feel a little better after the shower. Just a little. The coffee helps too. I look at myself in the mirror - my face is puffy, my eyes are swollen but mere slits, my nose is bulbous and my head is pounding from all the crying. The last thing I want to do right now is to see anyone. But I force myself to dress, brush my hair, look presentable.
Before long, we are heading to Siempre.
We drive in silence and I psych myself into appearing cheerful and together for my visit. No-one really cares how I feel, so what’s the use of crying in front of them. Crying will only blow my cover. I’m supposed to be fearless, angry, bad-ass Payton, remember? Not, shattered, depressed, suicidal
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