Page 17 of Trapped

I hear a sigh and turn my head toward Ariella, who is stabbing her fork into her salad like she’s a green leaf serial killer. She’s spent all day moping around the office. Her hair is in a messy bun at the top of her head with pink-rimmed glasses. I stare down at the fashionista’s outfit of the day and find she replaced it with a pair of sweatpants, andwait, are those Crocs?My brows bunch, and I shake the expression before she notices my appall.

“What’s wrong, flaca?” I say, using her childhood nicknamefor extra comfort. She could be depressed. And not because she’s wearing Crocs, but her energy. It’s off. She doesn’t look at me and continues to stare out the window behind me. I look over to see if I’m missing something.

“Is it crazy I miss my parents?” she asks.

“No. You’ve spent your whole life in California, and you’ve only been in Houston for three months.”

“I know. I guess I just envisioned it differently. I thought I would come here and make all these friends, find all these hobbies, and just sort of let loose. Be my own person, like you.” She sighs and continues to stab at the remaining pieces of lettuce.

“You don’t have to make friends to let loose.” I walk toward her, forcing her eyes to return to me. “I’m still trying to figure out who I am, too.” She nods, and her eyes go soft.

“Do you remember when you came to live with us?” Her question is a small whisper. My dirty secret. Slowly, I nod my head as I stare into her green eyes. We have never spoken of that time. It was a time my family chose to ignore that I existed all together—a time we all pretend never happened. Another lie that threatens to unravel everything my grandfather worked for, everything he sacrificed for us.

“Thalia.” Patricio stands before me, outside my bedroom. I haven’t left it in months. Not since the news broke of Silas’s death. I am in a different state, a different home, and separated from everything I have ever known.

It’s crazy how life could change in an instant. One minute, I’m going to school, trying to push through the drama of high school, and the next, I’m hiding out in case my husband’s family wants to retaliate.

Days pass, and all I see are the news articles. An entire bus bombed fifty miles outside the prison. Nothing remained of thebodies. Nothing remains of my soul. My throat stops working. If I open my mouth to talk, the tears will start again.

“Thalia,” Patricio says again, and I look up at him. “Mija, this is only temporary. I promise.” I lie there in the bed, numb to it all. The hours pass, and once again, it’s nighttime. I tiptoe into Ariella’s room and slide in next to her. I am afraid of sleeping alone.

She hugs me tight, and I cry into her. She may be younger than me, but she is the one helping me keep it together. I am utterly alone and afraid. Months have passed, and I know something is wrong. Something is changing in me. She strokes my hair until she falls asleep, and then I release the fear that has been plaguing me into the empty night.

“I think I’m pregnant,” I whisper.

Patricio was wrong that day. Nothing was temporary. That scared girl is still trapped inside me. She is the driving force behind the very essence of who I have become.

“I always thought you were so brave,” Ariella says, breaking the silence lingering between us.

“Thalia, I’m scared,” she says, and silent tears break loose from her.

“Scared of what?” She stands and paces the room a few times before moving to open her desk drawer. She pulls out a small envelope and hands it to me with shaky hands.

“It got here this morning before you got here, and I didn’t know what to do with it.”

When I open the envelope, my heart rate accelerates at the image. It is an old news clipping.

My eyes roam the familiar news article. I skim over every name until I see the one that haunts me.Silas Macias, dead at eighteen years old. Son of Esteban and Josefina Macias.It still feels like yesterday when I saw the coverage. When my world stopped turning. It doesn’t make sense why it hurts. Convincing someone why your heart desired something unattainable never did. I try to remind myself what my therapist had said. It was all a delusion. I didn’t know him for very long. I didn’t know him enough to love him. And yet my poor heart, to this day, can not be persuaded. We don’t determine the way our hearts respond to love or set the regulations of time. The heart does.

Paperclipped to the article is a picture. My knuckles turn white around my grip on it. Staring up at me is a little girl in her school uniform. I immediately recognize those midnight eyes. They are the same tiny eyes that looked up at me when I held her in my arms, when Patricio came to take her away from me, to place her in her new mother’s arms. Those eyes, so similar to Silas’s, have haunted me in my sleep. Nausea hits my core, and my hands begin to shake when I see the man next to her in the photo. I recognize the patch he’s wearing immediately. Los Bandoleros.They found her.

I haven’t left my office since I saw the picture. Night has fallen. I stare out my office window, taking in the Houston night sky. Everyone is talking, but I don’t hear a fucking thing. I’m lost in my fear and confusion. I am too exhausted to even cry. What will crying do, anyway?

“There were cameras in her room!” Patricio yells. He and Enrique have gone round after round.

“You didn’t want to hire more security guards when I told you we clearly needed more!” Enrique is in his face, and Adrian tries to play Switzerland.

“Someone has to be working from inside the hotel for Los Bandoleros.” His legs and arms are crossed on the sofa next to me. He bangs the back of his head into the wall in nervous repetition.

“If there’s a threat, you need to get Olivia and the kids out of here,” I say calmly. They all look at me. It’s the first time I’ve said anything since I had called Patricio into my office and showed him the newest threat. If someone wants to take me out, fine. They can get in line behind all the otherhijos de la chingadawho want my head. What they will not do is target the people I love. I won’t let them get hurt in the crossfire.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“There’s plenty of room at Patricio’s.” I look at my uncle, and he nods in confirmation. “Olivia can take the kids there, and I will stay here.”

“Thalia, no,” Patricio pleads, and I hold out my hand to him.

“Ariella can stay with my abuelo,” I continue with my plan to protect this family.

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