Page 99 of His to Bedevil

Heading into the closet, I dig out a backpack I ordered online and stuff just a few things in it. Two changes of clean clothes are all I take. I eye the jewelry and debate taking it. I could sell it for some cash. No, fuck it. I’ll figure it out on my own. Always have.

I throw on some leggings, my Elvis T-shirt, and a zip-up hoodie. Putting my Yankees hat on top of my damp hair and my beaded bracelets on my wrists, I sling the backpack over my shoulder and exit the closet.

Looking around, I see some of our wedding photos framed throughout the room. Benita had a bunch of them framed then took it upon herself to place them around the room. I head to each and every one and take the photos out of the frames and tear them in half and chuck them into another trash can. When I get to one that’s just of Alejo and me, I pause. As I look down at it, my heart squeezes in my chest. I’m smiling at the camera, but Alejo is looking down at me. He’s looking at me with such admiration that I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the sob from bursting out. I take a breath and tear it in half like the others. The last photo is just of Benita and me. I pause once again, and this time I fold it up and pocket the picture. None of this is her doing, and I can never hate her. I glance around at all the picture frames still in their place but without photos and give myself a little pat on the back.

Taking one last look around this room, I sneer at it. If I had a match, I would light it and set this place on fire. Burn it to the fucking ground. With Alejo inside.

Before I have any kind of second thoughts, I exit the room and head downstairs. I catch Berto in the foyer heading somewhere and stop him. “Berto,” I snap.

He snaps his head in my direction and frowns. “Irma, what—”

“It’s Fynn. Alejo made me go by Irma, but I’m no longer his. So, call me Fynn or nothing. Please tell Señor Martinez that I’m ready to go.” Without waiting for a response, I spin on my heels and walk over to the bench near the front doors and sit down to wait as if I’m at a bus stop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Berto walk away. I close my eyes and lean my head back, releasing a deep breath.Please don’t let Juanita or Benita or even Lucas see me. Please.I don’t think I can be mean to them, and I don’t want to deal with a long and painful goodbye. I want to stay spiteful and resentful. It’s better than holding back pitiful tears.

A minute later, I hear footsteps, and I can feel Alejo’s presence. A long moment goes by before he speaks. “Is that all you’re taking?”

Opening my eyes, I lean my head forward again, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.Is that really all he has to say?I fight back the burning tears once again. “I figured I’d leave those fancy clothes for your next victim,” I snark.

“I wasn’t planning on taking you for another day or so,” he states.

My eyes finally snap up to his. “I want to leave right now. If you don’t let me, so help me God—”

“Fine,” he snaps through his teeth. “Give me a minute.” He spins around and heads back toward his office.

“Take your time, sweetheart!” I call after him in a sickeningly sweet tone.

Five minutes later, we’re heading out the door to the waiting SUV. He goes to open the door for me, so I go around to the other side and open my own door and slide in. It’s petty, but I can feel him glaring at me from outside the other door and it feels good to agitate him like this. With a growl in the back of his throat, he slides in next to me. I scoot as close as I can to the door and the window. I do not want a single part of him to touch me. I don’t even want to smell him.

We get to the airstrip after a painfully silent car ride, and I throw myself out of the car and head for the plane. I need to get the fuck out of here. I can feel the anger beginning to subside and the anguish beginning to seep in. I can’t break down in front of him. I know I will cry, and when I do, I won’t be able to stop.

I head for the back of the plane and take my seat. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere I can sit that doesn’t have a seat next to it or directly across from it. Alejo predictably sits in the seat across from me, and I glare at him for a long moment then stare out the window before I crack and ask him why he doesn’t love me.

I tune everyone out and keep my eyes fixated on the window. I have no idea where he’s taking me, and I honestly don’t care. I see the ground beginning to move, and a minute later, we’re up in the air. Just like that, we’re leaving Cuba. I gaze down at the clear blue waters and realize how much I’ll miss it. I felt so at home here. Not only that, I felt like I had a family here as well. I fell in love with all of them.

The guilt starts to permeate at not saying goodbye to Benita in person. She called me her daughter and told me I was the daughter she’s always wanted. I check the pocket of my hoodie to make sure I still have the folded piece of paper. When I wrote Alejo a little love note, I took the time to write Benita a goodbye letter that I’ll ask Berto to give to her. When I can get him alone. If Alejo knows about the letter, he’ll insist on reading it first.

Out of my periphery, I see Alejo set something down on the little table in front of me. “It’ll be a while until we get there. I brought your iPod for you.” I have a fucking iPod, since Alejo never allowed me to have a phone.

I ignore him and continue to stare out the window. I don’t move until the stewardess comes by to see if we want anything. I turn toward the woman and give her my most brilliant smile. “I would love a bottle of champagne, please. It is after all a joyous occasion.” I look at Alejo, still grinning. “Isn’t that right, Señor Martinez? You are about to be a free man,” I say sweetly, batting my lashes at him.

Feeling proud of myself, I pick up my iPod. I go to one of my favorite playlists and hit play, cranking the volume up, all the while smirking at Alejo.

The stewardess comes back minutes later with a cart that carries a fancy ice bucket with the champagne bottle and two glasses. She starts to pour a glass, but I stand up from my seat and pluck the bottle from her hand. “I’ll just take the bottle. Thank you.”

The woman looks from me to Alejo, not knowing what to do. He ignores her and stares at me as I lift the bottle to my lips and drink from it. Lowering the bottle, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand then lick my lips. I don’t miss the way his eyes watch the movement. Glancing down, I see that he’s still wearing his wedding band, and it infuriates me.

The stewardess gives Alejo a whiskey and quietly takes her leave. When he brings the glass up to his mouth, I can’t take my eyes off of his ring. How dare he still wear his ring. As if it meant anything to him at all. He’s dissolving our marriage completely, as if it never happened. That ring signifies a lie. It represents pure and utter bullshit.

He’s still watching me as I curl my lips up into a smirk. Rising to my feet, I stalk toward him and stop, propping my hip against the small table. Picking up his left hand, I stick his index finger in my mouth and swirl my tongue around it before gliding it along my tongue and then removing it from my mouth with a pop. His eyes glaze over, and I move on to his middle finger and do the same thing, making sure to keep eye contact with him. “Mi amor, what are you doing?” he murmurs, his words slurring together. I move on to his ring finger and spend extra time on this one. I lube it up nice and good, and then as quickly and as smoothly as I can, I wiggle the ring off of his finger and take off toward the bathroom with it.

Alejandro

Extracting myself from my lust-filled daze, I fumble with my seat belt and go after her. She had a good head start on me, so I catch her by the arm just as she tosses the ring into the toilet and flushes it.

I drop her arm, stunned and gutted. I wasn’t ready to take my ring off. And when I was, I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with it. Now it’s gone. The symbol of our marriage effaced.

Irma shoulders past me as I stand there rooted and static. I knew she would be angry, but I had hoped she would see that this is best for her. She’ll be safe, and she can have her freedom back. She can have her wings back. But it seems like she’s only getting more and more angry with me. Maybe even hating me.

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