Page 55 of For Cowgirls and Kings
I pause, aching to pick her up and take her as far away from here as I can. I want to protect her from this feeling,this life,but I wouldn’t know where to go. I wouldn’t know how totake care of her, raise her any better than my mother raised me.
In the end, I know my mom is doing what she thinks is right, and I just have to endure that. Even if every cell in my body screams at me to run.
“Mama, mama!” She holds up a small drawing, her face beaming with innocence, and the heat of my mothers gaze lifts from my back, falling on Daniella’s face. My little sister—the whoopsie as my dad calls her, being almost twelve years younger—is the sunshine to my moon, the light to my dark, the good to my bad.
My mom calls her the second chance at getting it right.
Part of me is grateful that my family has a second chance to have the daughter they can be proud of. I clearly never was. But I also want to protect Dani—I know the pressures of those expectations.
“Wow, it’s beautiful, princessa. Just like you!” My mom coos, and it’s enough to sever my mind from my body, allowing me to walk away from the moment that feels pivotal somehow.
Daniella will be okay—she has to be. But I won’t be. Not if I stay here,with her.
February 18th, 2025
Icy water splashes across my face, my heart instantly skyrocketing as I sit up, eyes flying open.
“Keep quiet,” Rafael hisses, his familiar voice filling the hazy early morning light. I groan, leaning forward in the chair,the ropes around my wrists biting against the raw flesh there. I barely feel it though, the adrenaline racing through my veins filling my body with a numbness.
Or maybe that’s just the cold.
But I do as he asks, remaining quiet, as he takes a warm cloth across my face, his tenderness so at odds to the anger radiating off his body. He moves around me, making quick work of my bindings, but I barely move as he frees me, the blood rushing to my fingertips making them tingle.
“We have to hurry. Marco won’t like me cleaning you up.” His voice quivers—with fear or hatred though I can’t tell.
He points toward a bucket near my feet, and a bar of soap, and I instantly know what he’s not saying. The action sends tears racing to my eyelashes, and I furiously blink them away.
Standing for the first time in what feels like years, my muscles instantly seize and I plop back down, the chair creaking beneath me. We cringe in unison, but instead of anger like I expect, Rafael wraps a hand around my bicep, slowly and tenderly helping me stand up. “Slow.”
I nod, not having the strength to disagree as I hobble toward the water. Sinking to my knees, tears threaten my eyes once more as I take the bar of soap between my fingers, only this time I don’t stop them.Why bother?
Silent sobs wrack my body as I scrub the filth from under my nails, washing them over and over in the bucket until the pads of my hands are rosy pink and raw. My mind screams at me to keep scrubbing—maybe if I wash off my skin, I can wash off the memories of the last week with it.
“That’s enough. You’ll have no hands left if you continue,” he hisses, his hand wrapping around my arm to help me up once more. But I shake my head.
“Can I…can I wash my face?” I don’t look at him as the humiliating words tumble from my mouth. What has my life come to that I have to ask someone for such a basic need? And yet, here we are.
His fingers relax and I feel his nod, even without seeing it.
The soap, something harsh only a man would pick out, will surely peel the skin off my face, and even though my inner girl rages at putting something so strong on my skin, the survival part of me is grateful for this small mercy. It’s not great, but it’s better than anything I’ve had.
Once I’ve finished, Rafael extends a small white towel toward me and I take it, reluctantly wiping at my face and hands. What if it still comes off dirty?What if he’s still all over my skin?
But as I pull the cloth away, it’s still white, and a fresh wave of tears presses in.
“We have to hurry, princessa. I brought you water and some food.”
I nod, standing up and quickly walk back to the chair, which I notice is clean—the mess around it, washed away too—and sink back into the unforgiving wood. It’s a simple act, and yet I’ve never been more grateful to another human being in my life.
Why is he helping me?
He hands me a plate of beans and some kind of saucy meat, but I barely notice as his free hand extends a clean fork in my direction. I stare at it for several seconds before he grumbles something unintelligible, placing both items in my lap and stepping backward. With shaky fingers, I grip the utensil, taking the first bite, but barely tasting the rich flavor as I stare at Rafael’s face, his eyes looking anywhere but at me. Breaking the silence, I shift in the chair, and speak between bites, “why’re you guys doing this to me?”
Rafael’s eyes snap to my face, his mouth popping open before slamming shut, clearly thinking better of it. He stares atme for several seconds, his face twisting farther into a scowl with each passing second. Right when I think he’s going to ignore me completely, his eyes flick to the corner of the basement where the hospital bed sits. “They have to pay for what they’ve done to my family.”
“Who?” I plead, my snacks all but forgotten.
But instead of answering this time, he shakes his head, reaching for the food. “The innocent shouldn’t pay for the sins of others, and yet, she didn’t take mercy on him. Marco and Javier feel that we can’t either.”
