I sigh and smile into my pillow as I picture the confrontation between him and mama. She'd made only one protest and then he'd swept her away by both dogged determination and charm, assuring her that his intentions were honourable; that he wanted to marry me the moment we could find a church. A warm rush of feeling had swept over me as I'd listened to him speak to my only living relative. Logical arguments had popped up in my brain, but each time I tried to fight with myself, my gaze was drawn back to him. I couldn't believe my luck. Couldn't believe a man like this wanted a girl like me. I came from nothing, living like a pauper, on my wits and will alone. It amazed me that a man as good looking and connected as Andres could possibly want me for more than a good night's fuck. And I'd done exactly what I'd sworn never to do, given up the goods at the blink of an eye. I thought I would come back home to my small town with my small, lonely life and stay here until I died. I never thoug

His scent fills my mind, teasing my senses, and sending me into a spiral of confusion. Andres usually represents safety, love, strength and so much more. I know he's here to murder me, to torture and hurt me, but my body wants to sink into him, to cling to his hard body and beg him to hold me. Andres is like coming home. There's just something about him that I recognize on a deep, subconscious level.Once the other boat pulls away he lets go of me as though he can't stand to touch me. I sink to the deck, my shaky legs unable to hold my weight up. I crawl to the other side and watch as the boat holding my children grows distant, tears pouring down my cheeks. I don't bother to check them. There's no point. This is probably the last time I'll see Cristo and Sola; my heart is breaking.I hear a splash and look over. The body of the captain is gone. I assume Andres has just thrown him into the ocean. I shudder, imagining it could have just as easily been me, except Andres will want to kee

We land just as morning begins to light the sky, splashing colours of orange and red across the clouds while we descend. I lean as much as I dare in my seat, trying to see where we are. I woke up several minutes ago, completely disoriented, without a clue as to how long we've been flying. I know I can't ask Andres where our destination is. One glance at him tells me he has sunk into a deep, angry silence. I'm not willing to draw his attention back to me. Not yet.There's too much cloud cover for me to see where we are. The plane lands with a bounce and swiftly taxis to a stop. Before I have a chance to move, Andres unbuckles my seatbelt and pulls me out of my chair. I lurch to my feet and follow him to the door, smothering a yawn.A flight attendant stands beside the airplane door, awaiting the pilot's go ahead to open it. She glances at me, disdain bright in her pretty blue eyes as she sweeps a glance over me from head to toe, stopping on my bare feet. I narrow my eyes, giving her m

The cool water hits my body, shocking me. I swipe at the tears and try to take calming breaths, shivering under the cold spray. Gradually the sobs die away and the tightness in my chest begins to ease. I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers wrapped around each bicep and I drop my head, allowing the water to rain down over my head. Even cold, it's better than nothing. This is what I do when whenever the world feels like it's closing in, like it's becoming too much for me. I stand in the shower and allow it to wash away my burdens. I cry out my misery and loneliness where only the water can hear. Only Andres knows my secret. He knows that I seek the comfort of water when I'm sad. Did he do this on purpose? Bring me to the shower when I was at my lowest point because he knew it would bring me comfort? I'm reminded of my mother's death three years ago, the helpless misery I felt as I watched her fade as cancer ate away at her. Each day I would make the trek home from the hospital and

I give my head a slight shake and put my spoon in the bowl, tasting the surprisingly good soup. It's basic canned chicken gumbo, but she's added some kind of seasoning to spruce it up. The beans go oddly well with it and fill my empty belly. I finish my plate, help myself to the leftovers and eat until I'm satisfied. I drain my glass of juice, enjoying the sweet, slightly tart taste. Only after I've set the glass on the table do I remember that I've hurt her arm. I open my mouth to ask about the injury, but I stop myself. I don't want to give her the impression that I care more than I should, give her hope. She can't build the expectation that our interlude here will end in any way other than her death. The bleak thought dampens the pleasantly full feeling of our meal. My gaze lingers on her arm, but I can't tell if it's bothering her. Her flawless Latina skin is covering any bruising that might be there and it doesn't look swollen. If the injury pains her then she's hiding it. I sho