GRINGA (40 page)

             
I slam back into my seat. ‘Wh
en I was little, I
always wished him dead.’

             
‘Senorita, that’s your father …’

             
‘Then I would have been
an orphan
, Marcus. You see, people hurt orphans all the times. But it’s
acceptable
to be hurt that way – sort of
expected.
When your own flesh and blood hurts you, it’s deep. Really deep. You never get over it.
That sense of helplessness
…
abandonment
…it stays and lives with you
forever.
’

             
‘We’re home Senorita,’ Marcus says. ‘
This
is home now.’

    
             
I look out the window and see
Diago and Senor Vito standing in the courtyard. Nearby are Maria and Rosa.

             
‘Damn! I don’t want to see them,’ I say, but Marcus is already opening the door for me.

             
Diago’s eyes lights up when he sees me. ‘Finish shopping so quickly?’ he asks in perfect English, eliciting a pleased nod from Senor Vito.

             
I try to smile, but I’m unable to carry it off.

             
When they
notice my tear stained face
they
turn to Marcus, their eyes demanding, accusing.

             
‘No!’ Marcus says. ‘I do nothing to her.’

             
I turn and walk to my room while they corner Marcus for an explanation.

             
I crawl under
my bedcovers
and weep. Nobody in this world cares about me, not even my own father. Now that everyone in the
village
of
Siempre
is safe, they gave a crap about me. I hate them all for making me feel so superfluous, so unwanted, so insignificant - the story of my life. I hate Elaine and I hate
Paris
for their success in making me feel this way. But most of all, I hate my father for not caring enough, for making me feel unworthy.

             
Diago
is
better off than me. Strangers hurt him because his parents
weren’t
around to stop them. My father was around but his obsession with Elaine prevented him from caring.
So
I was stuck inside
a
nightmare of a life for so long. I lived in
Paris
’s shadow. Nobody saw me, nobody heard me
,
nobody cared. It was so hard being young, carefree
- hard
being me.
Had to become someone else to cope.

Now, they were doing it again and I’m mad. Mad at myself mainly. How could I allow myself to feel this this pain, this sadness again?
Damn!
What about the promise I made to myself
that I would
never to allow anyone to hurt me again?
The promise I made to myself when I was nine?

             
My head hurts and I free my hair from the tight ponytail. My hair is long now but it wasn’t always.
Elaine always
had my
hair cut, saying it was too unruly or it made me too hot and eventually she told everyone I preferred short hair.

             
Paris
on the other hand had beautiful, blond, waist-length, shining hair. I envied her and her porcelain-doll looks.

             
Now, I no longer cut my hair. It’s
almost
waist-length and
sort of
shiny, like
Paris
’s. I will not cut it as a silent protest against Elaine refusal to let me be a normal little girl with bangs and braids and curls – all the stuff little girls do to their hair.

             
I seldom delve on my past – too much pain. But now, I feel sorry for the little girl in me. How I wish I could protect her then
.

             
Time to cut
out
the poison
,
end the hurt. So what if I loved Liam? He’s not
my
child. I can forget him. I’m strong
,
capable, a
tough chick.

             
Then why the hell is it hurting so much?

    
             
I toy with the idea of just running away, leaving the ranch. Then everybody will have to face Diago and Christa. The thought of that is so unpleasant; I quickly abandon the idea. There’s no way I can do something like that, no matter how mad I’m with them.

    
             
It’s dinner time and I’m already at the dinner table. I didn’t wait to be called today. Diago’s
last to arrive as he’s just said goodbye to Senor Vito. On his way to his chair, he stops next to me and squeezes my shoulder.

             
I
grimace a smile.
  

After dinner, I walk to the cliff to watch the
molasses
and lavender sky. Most evenings, the sun only sets a
round
nine at night. Tonight, I sit on a large rock and resume my pity party.

    
             
I hear a sound and look up. Diago is looking down at me, his eyes brimming with questions, a shawl in his hand. A shawl - his thoughtfulness bring a lump to my throat. I move up and he accepts my nonverbal invitation to sit next to me. Without a word, he drapes the shawl around my shoulders and draws me to him.

    
             
Under normal circumstances I might stiffen
at his touch
, but right now, I have a need to be held and without a thought, I nestle into him. There’s this familiar smell of tobacco, coupled with the scent of his aftershave, which he now wears everyday –
that’s
comforting today. 

    
             
Feeling warm and safe, I rest my head on his chest. We sit like this for about an hour in silence, watching the sunset. The beast, the animal, the devil who shot me three times and threw me
over the cliff is comforting me,
while my so called family and friends, who I sacrificed my life for, are planning an enormous party for my only nephew without me.
Irony can be so, well, i
ronical.

    
             
Finally, it’s time to go. He stands up and holds out of his arm to me. I silently take it and we walk hand-in-hand to the ranch. After a while, I hold his arm with both of mine.

             
‘
Gracias
,’ I
whisper
outside my door.

             
He
smiles
, tips my nose with his index finger and leaves. I’m thankful that he’s not taking advantage of my vulnerability
and asking to come in
. 

CHAPTER TEN

To forget my family and to avoid thinking of the upcoming Christening, I busy myself by learning
a myriad of things.
Dabbling, more like it.

             
First: how to ride a horse. Not just riding
,
but kick-ass riding. Like Santana - after watching her skilfully handle a horse and how amazing she looks when she rides, I secretly want to ride like her and perhaps eventually outshine her as a rider. Fat chance of that, but a girl can dream, right?

             
Diablo approaches me. ‘
So, y
ou want to ride?’

             
‘Yeah …well, I’m kinda learn …’

             
‘Ride then. What is stopping you?’

    
             
‘Eh, like, I’m
a bit
scared of horses
?
’ 

    
             
He
snorts
. ‘Scared? You? I show you then.’    

  
             
A short while later, our lesson begins. It doesn’t go down too well, because he’s an expert rider, having ridden since he was six and an impatient teacher, refusing to accept my self-imposed limitations.

    
             
‘Is easy, see?’ 

     
             
‘Wait Diago!’ I shout when he shoves me onto the horse. ‘I’m scared, remember?’

    
             
He pushes me harder. ‘Pretend you have a glass of Vodka iiiin your hands and you don’t want to spiiiill it,
si
? That
’
s how you hold the reins,
si
?’

    
             
That gets me. I don’t want to spill
any
v
odka whatsoever, so I perfect the holding of the reins in no time.

    
             
He slaps his chest and says, ‘Puuush this forward,
si
?’ 

    
             
I thrust my breasts forward and elicit a chuckle out of him. ‘I can do that, see?’

             
And just like that, I’m riding and loving it. But I’m nowhere as good as Santana. And when Santana sees me learning how to ride, she get on her horse and begins showing off. I don’t want to look stupid so I
immediately
quit whenever she’s around. 

Shooting fascinates me. I’m going to work in Law Enforcement one day, so that fascination comes in handy. I’m watching the men shoot clay pigeons. The men are good, but Diago is excellent and when he sees me watching, he shows of
and hits more targets
. When he catches my eye, I raise my eyebrows
and nod
. He smiles and flicks his index finger at me.