I’m in a cell with an uncomfortable looking cot, a basin and a toilet with no lid. I’ve seen enough TV to realise I’ve probably been put in solitary.But why?Had my cellmate complained I was crying too much? That would be unfair, she wasn’t unknown for tears herself. Surely that’s not it.Why am I here?
Sitting on the bed, I wipe away fresh tears. It’s the shame of not knowing, of not being able to understand. I’m being punished for a crime I didn’t do. But no one cares, do they?
Eventually the bolt sounds again, and two men enter. One is the guard who called me over to the fence. One look at his face and it’s clear he’s come to collect.Oh God. No.
Holding my hands up in front of me, I inch backward, my progress halted by the low bed. “What do you want with me?” My voice sounds weak.
“I think you know exactly what I want,puta.”
I might not know many Spanish words, but I know that. “I’m no whore,” I spit out, as forcefully as I can, but manage little more than a squeak.
He shrugs, and his hands go to his belt. “Whatever. You’ll be giving it up.”
He’s going to force me.No. No, he’s not. I’m not giving in. I ignore the man standing outside the door, presumably on guard in case anyone comes along.I can’t let him do this. It’s not his to take.
Belt undone, he starts to unzip his fly. “On the bed,puta.Make this easy on yourself.”
That word again. It makes me see red. Going on the offensive I fly at him, my nails raking down his face leaving marks, blood welling in their wake.
“Bitch!” he shouts, and backhands me, sending me flying.
My eyes open and horrified, I put my hand to my lip that’s already swelling. Pulling it away, my own blood shines red on my fingers.
“Shit.” The other man looks into the room. “Bert, you shouldn’t have done that.”
With a hand to his bleeding face, Bert steps out into the corridor where they have a whispered conversation, grunts and growls showing they’re not too pleased with the situation, while I sit wondering what they’re going to do next, my heart pounding, pulse racing.I’ll fight again.I’d rather die than be raped.
After their altercation, the one not named Bert steps in, his face glowing red. “You fucking fell, got it? Anyone asks, you’re a fucking clumsy bitch and you slipped and fell, okay?”
I’ll make sure to tell my lawyer and Tse the truth.Exactly who hurt me.
Suddenly one corner of his mouth turns up. “If you’d done what we said? You’d be back in your cell after a good fucking. You’ve gone and attacked a guard now, so now you’re gonna have to stay in solitary. Serves you right. Fucking bitch.”
I was protecting myself.I can’t stay here. Tse and Drew are visiting the day after next. “How long?” There’s no point in protesting, I can see that.
“Two weeks,” the guard proclaims, unsympathetically.
Again, my hand goes to my sore mouth, this time to cover my gasp. “I’ve got visitors…”
“Ain’t gonna be no visits for you.” He steps out, pulling the door closed as he goes. I can just make out the words, “Come on, Bert, better get those scratches disinfected,” before it slams shut completely.
Two weeks. Two weeks on my own. No visits to look forward to. No answers to my questions about Drew.Just alone with my terror that these two men are going to come back.
“Noooooooooooo!” I scream.
Chapter 15
Mouse
Being unable to see Mariana plays on my mind, and so does my responsibility for her brother. Part of me worries it was wrong to leave him as I did, but what else could I have done? I admit it was a knee-jerk reaction to have him someplace safe, but I’m concerned about him. Selfishly, I’d like him closer. He’s the only one who knows what we’re fighting, as I still haven’t let my brothers in on my problem.
Would they care?It’s hard to know if they’d be concerned about an illegal immigrant. They’d have my back, but hers? Would they understand why I’m so committed to Mariana, when I barely know her? Being unable to explain my feelings to myself, I can’t find the words to confide in my brothers.
I’m frustrated when Drew’s obviously out of the range of a cell tower. I call a number of times to check he’s okay, but the call never gets through. I’m beyond relieved when he does eventually answer. Our subsequent conversation reassuring me that apart from being worried sick about his sister, he seems to have adapted to life on the Rez better than I had done when I’d first arrived all those years ago. I suppose I was reluctant to see it as anything other than an unwelcome change to my all-American boy’s life in Tucson, and still reeling from the death of my father. Drew is treating it more like a temporary adventure. Still hanging on to the hope that Mariana will walk free again, and that he’ll return to live with his sister.
Having never been responsible for a kid, I find I’m choosing my words carefully, not giving him false hope, but downplaying my own fears about why his sister’s being kept in solitary. I don’t tell him Carissa’s assumption that they might be about to move her.
Ending the call with the promise I’ll tell him the moment I hear anything, I take a long drag on my joint, but even my drug of choice doesn’t do much to relax me.
