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I moved them, tentatively at first, relief inside mixing with my grief as the ticking clock of my watch melted into the night.
It had happened unexpectedly.
I was eating tacos and drinking a jalapeño margarita, the sound of the ocean’s lapping waves in the background.
A sound caught my attention: laughter.
It was light and airy and the only reason why I even heard it was because there was an all too familiar undertone to it: fear.
The sound wasn't genuine, but born from a fear too strong to contain it.
My insides slithered, warning bells tolling inside my mind.
The couple was entertaining three men in suits a few tables from mine.
I watched the entire display with hypnotic attention. A hand on her mid-back, fingers clenching into the skin of her thigh, a warning glance.
She continually looked to him:am I doing this right?her eyes seemed to say.
His only response, a meaningful pinch when she hadn't.
The meeting continued, the attention of the three men beginning to wane and drift to the woman as the alcohol flowed, and yet, the man seemed to grow angrier and more possessive of her.
It was all too familiar.
You can look, but don't touch.
This one belongs to me, even if she doesn't want it.
"Excuse me," the woman stood up. "I need to use the restroom."
"Sit down." A low growl, the man clasping her arm tight, sliding down to her thigh roughly, even though she'd immediately sat. He moved towards her ear, whispering, the menace clear from where I sat.
Her downward glance, her face falling, the curling inward of her shoulders.
Now that I was looking, I could see the marks on her skin, silvery and thin. Red and rash.
The signs of abuse.
His complete and utter dominance over her body, her mind.
Sit down,Manuel's voice in my mind. Still lingering like a phantom ghost.
He was right.
Hewouldhaunt me for the rest of my life.
I'd jerked to my feet, a wave of emotion washing over me. Tears prickling my eyes, my whole body shaking. I rushed to the bathroom, my insides heaving, my whole world honing in on the moment as memories slammed into me.
Sit down, punta.It had been a favorite phrase of his. I couldn't take a piss when I wanted, or get a drink of water. Be the perfect, submissive wife.
Don't move. Don't touch. Don't think. Don't do anything without his permission first.
Tears sprang to my eyes, overflowing. Sobbing wrenched from my body.When would this ever stop?These emotions inside.
He was dead, dead, dead, and yet, my body, my mind, didn't know that.
I pressed my face to the dirty floor, sobbing,cry it out,my therapist told me.Release the trauma.