Breaking Creed

5

Amanda stared at the television screen as she clutched her stomach. Another luxury hotel. A gorgeous room on the fifteenth floor. Who needed a television in the bathroom? This room was larger than her bedroom at home. It was pristine white, the tiled floor wonderfully cool to the touch. Moments ago she had laid her curled body — fetal-position tight — on the smooth surface, her hot and sweaty cheek flat against the floor. She wished she could stay there forever, but again, the cramps jolted her. That, and Zapata pulling at her, insisting she get up and use the toilet.

“It is time,” the old woman coaxed Amanda, a whispered calm so uncharacteristic that Amanda could hear the strain in Zapata’s voice even as she tried to hide her impatience.

“I hurt so bad,” Amanda said, while her eyes stayed on the television screen and yet another guest was introduced on The View. “It didn’t hurt like this the last time.”

She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to say it out loud, but Amanda worried that one of the balloons had burst inside her. What had happened to Lucía… what if it was happening to her, too? Would Leandro slice open her belly before she was even dead? She couldn’t stop seeing the girl slumped on the floor. She couldn’t stop thinking about the knife in Leandro’s hand. There had been no hesitation. And all that blood. Amanda had never seen anything like it.

“She was a weak girl,” Zapata said suddenly, as if she could hear Amanda’s thoughts. “You must not think about her. You are strong. Much stronger.”

The unexpected compliment pulled Amanda’s attention away from the television to find the old woman’s eyes. They were black stones — cold and hard, which reminded Amanda of the tiled floor, but unlike the tiles, there was absolutely nothing soothing or comforting in Zapata’s eyes.

The old woman held out the drinking glass in her hand, offering it to Amanda as though it were a gift. Amanda had already drunk half a glass of the chalky liquid that she knew was a laxative.

She shook her head. “I’ll puke if I drink any more of that crap.”

Then she saw the flash of anger in the old woman’s eyes — brief and electric, but shockingly powerful — before Zapata realized her mistake and stashed the anger back behind the cold stones.

“Where’s Leandro?” Amanda wanted to know.

The last time, he had been there with her, stroking her back, caressing her sweat-drenched hair away from her face. His whispers had been gentle and sincere as he encouraged and praised her.

“He has other matters to attend to.”

Like getting rid of Lucía’s slashed body.

But again, Amanda didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she bit her lower lip and wrapped her arms tighter around her body as the pain continued to twist her insides into a knot.

“He said he would always be here with me.” She avoided Zapata’s eyes. Actually, Leandro had never said such a thing, but Amanda took comfort in the small lie. She and Leandro had spent many hours alone together. How would the old woman know what had been said?

Zapata turned to leave as she muttered to herself, “Dice muchas cosas.”

Amanda didn’t understand, but from the way the old woman said it, she knew that Leandro would not be coming this time.

She wanted to return to the cold tiled floor. Her eyes found the television screen again. As she slid her body down and curled up against the pain, she watched the handsome man with the little dog take his seat in the middle of the talk-show hosts. The caption at the bottom of the screen identified them as RYDER CREED AND HIS DRUG-DETECTION DOG, GRACE.

The dog sat down at the man’s feet, leaning against him, its tail thumping against the floor. It looked up at the man, almost smiling and definitely happy to be with the man.

Amanda laid her cheek on the cold floor. She closed her eyes as another wave of pain sliced through her stomach, and she thought, That’s all I am, one of Leandro’s dogs.