365 Days: Drugs, Treason And Demons

DADDY ISSUES

Pablo threw me onto his bed. His soft, warm touch was intoxicating, the smell of his perfume was inebriating. His fingers hastily rode up the hem of my skirt, while mine scrambled to open the last buttons on his shirt. His eyes burned with a feverish passion, and I was no more than a wine-soaked wick.

Our clothes, drenched in rain, stuck to our smoldering bodies, and left little to the imagination about what hid beneath. Yet his wandering hands ran up and down my thighs, still eager to discover what laid under the black silk of my dress.

My fingertips traced down the sides of the subtly defined muscles on his bare chest. My still-muddy toes curled around the bed's pristine white silk sheets. My head was swirling with liquid pleasure. My cheeks were flush with a blazing lust. My chest heaved with deep, lascivious breaths and my lips slowly crept down his jaw, towards the nape of his neck.

Pablo made me feel the way I had craved to feel for years - wanted, admired, worshipped. Through the blurry haze that covered my eyes, I could see him lick his lips like a famished dog staring at an unsupervised steak on a barbecue. For once, I wasn't the invisible, less-attractive friend who fades into the background of every picture. I was someone's idol, his desire, his treasure. I was the woman someone yearned for more than anything else in the world.

That alone was enough to convince me that, despite all the things that were wrong with him, making love to Pablo was a good decision. And, although it's much easier to admit it in retrospect than it was to realize it on the spot - I was also very, very drunk.

Pablo and I rolled around the bed like kittens in a heap of catnip. Not once did his lips tear away from mine, not once did his hands draw away from my skin.

With my head still spinning, I crawled on top of him, causing my dress to hike up an inch more, and reveal my bare hips. His coarse hands sank into my soft, pale skin and kneaded my flesh like a baker with his bread, or a cat with his bed.

But soon, his grabbing turned into a simple caress, and then to an awkward pat. The flame that burned inside of him sizzled down to an ember, and his calloused finger grazed up my shoulder to pick up one of my dress's fallen straps.

"Gordita, I don't think this is a good idea," he whispered, "You're way too drunk for this."

"What do you mean?" I hiccuped.

"You're going to regret this tomorrow, once you're sober."

"No, I won't," I protested, flicking away the last button that held his shirt.

"Yes, you will. You only like me when you're drunk or you're high," he sighed.

"It doesn't matter. I haven't had s*x in, like, a year and a half."

"You being desperate for a f**k doesn't make this any better," he chuckled, slipping one of his hands behind his head, "I just feel like I'd be taking advantage of you, and I don't want to do that."

"Now's the moment you choose to be a gentleman? After everything you've done?" I rolled my eyes, admittedly feeling a little more frustrated than I should have.

"I don't want to give you more reasons to hate me."

"Well if you cockblock me, that's one more reason."

Pablo's face split into a wide grin as he gently stroked my knee. The longing in his eyes was gone, and I no longer felt like craved, but quite stupid instead.

"You don't want me," I pouted.

"Don't play that game with me, Gordita," he groaned, "You know I do. But I'm not sure you want me."

"I'm literally sitting on top of you, Pablo, what makes you think I don't want you?"

"There are four empty bottles of wine in that kitchen," he mumbled.

"Who cares?" I sighed, as my fingers dived to try and unbutton his pants.

"Stop that," he scolded. He wrapped his hands around mine and wrestled me off of him, "Off to bed, now."

"You're so weird," I cried as I tried to wiggle out of his grasp and into his pants.

"Hands off, you evil temptress," he joked as he pinned me down to the bed, "Do I have to tie you up to make you stop?"

The answer to his question tickled the back of my throat, like a scab you know you shouldn't scratch because you know it'll bleed out. But all my logic and common sense had left my brain the very moment that Pablo had uncorked that fourth bottle of wine, and so I let myself blurt out:

"Yes please."

Pablo's mouth hung agape for a second before he burst into laughter, and I immediately blushed. Too far, Sarah, way too far. It was too late to take back my words now they'd slipped out of my mouth, but oh how I regretted them. My own behavior shocked me sober. I wasn't that kind of girl, and never had been, let alone with a man twice my age who still happened to be my kidnapper.

"Go to sleep, Succubus," he giggled as he pushed me away from him.

I hid my face under a thin pillow before I embarrassed myself any further, and slowly let myself slip into a deep sleep.

~

I woke up to a harsh ray of sunlight searing through my tightly shut eyelids, and to a throbbing headache pulsating all around my tender skull. I let out a long groan, and painfully lifted up my face to take a look at my surroundings.

Pablo's bed was a huge sea of white sheets and red pillows, made of the smoothest fabrics I'd ever touched, strewn about with no particular order or logic, all shimmering softly in the morning light.

The bed was just as unnecessarily big as the rest of the house, and could have easily fit a dozen people. But today, it was just me and Pablo, both of us sprawled out a few feet apart. Our outstretched arms reached towards each other but the tips of our fingers barely touched. If you'd seen us from above, I'm sure it would have looked a little like a hungover version of The Creation of Adam, but, thank God, with a few more clothes on.

Pablo slept tightly, with his mouth slightly parted. I remembered the taste of it, like lemon, mint and tobacco, and the feeling of how it had collided with mine in a passionate kiss. I caught myself licking my lips at last night's memory, and reprimanded my own behavior with an outraged gasp.

Pablo opened one squinted eye, then another, and his lips tightened into a warm smile:

"Morning, sunshine!" he hummed.

"Don't say anything about yesterday night, please," I begged.

"It's okay, you weren't yourself," he grinned, as he rolled over towards me, "But whoever she was, I'd like to meet her again."

I politely responded by presenting Pablo with my middle finger.

"Geez, you're so rude," he chuckled, shaking his fingers in his tousled hair to mess it up in a different, better-looking way, "Not too hungover?"

I stared up at the ceiling, its trims and its chandeliers as they joyfully spun around in an ever-quickening circle.

"I think I'm still drunk," I sighed.

"Want some mimosas for breakfast?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I'm never drinking again."

"Hair of the beast, Gordita," insisted Pablo.

"Okay then, Satan," I moaned, and tried to push my head deeper into the pillow to get it out of the scorching sunlight.

"Nice," he said, "I'll text the kitchen."

"How are you so rich that you can text your kitchen, but you can't afford blackout curtains?"

"Why would I need blackout curtains?" he asked.

"Are you serious?" I whined, "They're like, a basic human right."

"If you black out, you don't need curtains, Gordita," he sighed, "Duh."

"God, you're annoying," I breathed.

I rolled my eyes and propped my heavy head up on a thick pillow. The bedroom was just as outrageously luxurious as the rest of the house. The white walls were ornate with gold trims and abstract paintings, and the floor riddled with fluffy carpets and animal skins. Large gold-framed mirrors were propped in every corner of the room, and every movement I'd make would eerily reflect somewhere in the corner of my eye. The room was so big, even the sound of an awkward silence could echo around the walls.

Although the inside of the house was so tacky it felt oppressing, it seemed to be set right in the center of the garden of Eden. The bedroom's large windows were framed with vines and jasmine that dribbled down from the lintels. An endless sea of lush green trees, dotted with a few flowering jacarandas, stretched away into the distance until it splashed against a single, towering mountain. Dozens of birds, each of a different color, taunted me as they flew back and forth across the bright blue sky.

Oh, the things I'd give just to be outside.

A faint knock on the door pulled me out of my reverie. Pablo threw on a leopard-print robe and jumped out of bed with the ease and grace of someone who hadn't had a single drink in their life. He grabbed a silver platter from whoever was at the door and brought it over to me.

"You said you liked Taco Bell, so I asked them to make breakfast crunchy wraps," he grinned, handing me a plate and a glass of mimosa, "But better."

I thanked him politely and bit into the delicious tortilla. As soon as my teeth sank into it, it spewed out copious amounts of eggs, sausage, melted cheddar, and perfectly spicy salsa. I closed my eyes and relished in the few seconds of pure ecstasy I was allowed before Pablo started bothering me again.

"Feeling any better yet?" he asked, as he pulled himself up to my side.

"Meh," I shrugged, wiping off a few drops of sauce that had dribbled down my chin, "I still kinda feel disgusting."

"Why, because of all those naughty things you did yesterday night?" he asked, as he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"That," I winced, "And also the fact that I'm wearing someone else's underwear."

"Ew, gross, take it off," grinned Pablo, with a flat, sarcastic tone.

"I see the gentleman shtick didn't last very long," I groaned.

"I'm not the one bringing up underwear," he chuckled with an evil smirk, "Or asking to be tied up, for that matter."

I yeeted an ornamental cushion in Pablo's general direction. He managed to dodge it, but it was a close call. He licked off a few drops of Mimosa that had fallen onto his hand.

"I didn't think you liked me that much," he purred.

"Don't let the booze fool you," I corrected, "I don't."

"No, I don't think it was the alcohol," he crooned, "I think it's the Daddy issues."

His words made me spit out a piece of egg, and choke on another.

"Why the f**k would you say that?" I seethed.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "You think I'm handsome, I could be your Dad's age... To me, that can only mean one thing: Daddy issues."

"Pablo, you're lucky I tolerate a lot coming from you," I hissed, "But this, this is gross and just plain f*****g rude."

"No I know," he kept going, "I don't want you to see me as a father figure either, you know, it would just make things weird."

"What is wrong with you?" I shook my head in disbelief, "You were the one who said I should call you Daddy the very first day you met me."

"Cálmate, Gordita," he sighed, "I'm just joking."

"This isn't even funny in the slightest. What do you even mean, 'Daddy issues'? What Daddy issues?"

"You don't know what Daddy issues are?" he asked naively.

"No, I do. I'm just not sure we have the same definition," I answered, and took a swig of my drink to help calm my nerves.

"Daddy issues are when you try to replace your father figure by dating older men," he said.

"No," I explained, "Daddy issues are when you get into toxic relationships because you didn't bond with your father as a child."

"Po-tah-to, potato. That's exactly the same thing," he shrugged.

"No, it's not," I squinted, "Besides, I've never been in a toxic relationship."

"Until now, that is," he grinned.

"Ha," I chortled, "So you're admitting you're toxic."

"Ha," answered Pablo with a victorious smile, "So you're admitting we're in a relationship."

I stared at him in silence for a good minute as I sipped on my Mimosa and tried to hide my blushing cheeks.

"We're not in a relationship, Pablo. We met two weeks ago and only because you tried to murder me," I said.

Pablo let himself fall back onto the bed.

"Got it. I won't talk about your Daddy issues anymore," he sighed.

"I don't have Daddy issues, for God's sake," I mumbled, "I never had issues with my Dad. Mommy issues, maybe, because she kind of messed me up, but not Daddy issues."

"Well that's not your fault," he said, "Some people just weren't made to be parents."

"I don't know," I muttered, "She used to be such a great Mom. I still have so many great memories with her, when she taught me how to paint with watercolor, when she braided my hair, or she used to sew dresses for me and Ana's Barbie dolls. She used to love me so much. And she loved my Dad, too. So when he died, she snapped. She tried to kill herself. Several times. I came home from school one day and she had this bottle of pills in her hand. I still remember how her eyes looked, so cold, and dead eyes when I walked in. I asked what she was doing, and she said 'I'm going to see Daddy'. And, you know, I was just way too young, and I just didn't really know about all that stuff, so I just said 'Can you help me with my homework when you come back?' and she just... burst into tears."

Pablo's hand gently squeezed my shoulder.

"That's rough," he whispered, "Especially for a little child."

"Yeah, I guess," I continued, words oozing out of my mouth like the cheese in my CrunchyWrap, "All she wanted was to kill herself, and I was in her way, because I was just a kid. She had to take care of me, and she couldn't dump me onto anyone. So she killed herself slowly, with drugs and alcohol. She used to f**k her dealers and take them home, and those men scared the s**t out of me. She didn't care. She hated me. And I hated her. It was messed up. We used to get in fistfights and shit."

"I don't know what to say, Gordita," breathed Pablo, "I'm so sorry."

He wrapped his arm around me, and I nestled my head in the warm nook of his shoulder, punctuating my sentences with a sip of mimosa or a bite in my crunchy wrap. Never had I felt comfortable enough with anyone to tell them about all this. Neither Ana nor my therapist even knew that I used to hit my Mom back. It felt good to get it out, especially with someone I knew was so awful that his judgment could never affect me.

"You know what the worst part is? She destroyed herself so much, she couldn't even function. And I became the one who had to take care of her. I did everything for her. I cooked, I cleaned, I dragged her to bed when she passed out on the porch. One time she threatened to stab me if I didn't go out to buy her more oxys. So, I did. Scariest day of my life. And she still treated me like I was the f*****g burden."

I stifled a bitter laugh, and sniffed up a falling tear.

"All my life I've just been a burden. I was a burden to my Mom because she had to raise me instead of killing herself. I was a burden to Ana because I was a f*****g mess. And now, I'm a burden to you, because I saw your face and you can't let me go because now, if you do, somehow everyone's going to f*****g die."

"You're not a burden to me," he answered with a soft, deep voice, "If I had ever thought you'd be one, I wouldn't have kept you around. Like, if it was that friend of yours, Kathryn or what's-her-face, if she was the one who'd seen me, I would have just shot her. Then and there. I've heard so much about her and God she sounds annoying."

"It's Kaitlyn," I chuckled softly, "But yeah, she is a bit irritating."

"Never mind her," he shrugged, "The minute you started talking, I knew I'd like you. You're honest, you're funny, and you're super witty. I really like talking to you, you know - and I love annoying you, because every time I say something you always have some smart answer. I love trying to guess what one-liner you're going to come up with next."

"So I'm your plaything, then," I mumbled.

Pablo steered his gaze away from me and towards an empty corner of the massive bedroom. His nails scratched softly against the skin on my arm, and he downed a little bit of his mimosa with a nervous gulp.

"Nothing to say?" I asked. "No clever comeback?"

"I hadn't seen things that way. I'm sorry," he said, his eyes still avoiding mine.

"If you want me to stay here with you, I'd appreciate it if you stopped treating me like I'm just a toy. Or a pet. Or a houseplant," I added.

"I apologize, Gordita. I promise I'll stop."

My brow furrowed a little. I doubted getting Pablo to behave would be this easy, and I strongly believed my struggles were far from over.

"Right, we'll see about that," I muttered.

He turned his head back to me, and left a soft kiss on my temple. I shuddered a little, and for a few seconds, couldn't figure out if he was creepy or endearing. Just the fact that this doubt existed in my mind, terrified me.

"Anyways, Pablo, thank you for yesterday evening. It was a nice date," I stuttered, pushing away the sheets.

"You're welcome," he said softly. He smiled wide enough to reveal his perfect white teeth, and his cheeks blushed again, with that same childlike happiness I'd caught myself admiring a few days prior.

"I'll leave you alone now," I said, standing up from the bed and readjusting my dress, "You probably have tons of things to do today, like, ride ponies, and kidnap young women."

"I can take the day off," he answered as I was walking away, "Do you want to go chill by the pool this afternoon?"

I stood still for a second, my hand frozen on the handle of Pablo's bedroom door. Things were moving in a very unexpected direction, and at an almost frightening speed. I wondered if this was my reward for yesterday's kiss and everything that followed, or if it was some other kind of poisoned gift.

"Sure," I shrugged with a fake glibness in my voice.

"Gordita, wait," he added, stopping me in my steps as I was walking out.

I turned around to face him, as he sat alone in his huge bed.

"Can I get another kiss?" he asked.

"Not while I'm sober," I answered softly, "See you later, Pablo."

The door shut behind me. Pablo was left wanting more, and with his tiger skins as only company. Meanwhile, I roamed barefoot and free down the house's long corridors, with my heavy head still held up high.

I could feel it in the air, I could feel it under my skin. Somewhere, somewhere, in either Pablo's head or mine, a switch had flipped, and the winds had shifted. I felt like a different person than who I was just two weeks ago, but something in my mind told me my life still wasn't done changing.