Unrequited Love

Chapter 9 - Luciana

My eyes squinted open as a groan escaped my lips. It felt like a herd of elephants were stampeding on my head. What the fuck had Mikhail even administered to me? I rolled my head forward as a sharp pain shot through my neck, after having it bent at an odd angle for God knows how long. A single source of light shone right in my face as my eyes adjusted to the sudden intrusion. Moving my hands and legs, I realised that I was bound to a chair.

A frustrated growl tore past me as I tugged at my arms and legs with all the strength that I could muster. The thick rope cut into my wrists as I fought to free myself from the binds, but to no avail. Tears stung my eyes as my body sagged, finally giving up and accepting the fact that I was now completely at Mikhail's mercy - that was what he wanted all along, didn't he? A semblance of control, even over an unknown woman. My head drooped as my sight strayed to my now torn skirt. The edges were frayed as I spotted a deep gash on my knee that had scabbed up. I had probably gotten that when I was trying to fend off Mikhail and his cronies on the tarmac where we had landed.

Thinking of that led to thoughts of everyone that I had left behind. Would they even care that I had been kidnapped? I wondered if they had even reported me missing. At this point, I had no way of knowing since I was basically a prisoner. Sighing, I looked down at my bare feet which now had the remnants of my chipped red nail polish. A rare smile graced my face as I remembered Mama and I painting each other's nails and having a girl's day on the weekends, whenever Papa would be out drinking with his buddies.

Alcohol hadn't been new to me growing up since both my parents were extremely social and hosted parties and gatherings more often than not. I had always been the centre of attraction during that time. I'd dance or sing for the guests as they sang praises about how little Luciana was going to be an entertainer someday. My parents would laugh at those comments good naturedly. Those really were the good times. But that all changed after I turned 10.

From what I could remember, my father, Carlos Rodriguez had always been a hardworking man who was very family oriented. All my memories as a young girl consisted of laughter and happiness. Sometimes, Papa would take me out to the rooftop after Mama went to sleep - she'd always tell Papa how dangerous it was on the roof. But he didn't listen. And neither did I. We'd stargaze almost everyday whenever he'd come home early from work. He'd prepare his famous tacos con el pollo and we'd both much on them with some fajitas as a side - your typical Mexican meal. I'd learnt a lot about constellations from him - that's how my love for astronomy started.

We'd stay up till the early hours of the morning, even if I had school the next day, as I stayed cocooned in my Father's arms. One day, after a particularly tough day at work, he had come up and hugged me. I don't know what had happened that day and what urged him to say his next few words.

"I promise that I will always protect you, mija. Te quiero mucho."

I had been confused when he said that. Even though my father had been an affectionate man, I had never known him to get so emotional. So I did what any nine year old would do - I hugged him and told him that I trusted him.

Little did I know that that was a lie. It'd only take another 6 months for me to discover the demons that lurked under this facade of a perfect gentleman. The memories had faded by now, but a memory stood out in particular. It was my twelfth birthday that day - and it marked a year and a half since Papa had lost his job and had started drinking excessively. In that time period, Mama and Papa had started arguing a lot - almost everyday. So much so, that I would have to hide in my room and cover my ears as I tried to block out the shouting. But he had never raised a hand. Ever. But that all changed in that one night.

He came home late, drunk as usual as Mama and I were cleaning up the mess that was the aftermath of a 12 year old's birthday party. Our financial situation had gone down pretty fast after Papa lost his job. Mama was the sole breadwinner of the family. But her income from the small cafe she worked at wasn't enough for the three of us. Even so, she managed to save up a bit and made me feel like a normal girl for at least a day - a girl who didn't have to wear jeans with holes and a second hand t-shirt bought from a garage sale.