“Why did you call me Iris? I thought he ordered you to . . .”
Both of Sal’s arms gently encircle me. “It's your name. And we’re friends now, right? We can keep it between us.” His voice is soft, but it rumbles in my skull as I stay nestled in his chest, soaking up the warm embrace.
My throat aches as I force down a gulp. “I really hope we can be friends.” It will be hard when his loyalty rests with my tormentor. “It was my name once upon a time,” I whisper, secretly admitting to myself that I no longer resemble that woman anymore. “He calls me beija flor.” The only connection to Iris is fading memories. She’s an echo in the forest, unseen beneath the canopy and unheard in the vastness. Nothing can resurrect her now.
“Hummingbird.” He smiles. “It suits you. Shall I escort you back?” He peers down at my pitiful bruised soul, offering an understanding smile.
“No, it’s okay.” I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.” Huddling within his warmth and kindness, I absorb the sensation of a simple hug. The human connection helps me feel less alone.
Sal leans away and examines his wristwatch again. I almost beg him not to let go. “I’ve got somewhere to be. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” He lightly taps my chin with his knuckles. “And stay indoors, okay?”
“Fine.” I smile and roll my eyes playfully, replacing his hug with my own folded arms.
I trudge away with achy limbs and step up onto the walkway. It follows a sweet floral scent that I’ve quickly become accustomed to. A delicate fragrance I’ve taken for granted, even though those species are the reason I hopped on a plane to South America in the first place. Now they’re just pretty flowers masking the backdrop of a leafy jail.
What does my future look like?
He’ll stay in the shadows, out of sight like the ghost he wants to be, and I continue to work with Sal, living a life unlived, unloved, and unimportant. The urge to strip off the stifling uniform brands my brain until a noise wrenches my head up. I halt under the shade of palm fronds. Frozen. Stunned.
An exotic woman with curves, height, and flowing sable hair links her dainty arm with el Fantasma’s. I swallow shock as he kisses the crown of her head. Caramel bare legs start with stonewashed denim shorts and end in strawberry pink flip-flops. A skimpy belly top reveals a slender waist, and fine features beam with sunshine and radiance. She’s devastatingly attractive and everything I am not.
What the hell?
Adjoined, they swivel toward the medical facility, walking side by side. Even with their backs to me, I can tell how animated she is and how devoted and responsive he is to everything she says. I stagger forward, clutching my stomach. Anger springs from misplaced hurt. A crimson curse surges to my chest and swallows my pale face. This was the last thing I ever expected to witness. He told me women didn’t belong here, that all his staff are men. Contradictory tears threaten to fall. Adrenaline spits and speeds, bursting into my legs, so they tremble.
I detest the man.
He’s not mine, and I am certainly not his.
I’ve been killed off without the actual deed, drugged, finger fucked, and now I’m lost in an emotion I have no right to suffer.
I’m jealous.
With a muttered slur of irrationality, I continue along sun-soaked planks. Fast steps break into a sprint. Unfounded feelings multiply under the swaying foliage of a false paradise. My mind is adrift, lost in the silly notion that somewhere beyond his cruelty, he might have cared. I dared to imagine my keeper had redeemable qualities after he selflessly organized Bruce’s burial. Wretched embarrassment heaves in my stomach.
The truth is, he’s an unethical hypocrite. Now I know he’s fucking women all over this dreadful place. I bet he’s had a million nights just like last night and followed through on his promise to ruin. The intensity in his eyes was a lie. El Fantasma is the worst flesh-eating parasite of all. He’s diabolical, hollow hearted, and my sole enemy.
It’s absolutely ridiculous how gullible and naïve I’ve become.
Barging into my suite, I peel off the shirt that chokes my sanity and step out of the nasty trousers sticking to my sweaty legs. My limbs quake, furious and unbalanced. I’m all alone, naked, and losing control. Everything slams into me at once. The loss, the grief, the ungodly lust, the pitiful funeral, the web of lies, the one man who thinks I’m weak. The inconceivable hint of envy.
Once I slide open the door to the terrace, I suck in when the air-conditioned atmosphere crashes into mugginess. A glassy aqua blue pool calls to me, cleanses my misery, and wraps my body with comfort. Salty tears are lost in the expansive pool water. They combine and disappear, just like I have in this godforsaken jungle.
How will I survive this man?
It’s peaceful bobbing aimlessly on my back with my ears below the surface. Overreaching branches guard me from the high sun and protect my fair skin from burning. Taking Sal’s advice, I gather up my demons and focus on the lightweight sensation.
Seconds bleed into minutes. Minutes dwindle to hours. After languishing in diluted tears, I’m unconcerned with the tangerine sun's descent from a cloudless sky or how it lingers above towering treetops. Floating in the middle of a rainforest has never felt so liberating. I’m unfettered. Free from el Fantasma’s demands. Beneath the serene surface, noise mutes. A singular hush of relief. Water cherishes my exhausted limbs and holds me in a place of comfort where I can rearrange my distorted perspective.
I’m not Iris Kitson anymore. Which means morals ingrained, lessons learned, rights or wrongs lived are all things of the past. Releasing those shackles will give me the stamina to do what has to be done. To survive, whatever the price.
We aren’t compatible.
He isn’t my future.
I don’t belong here.
Repetitive thuds break the tranquility of my cocoon. Water surges. Powerful hands seize my waist. Calmness is destroyed when the persistent hum of insects returns. I go from relaxed to stormy in a split second. Green eyes fuse with mine. Water droplets dive off inky facial hair. Thick brows knit together, directing a pensive and hardened stare at my obvious astonishment.
“What the fuck are you doing?” El Fantasma snarls, planting his feet at the bottom of the pool.
I stay motionless in his grip, our confusion dances with each other in a moment of uncertainty. “What are you doing?” I hiss in a breath. “You gave me the afternoon off. You told me we were done. Why the hell are you jumping into my pool with your clothes on?” My insides vibrate. “You don’t get to order me about all the time. You can’t reach me in here.” I jab a finger at my head.
The hands circling my waist remain locked tight, unrelenting. “I was knocking. You didn’t answer.”
“Yet you didn't get the hint?” I snap.
He blows out a sigh and submerges his head. After a fluttered heartbeat, the authority around my waist breaks away, and he gradually resurfaces. Godlike. Divine. As he rises, golden sunlight twinkles over the ripples circling out from his head. Resplendent sunlight glitters on the beads of water resting on his long lashes when we meet face-to-face once again. With that one act, the fire flickers alive. I can’t stop the unspoken bond developing between this gorgeous man and this pitiful woman. As much as I try to fight against it, the fever simmering behind his eyes signals mixed messages.