Marina Scherbatskaya (scherbatskaya) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2016-01-30 20:25:00 |
|
|||
2008 Marina was 15 years old, recently plucked out of the streets of New York City, and living with a man named Emmanuel in Texas. She didn’t speak an ounce of Spanish and the men who worked in the gun Cartel looked at her like she’s a piece of meat sometimes, but jefe protected her and she was happier than she had been in a long time. She had a roof over her head and three meals a day and no one hit her. She couldn’t really complain. Sitting on a counter near the front of the warehouse, her legs swung back and forth as she flipped through the Spanish to English dictionary, trying to translate the word ‘pendejo’ but she just couldn’t seem to find it. Slamming the book shut with frustration, she set it aside and looked up just in time to see a man walk in, shoulders hunched, eyes on the ground, clearly uncomfortable. She hadn’t seen him before and he didn’t look like the men that usually come and go. “Are you lost?” She called out, raising her brows at him. Alejo looked up at the sound of the voice, raising his brows at the spit of a girl laying on the counter. She had pretty brown hair, and a face made her look like a baby. He was ready to bet she was a baby; he was 20 after all. He felt like, acted like, and was a man. Dressed in clean blue jeans that hung on his hips and not lower, a beige sweater with a thick neck, and clean keds he looked more like he needed to run over to prep school. He even had a school bag on one shoulder, full of sketches and art supplies. “Si. I’m looking for Juan, hermana,” Alejo said smoothly. He didn’t flinch with one of the other men came into the room, one of them giving Marina a long look before turning to Alejo for a moment. Marina opened her mouth to respond but was cut short by someone else entering the room. She shied away slightly from the man’s gaze, pursing her lips defiantly. Jesus, she hated it when they did that. If Jefe was around he would say something, but no one listened to a little girl around here. “Look, it’s the retard,” he said in Spanish. Alejo frowned, eyes narrowing, but didn’t respond. Marina frowned as well, looking between them, though it was more out of confusion than anything else. Eventually an older member came forward, his hair gray but the same shape as Alejo’s. He had Alejo’s nose and jaw too, even his walk as they two men spoke in rapid Spanish. Alejo handed Juan something, a bit of paper, and Juan shoved it into a trash can near Marina, and Alejo frowned and turned away. It was fast, and far less violent than the usual arguments in the house. “Adios, Retard,” the first man called back. Alejo, firsts making his pockets bulge, froze this time. “You know, being deaf does not make me retarded. Now, walking around bragging about having guns, an underaged girl on the counter, open booze in the kitchen I’m guessing, and zero fucking idea who to call when a lawyer is needed… now that’s dumb.” Okay. So saying that was the actual dumb thing to say. But Alejo could almost feel the flyer heating up, ready to burst into flames where Juan had crumpled up and thrown it. Finally something Marina could understand! Only--”What the hell do I have to do with any of this? Who even are you?” She bursted out before anyone else had a chance to speak. The man--Marina was pretty sure his name was Jorge--laughed at her outburst and motioned to Alejo. “You better not let Jefe hear you talking about his girl like that, amigo. Doesn’t matter who your daddy is.” “How old are you, senorita? Fourteen?” Alejo asked, looking past Jorge and the way sweat dripped down the man’s face. He focused so fully on Marina, and yet he wasn’t looking at her body. His eyes met here, and behind the thin silver frames, he wasn’t trying to eat her up or read her soul, or scare her. He was just looking at her, respecting her enough to look her in the eye. “I’ll be sixteen in a couple weeks,” Marina replied indignantly. The way he was looking her right in the eyes was unnerving but she kept her gaze trained on him. Life at the Cartel was still new to her but already she was learning she needed to toughen up if she was going to survive. “Sixteen,” Alejo repeated, knowing damn well that a couple of weeks could be six months the way it could be six weeks. “That’s awfully young to be with these men,” he said. He wanted to offer her a phone number, an out. But he knew that if he did, he could leaving her to a pack of wolves who would take anger out on her- if they weren’t already. The men didn’t like what was happening; Alejo was outside of their sphere, his grazing it like this wasn’t right. He might be Juan’s kids, but he was weird to them and they had only a few ways of dealing with something like that- violence. One of the men came up and pushed him. Alejo was forced to take a step and turned around right away and took his step back. It was a split second decision, but a moment later the man was punching Alejo in his face, his gut. Alejo got one good punch in, straight to the nose, and then backed off. Like two stray dogs who had gone all out for a split second, they were done, and Alejo was leaving. The flyer Juan had turned to trash was still there- glossy purple, boasting of the art school’s students and their gallery that night. Marina could do little but watch the scene unfold before her. Though she had the relative protection of Emmanuel, if the situation became heated enough, she was sure even she wouldn’t be spared from a violent outburst by these men. Self preservation outweighed any sympathy she had for the man being subjected to the abuse. Fortunately, the scuffle didn’t last long and once everyone had scattered, Marina picked up her dictionary again, having even more words to look up after the exchange she just witnessed. 2010 The house had become more worn down in the last few years. It was still standing, but paint had peeled on the front door, and Alejo could smell a mix of chemicals and money more and more as he got closer to that peeling acrylic. He let himself in now, he didn’t pause. He had every plan on asking Marina to get dinner, and to show her something special, something he was proud of- the first two pages of his capstone project, a graphic novel. She was on one of the pages, drawn with light grays and an angelic glow. Of course her character was called Marie, and wasn’t the girlfriend of a gun runner. She was single, and friends with the protagonist. Walking through the house, he looked for her without saying a word to the other men. He knew they didn’t like him there, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care until he walked into the kitchen and saw Emmanuel. Alejo had to compose his face. As much as he hated the man, he knew better than to pick a fight. Yet. “Is Marina here?” he asked in Spanish. Emmanuel stopped lifting his glass of water midway to his mouth and stared at Alejo for a moment, likely deciding whether it was worth his time to even answer the question. He may be Juan’s son but that didn’t actually mean shit. Besides, Alejo didn’t bother being much of a son to the man. His hair was a mess and thanks to his lack of a shirt several love bites were visible on his skin. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together and figure out what he’d been doing just a short while ago. He was still just staring at Alejo when light footsteps padded down the hall. “What’s taking so long? Papi come back to bed--” she said, rounding the corner and into the kitchen. Marina’s hair was equally disheveled and she was dressed in nothing but her underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Stopping short at the sight of Alejo, she tugged down on the hem of her shirt shyly before saying, “Oh, hi Alejo.” Alejo averted his eyes, and said ‘hey’ in a voice that he hated for being so soft. “I’ll be in bed when you’re done with your guest,” Emmanuel finally said, pushing past the pair of them and exiting the kitchen. Alejo kept his eyes off her center, but they still found purchase on Marina. Her lower legs, the waterfall of her hair when she moved. He wanted to spit, not at her for anything she’d done, but to Emmanuel. Alejo was typical, boring and typical, when it came to his hatred of Emmanuel. Not only was the man just plain bad news, but he was also taking advantage of Marina. While Alejo had accepted long before that Marina only wanted friendship, it still made him boil that his friend was being used. He wanted to be the good guy who didn’t get jealous of his gal pal being with another man. It was a constant fight with himself. “I- I wanted to show you something, but… you’re busy, I’ll go,” he said, clutching the black plastic portfolio under his arm a little harder. He’d had it all planned out- gyros at the Greek place, going to the park nearby, showing her the work before it got dark. Seeing her light up at seeing herself on the page. The fresh air touching their skin, and seeing her relax. No fear of fucking Emmanuel and his bros. No Juan to scoff. “Sorry.” Arms crossing over her chest, Marina leaned against the doorframe and worried at her lower lip. “No, it’s okay. I just wish you would’ve called,” she replied, her voice just as shy and meek as Alejo’s. She wasn’t the kind of girl to be told what to do, and she’d never let Alejo’s feelings on the matter make her feel guilty before, but him finding her in this compromising position made her feel like she’d been busted doing something wrong. “Are you free some time later this week?” She asked, her words making it very clear that she wasn’t budge on her plans that day (if spending a day in bed could even be considered as such). It panged Alejo’s heart- he knew he was a part of Marina’s life, but he also knew he was only a secondary part of that life. Everyone but Marina could see how sick Emmanuel’s sway over her was. She was completely blind to the reality of the situation, but to her, Emmanuel would always be the man who saved her from a life on the streets and he was first person who actually seem to give a damn about her. As much as she valued Alejo’s friendship, ultimately, her loyalty and love belonged to Emmanuel and that was just the way it was. Alejo scratched the back of his head, looking around. He was about to say sure, when anger at Emmanuel and his already bruised feelings were creeping up on him. “No, it’s fine. I just- nevermind, here,” he said, hands going into his canvas messenger bag and pulling out two pages. They weren’t the originals, they were two prints he’d made just for her- he’d paid for them and worked to make sure they looked just so. He had imagined Marina being excited, flattered even. He put them onto the table, and turned to leave. Marina looked helplessly between the papers Alejo set down and at his retreating figure. There was probably something she was supposed to say, like asking him not to go, but she wasn’t sure it would fix whatever she’d done wrong. Instead she just watched him go, a weird feeling settling into the pit of her stomach as she did. Only once she’d heard the front door close did she move over towards where Alejo had left the papers, flipping them over. Her mouth opened into a comically cliche “O” of shock at the sight of two pages of his graphic novel with one of the characters looking remarkably like her. Hugging the papers to her chest, she wandered her way back to the bedroom, a tiny cloud of guilt floating over her head for the rest of her day with Jefe. 2012 Now 20 years old and nearly five years into her service at Los Nahuales, Marina was given actual work to do for the Cartel. That evening in particular she was meeting with a potential buyer and showing them some merchandise. He came highly recommended from one of their regulars and so Emmanuel had no problem sending Marina on the job. Apparently though, their new friend was not the easy customer they’d been anticipating. Enraged that they’d dare send a girl to do a man’s work, the client’s body guard kicked the shit kicked out of Marina and told her to tell her boss to not send a little pussy bitch next time unless he didn’t want to be taken seriously before throwing her out onto the street. She limped her way back to her car, and instead of driving to Emmanuel to deliver the message, she found herself parked in front of Alejo’s apartment complex. The punch she’d taken to the face was already developing into a nasty black eye and her body ached from the other blows but she managed to drag herself to Alejo’s door and rang the doorbell. Alejo had dragged himself out of the cartel. His father’s death and the perceived uselessness Emmanuel saw in him had allowed him to leave cleanly, to get an apartment with room for a studio and work on his novels. The first had been published to a small amount of celebrity in the art world; more in the hispanic community. He was proud. He was also dead asleep when Marina rang his doorbell- it was set up not to actually ring, but have a bright light flash and an alert sent to his phone. Half bent at his work table in the living room, he’d twitched and opened his eyes, imagining that the shaking of his phone in his pocket was apart of his dream until it felt it again. His face had dents where his pencil had been, and the blue lines of his sketch were warped by saliva. He sighed, and then went to the door. Checked the peephole first, almost half expecting to see one of Claire’s old buddies begging him for beer or drug money. Instead it was Marina. He opened the door quickly, pulled her in, and locked it behind them. “What happened?” he asked, his words slurred with his sleep. He didn’t have his hearing aids in, they sat in their box by the front door, like they always did when he was home. Alejo went into the kitchen and found an old school ice bag and filled it up, bringing it back to her. “Did he do this?” he asked, sounding angry. “No, I was out on a job,” she said, hissing out as she touched the ice pack to her face. She knew it would help, but even the light pressure she was applying hurt like a bitch. “Sorry I woke you.” It wasn’t fair of her to barge in on him like this. Alejo clucked, nodding ‘no’. He was never sorry when she was around. At least, he hadn’t been yet. He’d gotten out of Los Nahuales and seemed to like it that way. Though it wasn’t a choice Marina would make for herself, she held enough affection for Alejo that she should respect his boundaries better. “If you were on a job then he might has well have done this,” Alejo said, his voice low. He left her for a moment, leaving her with the ice pack. Anger boiling up into his veins, Alejo passed through his hall and into his bedroom, finding clean clothes for Marina to change into, and a bar of soap he hasn’t opened yet. In the bathroom he runs hot water and plugs the tub up, and lays out the clothes, soap, and towel for Marina. He even finds a small hotel set of shampoo and conditioner another girl left behind. Calling out for her to come isn’t an option for Alejo- he doesn't know if he’ll be too loud and wake a neighbor, or too soft and no one will come. Instead he goes back to the living room and defaults back to ASL, his brain still fuzzy from sleep and slurring sounds around him. Go to the bathroom, it’s warm. I’ll get a medicine kit he signed slowly, his fingers a little clumsy. I’m glad you came here, Irma. There was no sign for Irma, or Marina. Alejo had created one for her, as he’d created one for all those who mattered most to him. The ‘I’ sign brushed over his hair in a wavy pattern- Irm’s curly hair. Marina just nodded wearily, gesturing the sign for thank you, before shuffling off to the bathroom. Once inside she stripped of her clothes off, wincing as she pulled her top off, the bruising on her ribs already forming a hideous purple marbling across her side. She’d left the door cracked, not minding if Alejo came in. Even if she did have her suspicions about Alejo’s feelings for her, there was nothing sexual about this situation and she knew he would never take advantage of her. Right now, she was hurt and she’d come to him as a friend. Slipping into the hot water, she let out a sigh of relief, bending her legs at the knees and wrapping her arms around them. Her body still ached, but at least she was warming up again. Alejo made himself busy. He cleaned his hearing aids, he made some dinner for them to share; scrambled eggs, easy to digest - a little salsa on top. He brushed his hair and got his glasses, and then he went to Marina with a bowl of food and offered it to her. He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, wanting badly to bring up the fact that he thought she should leave the cartel. But he knew the answer already: no. Stop. So he stayed silent. Marina accepted the food just as silently, the only noise in the small room being her fork clinking against the plate as she slowly scooped eggs into her mouth. Empty plate deposited to the floor, she stayed soaking in the tub until the water began to lose its scalding edge and eventually cooled enough that Marina began to shiver. Time to get out. “Thanks for dinner. Can you hand me the towel?” She asked, turning her head up to look at Alejo. Alejo nodded, not looking away from his empty plate until he put it down and got her a clean towel. He left the room, not leecherus enough to wait and watch her when she was exposed, maybe more scared than she wanted to admit, and hurt. “Are you alright, or do you need me to come in with medicine?” he asked. He had imagined that he might do something like this with Marina, but in a totally different context. As lovers he’d help pat her down, comb her hair, and lead her back to bed to sleep peacefully all night. But life was never a fairytale; he knew that. Because in his little dreams, he didn’t have to wear hearing aids and the cartel had never touched their lives. It wasn’t as if she expected him to stick around while she got out of the bath, but even still, Alejo’s exit amused her. If there was anything dependable in this world, it was Al, and that was exactly why she came here tonight. She dried and dressed quickly in the clothes he’d left for her before poking her head out the door, shaking her head. “I’m just bruised. Are the painkillers in here?” The bath had done miracles on relaxing her muscles but if she didn’t take something for the pain she’d never be able to sleep. “Advil in the medicine cabinet,” Alejo answered, wishing there was a way to numb himself of his own pains right then. He knew there was, he’d been offered drugs before. But he’d always turned it down, right up until he hadn’t. He felt a little itch on his arm. Sure, he’d done it once. But he wouldn’t do it again. With advil down the hatch, Marina finally left the bathroom and grabbed the waiting Alejo’s hand, lacing their fingers together as she led him to his bedroom. She never thought to ask Alejo if it was okay… She just took and took and took and he let her. It was what friends were for, wasn't it? She crawled into the bed, letting out a relaxed sigh, knowing she would be safe here. “I'm so tired, Al,” she signed out clumsily before almost instantly falling asleep. |