Rook

The sun is setting right over the avenue where we've been stuck in grid lock traffic for almost an hour. It's hurting my eyes and we likely have another hour of this shit to look forward to because the cars ain't moving. Scar is driving, and he always takes the GPS' instructions way too uncritically. I think he just likes the sound of the woman's voice, and wouldn't dream of not doing what she tells him to do. We've had this problem with him before. If I'd been paying attention, I'd stop him from driving right into the center of Mexico City, because the traffic is always a nightmare here. I remember that part very well from all the times I've driven these streets looking for Ines. But I was too busy checking out all the women walking past, riding on buses, in cars, on bicycles and scooters, like I always do when I'm in Mexico. Force of habit at this point, but it's easier than fighting the impulse to do it.

I'll never find her. I should stop looking. But I can't. Because I still want to find her. That’s because I never got closure from her. One of the women I fucked explained all about it to me, when I complained to her about Ines, and she was right. I never cared two shits about that idea before, but it's my good friend now. If I knew why she left me, I'd be content and could get over her. But I don't, so I never will.

A woman in a white dress, with long dark brown hair, streaks of it glowing orange from the setting sun, gets out of a white Range Rover across the avenue from us. She's the same height as Ines, has the same dark hair that glows in sunlight, the same wide hips, the same shapely legs, the same perky, round breasts that fit perfectly into the palm of my hands. Half the women in this country do. When I was still actively searching for her, I thought I'd found her a thousand times, only to realize it was just someone who looked like her.

The woman stops dead once she's standing on the pavement, her hair flapping in the wind. Then she turns, looks over her shoulder, looks right at me, exactly the way Ines did before she walked out of our ratty apartment and disappeared. And I suddenly can't breathe.

It is Ines. It's not just another woman who looks like her. Older, more womanly, not the girl I fell in love with anymore, but I'd know her face anywhere, anytime. I see it often enough in my dreams.

And she's clearly done well for herself, while I fucking pined over her day and night. She has a snazzy car and driver, a personal bodyguard and money to spend in the expensive ass stores that line this avenue. She has all the things I couldn't offer her back then. These days I probably could. But clearly this is the reason why she disappeared on me that morning. To find this.

"I'll be back," I choke out past the lump in my throat, and ignore the guys' questions and protests as I get out of the car.

It's time to get my closure. After ten fucking long years I'll finally know exactly why she left me.

* * *

Ines

The sales lady has had nothing but a wide smile for me from the initial, "Bienvenida" when I first walked into the store. She offered to lock the doors and let me shop in peace, but I told her not to. I'm the only shopper in here anyway, and I don't expect anyone else will come in. Besides, I'm not staying long, since I already know which dress I want. I picked it out in the exclusive preview catalogue I get each season.

I tell her what I want then go in the dressing room to fix my makeup while she finds it for me. I haven't slept much for the last three nights and it's starting to show on my face, in the dark puffy circles under my eyes and in my sallow complexion. No amount of makeup will fix it. I need the sun, the fresh air, the wind blowing in my face. But I'm always locked away in my apartment, which doesn't even have a balcony.

"It's this one, no?" the sales lady asks as she hands me the dress.

I nod and take it from her. It's made of flamenco red silk, with golden flames worked into the flowing skirt, the back of which will trail on the ground when I put it on.

"Do you need help trying it on?" she asks and I shake my head.

I want to enjoy this moment by myself, not worry about her seeing the scars on my back. I don't want to worry about them either. This dress has a closed back and an open front so it will hide them just fine.

Once I put it on, I'm not even tired anymore. It's perfect, red was always my color. It's the color of blood and passion, of life. The dress hides what it's supposed to hide, shows off what matters. Trying on beautiful gowns and finding the perfect one is the highlight of my life now. Silvio's credit cards have no limits and he lets me spend as much as I want. It's shallow, completely meaningless, but being able to buy all the pretty things I only dreamed about having, while I was a child is one of the few things that make me happy. That and my father's lucid days. And I'm about to lose my father forever. I was at the hospital with him all day, but then Silvio called and told me to go buy a new dress for a dinner he's taking me to next week, so here I am, obeying his order. I have no freedom and I clearly don't have any free will either, so I'll take joy where I can get it.

I'd love to dance the night away in this dress, but that will probably never be. Silvio might want me to dance for him, but I'll hate doing that. To fix that thought, and silence the fear of what will come after that dance, I imagine music playing in my head and twirl around the dressing room, creating the memory I wish to have in this dress before Silvio ruins it with his black stone eyes and my pain.

In the main part of the store, the sales lady is shouting at someone that they can't come in, that they have to get out. I ignore her, lose myself in the sound of guitar music playing softly, which only I can hear.

I twirl and sway, the dress gliding after me softer than mist, as concrete as fire.

But I'm no longer alone in the dressing room. I know that without opening my eyes. A presence is here with me. One I know well. But that could just be a figment of my imagination.

"You can't be in here. Get out," the sales lady screeches and I finally open my eyes.

And freeze mid-twirl.

I'd stumble and fall if I weren't absolutely rooted to the spot.

For years I yearned—body and soul—to see him just one more time. And now he's standing right next to me, so close I can hear him breathing, feel the air charging between us, the way it always would when we were together again after being apart for awhile, his presence alone calling me closer, ordering me to fall into his arms.

But I don't believe my eyes. This can't be. He can't be here. I'm just seeing what I want to see, because I’ve finally gone crazy.

His eyes aren't soft and welcoming, aren't happy and smoldering with love for me like they were the last time I looked into them. They're cold as steel, grey like the sky just before a storm.

He’d never look this darkly at me in one of my dreams, so he must be real. Rook, the man I loved with all my soul and still do is standing right in front of me. Older than he was, harder, towering over me with all the strength and protection I once hoped would shelter me forever, from anything.

"Why did you leave me, Ines?" he asks, his deep booming voice, the one that could always cut through me to my very soul, shakes the last of my doubts away.

He's here, it's him, he's come for me. But we don't have much time.

My bodyguard Juan is already calling for me from inside the store, and the sales lady is giving me a look like she knows how very happy I am to see this man. We don't have any time right now.

"Meet me at midnight in Plaza de las Flores, by the fountain," I tell Rook in English. "I'll tell you everything then."

"Tell me everything now," he demands.

But I can't. There's no time to, because Juan is already staring at me from the entrance to the dressing room.

"Take this man away, I don't know who he is or what he wants," I say to Juan, the lie taking all the strength I have, that I've ever had. The anger and hurt mixing in Rook's eyes at hearing me say it, at me turning away to enter one of the cubicles makes me whimper. I'm barely able to hold back tears as I hear him warn Juan to stand back a moment before his thudding footsteps leave the room.

I can feel the surge of energy as he leaves. It's made up of his need to not let me go, to grab me, make me answer, make me his. I felt it often enough to know it. But it carries a very dark charge now. Like all the love he had for me has been spent and there's only anger left.

Please let him come meet me tonight. Please. The prayer plays on a loop inside my head as I start changing back into my own clothes.

"Doña, are you alright?" Juan asks through the closed door of my cubicle.

I tell him I am, tell him again I have no idea who that guy was, and that I'll be right out, so we can leave. I also tell him to wait here so he can escort me out, because I'm scared now, and a bunch of other things to make him believe I don't know who Rook is. But I know him. He's the man destined for me.

Rook is gone when I come out of the dressing room, and as I pay for the dress and wait for the sales lady to wrap it up for me, I'm beginning to fear none of that even happened. That it was all in my head, just like the music was before he showed up.

But I still feel him with me. The way I always did when we were together, and for years after we weren't. But he was always with me, safely locked away in my heart. And tonight I will tell him that his love saved my life, and that I'd never leave him if I had a choice. Tonight I'll tell him everything like I should've done when we met. Please let him come.

* * *

Rook

"What the fuck was that all about, Rook?" Scar asks me pointedly as I get back in the car. By some miracle, the traffic is moving now, but they parked on the sidewalk to wait for me. "Why'd you go into a ladies dress store?"

"No reason, let's go," I say, my mind still reeling from standing so close to Ines after all these years of just imagining it.

Scar and Fuse are both staring at me like they don't recognize me, only Ice looks like he already knows why. Then again, he might just be lost in a daydream of slicing a Spawn's throat open. He's gotten very strange that way.

"Drive," I tell Scar. "And take the first right you can. We have to get out of the city center."

Scar shrugs and starts the car. After awhile Fuse stops glaring at me too.

I don't know if we'll be done by midnight tonight, but I do know I'm not missing my date with Ines by the fountain. She looked at me like she'd seen a ghost. But there was no shame in her eyes that I could see. Only happiness to see me. I've seen that in her face often enough to know it. And that makes no goddamn sense.

"Was it her?" Ice asks, snapping me back to reality.

How does he know? I don't remember telling anyone about Ines after she left me, except a couple of the women I fucked since, but I doubt any of them told Ice. Scar is looking at me through the rearview mirror, waiting for my answer, so I'll have to get to the bottom of Ice's strange knowledge some other time. I didn't go ten years without telling any of my MC brothers about Ines so I could tell the whole story in a car right before a job.

So I ignore both Ice's question and Scar's glare, and just think of Ines. I was angry at her when I walked into that store after her, raging almost. But it all faded to near nothing, as I saw her dancing alone to no music, barefoot, wearing that red dress, which showed me every last one of her curves that I'd missed for the last ten years. In that moment, she was the girl I fell in love with, and I could never be angry at her for long.

But I can be angry at this rich woman she left me to become.

I'll meet her at midnight and she will explain herself to me. But I already know I won't like her answer. Ten years is a lot to forgive. No matter how fast my heart still beats for her. No matter how good she still looks. No matter how much I missed her, how many nights I dreamed about her smile, how hard I wished for the moment when I'll see her again to come. Because she did make me wait. And the years made me hard. Made me a killer. Turned my heart to stone. Made me forget how to forgive.