Priestess. The
older woman was wearing a plain green gown over her usual garish
dress and she was reading something from a tablet. Rosie was lying
on a bed, her body covered by white linen. He saw her
absentmindedly wrapping her fingers around a corner of the linen
sheet.
“The baby is fine. She survived the worst.
In a week or two, if everything keeps improving, and I don’t see
why it wouldn’t, you are going home for good.” The Priestess’ tone
was calm, but it was clear that she had been repeating the same
words several times.
“After all the blood I lost last time, I’m
still worried that my baby isn’t going to make it,” Rosie said.
“Yes, I admit I would be scared too, but you
are young, and the baby is strong. She’s going to have a wonderful
life.” The Priestess talked to Rosie with a mix of sympathy and
irritation.
“I know you don’t want me here. I’ll be out
of the way as soon as you can assure me that my baby is one hundred
percent fine,” Rosie said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not—” The Priestess shook her
head.
“I don’t care if you like me or not. I
probably wouldn’t like me if I were in your place. The only thing
that matters is the health of my baby. I know that you wouldn’t
send me home just to get rid of me. I trust your integrity on
this.” Rosie’s words were out of line, even for the President’s
daughter.
Mauricio’s guards gasped loudly, and all of
a sudden, both the Priestess and Rosie turned around and saw them.
Rosie’s eyes locked with Mauricio’s for a brief moment and then she
turned around again to face anything but him. But Mauricio saw her .
“What are you doing out there?” the
Priestess asked, cross from the interruption. She closed the door
with a slam without waiting for an answer.
“On our way to his cell,” one of the two
guards answered anyway. She pulled Mauricio up and against the wall
and murmured to him, “Walk.” She didn’t have to add any menacing
words to it; the tone said it all.
Soon after, he was left in his cell, the
fourth or fifth—he had lost track—of the six promised meals arrived
and he ate. Mauricio spent what little was left of the day nibbling
at his food and napping. Soon, darkness engulfed his cell and
Mauricio waited to hear her steps. Although he tried to keep his
eyes opened and his mind alert, he was still weak and dozed on and
off. At one point in the evening, he rested his head on the bed and
stared at the window.
“Are you there?” Rosie’s voice came from the
outside world, bringing with her a playful gust of air.
Mauricio sat up immediately and stretched
his sleepy body.
“Yes,” he answered back.
“How are you now?” she asked. Her voice
sounded closer to Mauricio’s cell.
“Much better, thanks.” Mauricio felt even
better now.
“I had to cut you dead today,” she said
softly.
“I understood.” Mauricio didn’t say that it
had really stung.
“I didn’t want you to be in any trouble,”
she explained in the same tone.
“I know.” It was good to hear it out loud.
“But… you sounded so different…”
“Like the spoiled brat everybody talks
about?”
He didn’t confirm her words, but his lips
curved up.
“It’s okay; I know I can be obnoxious. I’m
really good at that. It’s one of my favorite characters. The
spoiled brat keeps the brownnosers away.” Rosie chuckled her
crystalline laugh.
“I imagine she has been useful to you.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to mete
between the people I can trust and the ones who only want to take
advantage of me.” Rosie wasn’t laughing anymore; her voice had
grown serious in a matter of seconds.
“No, I don’t.” Mauricio was somber. He was
frustrated by the fact that even using the same alphabet, they were
speaking two different languages. Their lives were opposing to the
point that even the same word didn’t mean the same thing for either
of them. “I am alone. And I’m normally at the receiving end of
older woman was wearing a plain green gown over her usual garish
dress and she was reading something from a tablet. Rosie was lying
on a bed, her body covered by white linen. He saw her
absentmindedly wrapping her fingers around a corner of the linen
sheet.
“The baby is fine. She survived the worst.
In a week or two, if everything keeps improving, and I don’t see
why it wouldn’t, you are going home for good.” The Priestess’ tone
was calm, but it was clear that she had been repeating the same
words several times.
“After all the blood I lost last time, I’m
still worried that my baby isn’t going to make it,” Rosie said.
“Yes, I admit I would be scared too, but you
are young, and the baby is strong. She’s going to have a wonderful
life.” The Priestess talked to Rosie with a mix of sympathy and
irritation.
“I know you don’t want me here. I’ll be out
of the way as soon as you can assure me that my baby is one hundred
percent fine,” Rosie said matter-of-factly.
“It’s not—” The Priestess shook her
head.
“I don’t care if you like me or not. I
probably wouldn’t like me if I were in your place. The only thing
that matters is the health of my baby. I know that you wouldn’t
send me home just to get rid of me. I trust your integrity on
this.” Rosie’s words were out of line, even for the President’s
daughter.
Mauricio’s guards gasped loudly, and all of
a sudden, both the Priestess and Rosie turned around and saw them.
Rosie’s eyes locked with Mauricio’s for a brief moment and then she
turned around again to face anything but him. But Mauricio saw her .
“What are you doing out there?” the
Priestess asked, cross from the interruption. She closed the door
with a slam without waiting for an answer.
“On our way to his cell,” one of the two
guards answered anyway. She pulled Mauricio up and against the wall
and murmured to him, “Walk.” She didn’t have to add any menacing
words to it; the tone said it all.
Soon after, he was left in his cell, the
fourth or fifth—he had lost track—of the six promised meals arrived
and he ate. Mauricio spent what little was left of the day nibbling
at his food and napping. Soon, darkness engulfed his cell and
Mauricio waited to hear her steps. Although he tried to keep his
eyes opened and his mind alert, he was still weak and dozed on and
off. At one point in the evening, he rested his head on the bed and
stared at the window.
“Are you there?” Rosie’s voice came from the
outside world, bringing with her a playful gust of air.
Mauricio sat up immediately and stretched
his sleepy body.
“Yes,” he answered back.
“How are you now?” she asked. Her voice
sounded closer to Mauricio’s cell.
“Much better, thanks.” Mauricio felt even
better now.
“I had to cut you dead today,” she said
softly.
“I understood.” Mauricio didn’t say that it
had really stung.
“I didn’t want you to be in any trouble,”
she explained in the same tone.
“I know.” It was good to hear it out loud.
“But… you sounded so different…”
“Like the spoiled brat everybody talks
about?”
He didn’t confirm her words, but his lips
curved up.
“It’s okay; I know I can be obnoxious. I’m
really good at that. It’s one of my favorite characters. The
spoiled brat keeps the brownnosers away.” Rosie chuckled her
crystalline laugh.
“I imagine she has been useful to you.”
“You have no idea how hard it is to mete
between the people I can trust and the ones who only want to take
advantage of me.” Rosie wasn’t laughing anymore; her voice had
grown serious in a matter of seconds.
“No, I don’t.” Mauricio was somber. He was
frustrated by the fact that even using the same alphabet, they were
speaking two different languages. Their lives were opposing to the
point that even the same word didn’t mean the same thing for either
of them. “I am alone. And I’m normally at the receiving end of
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