Eleven

Ana

M y head feels like cotton wool. My eyes are dry and sore. My skin veers from damp and cold to prickly and hot, but whatever they’re giving me, it’s keeping the pain at bay. Keeping me sufficiently out of it to be able to cope. To not let the memories and the guilt hit too hard.

I curl my legs up underneath myself, fiddle with the laces on the sneakers they gave me. Sneakers that are a size too big for me, but I don’t have any clothes of my own, bar the ones I was wearing that night. The women here are giving me theirs, making sure I wash, brush my hair, do all the things I have no interest in now. Mama’s gone. And it was my fault.

There’s a knock at the door and I slowly raise my head, look up as the door is pushed open. It’s that same man I vaguely remember talking to that night. The one who was in here the other day, talking to Elise.

“We need you to get ready for the funeral, Ana.”

I drop my gaze and rest my head on my knees.

“Ana?”

I feel him sit down next to me, and I instinctively edge away, I don’t want him close to me. I don’t want anyone close to me.

“I can’t do it,” I whisper as I stare at the bare, gray wall in front of me.

“Well, you don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. You need to show your face, it’s your mama we’re burying today.”

I shake my head, and still I don’t look at him.

“Listen, kid, you’ve got to work with me here, okay?”

I slowly turn my head and look at this man beside me. I can’t remember his name, can’t remember if I’ve even been told what his name is, I don’t know anything about him: don’t know what part he plays in this club, I just know that I spoke to him, that night. “I really don’t think I can do it.”

He gets up, indicates a pile of clothes on a chair by the door. “Get changed. One of the girls will come and get you when we’re ready to go.”

I watch him head for the door, his back to me as he turns the handle.

“When can I go home?”

He stops, keeps his back to me for a couple of beats before he turns back around. “You can’t go home.”

I frown. Did I hear him right? I’m pumped so full of tranquilizers and god knows what else – I don’t ask, I just take – that I might not be fully aware of what’s really being said.

“It’s too dangerous.” He slides his hands into his pockets, shrugs, and leaves the room.

I can’t go home. It’s too dangerous? What does he mean by that?

I get up, go over to the window, and I pull down the blinds, plunging the room into darkness. I don’t understand what he means. I don’t even know why I’m still here, how long have I been here? It’s almost like the haze is slowly starting to shift and I can see clearly again, it’s just that, I don’t want to see clearly. I don’t want to think or feel or remember. But I can’t stay here. I don’t want to stay here.

I spin around as the door opens again and Skip walks in. I still don’t know what kind of relationship he had with my mama, but I blame him, too. For what happened to her. I blame him, I blame myself; I blame my absent father for dragging my mama into a mess that saw her turn to men like Skip out of desperation. Because she wanted to give me a better life. And now her life is over, which means mine is, too.

“You need to get ready for the funeral, Ana.” Skip’s voice is kind, but it also carries a hint of agitation.

“Why is it dangerous for me to leave here?”

He comes further into the room and sits down on the edge of the worn leather couch in the corner.

“You got mixed up in our shit. Those guys that attacked you, they were from a rival club, one we’ve been fighting a war–”

“A war?” I sit back down on the bed and curl my legs up underneath me.

“We’re fighting for territory. Our clubs, they do business in a very similar way, and there isn’t room for both of us. Something’s got to give. Someone’s got to go. We’d rather it was them, they’d rather it was us.” He shrugs and lights up a cigarette. “They were warning us, the night your mama was murdered…”

He stops talking the second I drop my gaze. My mama was murdered. That’s the first time I’ve heard her death described in that way, and I feel a very real, physical pain rip through my body, but I refuse to cry anymore. Mama wouldn’t want me to cry, she’d want me to be strong, but would she want me to stay here? With these people?

“She died because of some stupid turf war?” Saying the words out loud, it makes me angry. But I’m too exhausted to vent that anger, to let these people see how fucking angry I am.

“It’s not that simple, Ana.”

“Isn’t it?”

His eyes lock on mine, he’s trying to make me understand why all of this happened, but he never will. I’ll never understand why my mama had to die.

“I just want to go home,” I whisper, letting the exhaustion take over. I’m too tired to fight. Too worn down to think straight.

“We killed two of their men, Ana. And I know it sounds twisted, to even imagine that you were to blame for that in any way, but that’s how they’ll see it. The Blackhawks. They could be looking for you, and they’ll know that you’re here, but with us you’ll be safe. You leave, and you’re on your own.”

“What does… are you saying they want to kill me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. They’ll want some kind of payback, I can guarantee that. What form that payback takes, that’s anyone’s guess. So it’s best you stay here. You’ll be safer with us.”

“Mama wouldn’t want me to stay here.”

“Your mama would want you to be safe. Here, you’re safe. Out there, not so much. And I can’t protect you out there, Ana. In here, I can try. I’ll do my fucking best to keep you safe, but for that to happen you have to stay. You have to help us. Work with us. Listen to us.”

I frown, because I still don’t fully understand what he means by that. “Are you – are saying I have to leave everything else behind?”

“What’s out there for you now, huh? Your mama’s gone, you can’t go back home–”

“You promised to help her. You promised to help us keep our house, why can’t I go back there? Why can’t I go back home?”

“Did you hear anything I just said, Ana?”

I take a breath, and I’m fighting back angry, confused tears but I won’t cry in front of him.

“You promised to help us,” I whisper, my eyes locked on his.

“I wasn’t going to just throw money at your mama, Ana. She didn’t want that. She was going to earn that money, and I was going to help her sort out some kind of payment plan–”

“So, help me .”

He shakes his head, and I feel the anger start to bubble up again.

“How can…? I don’t understand, how can I stay here ? Why can’t I just go back home?”

The drugs are wearing off now, I can feel the fear returning, and I don’t want to be scared, but I am. I’m scared and confused and alone. I feel so fucking alone…

“Listen, Ana, when I tell you you’re in danger if you don’t let us protect you, I’m not spieling you shit. I haven’t got time for that.”

“Why are you so keen to protect me? I mean, you barely knew my mama.”

“I knew enough to know that I was falling for her. Sofia she – she got under my skin, I cared about her. And I know she loved you, so much. She would do anything for you. And she’d want you to be safe, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to keep you safe. For her.”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need babysitting.”

“Yeah. You do.”

I narrow my eyes and try to ignore the throbbing ache pounding away at the sides of my temples. It always happens, when whatever concoction of shit they’re giving me starts to wear off. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“You don’t have a choice, kid.”

He gets up, leaves the room, and seconds later one of the club girls comes in with a fresh glass of water and a handful of pills, which I take willingly.

I have to bury my mama today. And I don’t want to remember any of it.