CHAPTER 35

Iget in the taxi line outside of the main entrance.

I try not to think about his paintings or his smile or the silver rings against his brown skin.

I will myself to forget his smell and the way his arms feel when they're wrapped tightly around me.

I force myself to walk away from his wounded body and extinguish the need to go to him.

One of the Miramonte's security guards spots me in the line.

He moves down the walkway with a meaningful gait, his jacket flapping open in front from the momentum.

I turn my body to angle it away from him, even though he's already seen me.

I look like a fool standing the wrong way in line with everyone else facing me.

We have a whispered yelling argument about my transportation back to the hotel.

I prefer a taxi while he prefers dragging my ass out of line by the arm.

I hit him in the bicep, which is like a bunny paw slapping a boulder.

"Let me go, you fuck! I'm done with this job, finished.

I'm leaving today and without him!"

"I'm under orders to provide you security.

If you just come with me then I won't have to hurt you."

There's the heartbroken Lana who wants to give up because I don't care if they kill me.

Then there's the Lana the fighter who wants to go live the best life she can just to show Moisés that she's perfectly fine without him.

I give in somewhere in between because I'm too tired to fight him and plus, he's got a gun and all I've got is a sweaty t-shirt and a purse full of tissues and crushed vending machine donuts.

I'm silent in the back of the SUV on the way to the hotel.

I lay my head back and meditate on trust and it's necessity in life.

I can't have a relationship with Mo if he can't tell me the truth.

What would that even be? Like I'm going to marry some guy with a secret identity—a husband who lies to me.

I jump out of the car before the security guard can get down to let me out.

"Thanks for the lift," I say, slamming the door.

As I stride away from him toward the hotel, I look back to make sure he's not following me and then I flip him the finger.

It feels good, so I do it with both hands and hold them extended in his direction.

I almost walk into a family exiting with two little children.

I stuff my hands in my back pockets, nod "sorry" and then keep my head down, eyes glued to the floor.

Back in the room, I have to physically hold myself back from smelling his stuff.

I dump my clothes in my rolling suitcase, dirty mixed with clean, and throw in all of the remaining hotel amenities.

Now that I'm broke, I've got to take advantage of free things.

I lie back on the bed and think about how I could have faired better if I were honest from the beginning.

Honest with Mo, when I first met him.

Honest with Dale about how I wasn't in love with him.

Honest with my parents about how much it sucked to support them.

Honest with myself about not wanting this to be over.

Ever.

I'm not ready.

I'm splitting into a million pieces as tears rush down my temples, wetting my ears and my hair.

I'm no longer a whole person, just a mess of fractured, meaningless orbiting pieces.

I don't know where to go.

I don't have a plan.

Anything I come up with only sounds miserable without Mozey.

I'll be relegated to toil the boring earth for eternity always searching to replace his singular beauty.

Not only that, I'll never meet anyone else who can tease me and make me feel silly and loved and turned on with a joke at my expense or a punch in my arm.

I love how he laughs when I'm grouchy and forces me to speak about my feelings.

I love how his searing kiss can steal the breath out of my lungs and the beat from my heart.

My phone rings.

It's Lex.

I pick it up even though I don't feel like being lectured.

"What's happening, Lana? Did he pull through, is he okay?"

"What about "how are YOU feeling, Lana, after being nothing but lied to?"

"So he's fine?" I feel mean because I can hear the panic in his voice.

"He's okay, he's going to be alright.

I just don't think I can do us, because I don't even know who he really is."

I'm folding and refolding Mozey's discarded shirt.

I won't let myself pick it up because it will cause me to do something pathetic like nuzzle my face into it and jam it in my suitcase so I can sleep with it under my pillow until it's lost every trace of his scent.

I do it anyway.

I can't help myself, because his scent is the only thing that can comfort me right now.

It's the closest I'll get to having him near me.

Even though it hurts to smell him it still makes me feel better.

"Lana?"

"What?"

"Just wondering if you were still there.

Can you hear me out for a minute?"

"Lex, I'm done.

It's not like you can talk me back into it."

"I know about the stuff that's bothering you.

I respected his need to tell you at the right time and right place."

"You fucking knew and didn't tell me—wait that is seriously wrong.

I'm family!"

"I know that he loves you.

I was trusting his timing.

When Mo came to Detroit, you were ashamed of our house, our parents, and our lack of jobs.

Shit, Lana, you were probably even ashamed of me.

We were at our lowest point ever and you know what? He wanted it.

It wasn't just like he was willing to accept it.

He wanted it, Lana.

Because it was part of you."

"Very nicely put, Lex.

But I'm still not marrying a liar.

I'm on the noon flight out tomorrow.

Will your ass pick me up or not?"

"Of course I'll pick you up.

I just want you to be happy."

I hang up the phone and toss it onto the bed.

I do a double take at a voicemail notification that I didn't know was there.

I check the number and it's Mozey's.

I check the time and see it came in last night.

He left me a voicemail while I was in bed sleeping next to him.

I push the button and bring it to my ear in slow motion—then throw it down like it's hot.

I don't want to hear what he has to say.

There is no excuse for not telling the truth and not being upfront.

I use the room phone to order steak and then a bottle of Merlot.

If the Miramontes are still paying, I'll have a last supper on their bill.

I flip the channels until I find an old movie, a classic, with a very young Clint Eastwood.

I power through the dinner and then order chocolate cake with ice cream.

I could go downstairs and check out the hotel bar, maybe hunt for some casual sex.

But I'm too miserable and angry.

I decide to take a hot bath.

I hate hotel bathtubs because I can't help but think of microorganisms.

And by micro-organisms, I mean really disgusting things belonging to other people.

I scrub the tub out first with blue shower gel and a washrag, then run it hot and deep.

I soak for an hour until my skin looks bloated and waxy and fittingly corpse-like.

I rub hotel lotion from my feet and keep going up all the way to my face.

It sort of stings and smells vaguely of ammonia mixed with airfreshener flowers.

The lotion makes my eyes water.

I wrap my wet hair in a towel and put on the provided bathrobe.

I notice there are two.

I never got to see Mozey in one.

The cake and ice cream are on the coffee table and the ice cream is soup.

I pick up the bowl and drink it up anyway.

At least the ice cream didn't lie to me.

I eat the cake in four grotesquely huge forkfuls.

It's probably all over my face, but I'm reveling in the gluttony.

I flop on the bed and roll on my back.

I grab the phone and press play and listen to his voicemail.

"Lana, you're sleeping and you look fucking cute.

Even though you drooled on the pillow and almost kneed me in the balls.

I don't want to scare you, but I also don't want to kick it without setting some things straight for you.

The question you always ask about the underground—the answer is yes.

I can't tell you more, cause I'm sworn to secrecy.

But I don't like to keep things from you so someday I'll tell you the rest.

The other thing, that you might already know.

Miramontes is my father, like the real one, but biology's as far as that goes.

He came and found me when I was thirteen.

Wanted to take me, threatened to kill me if I didn't come.

He wouldn't answer my questions about Brisa or what exactly he'd done.

I could tell what he was and it was against everything I believed in.

I told him to go fuck himself and he said he would kill me.

I would have gotten to Brisa sooner had I known how bad off she was.

The only thing I could get when I started looking was that he had compounds in Juárez, Tijuana and Mexico City.

I'm sorry for taking so long to let you in on that stuff.

I wanted to be what you wanted maybe even more than I wanted to be myself.

So if I kick it, the money is in the account.

It's dirty as fuck and covered in blood—but put it toward the kids who need it.

Nobody else does that better than you.

And the only favor I'll ask is that you paint my portrait if I go.

I want you to do it, not one of the members.

Because the way that you see me, Lana is the way I want people to remember me.

It's the way I want to be.

I love you, Lana and I love how you love me."

I can't even cry the emotion comes so hard, like a swift moving tsunami, knocking out everything I could hang onto and shoving me wherever it wants me to go.

I believe this is it; I don't think there will be another time.

The love between us is the only thing in this whole world that I can really call mine.

I pull Mozey's t-shirt over my head and I pull on his jeans.

I'm slightly disappointed that they aren't all that big on me.

There's no reason to bother with a bra or makeup or fixing my hair.

Mozey loves me, I'm not perfect, but neither is he.

I roll the cuffs of the pants up twice and slip into my shoes.

Something tells me to hurry.

If Miramontes, in truth, ever threated to kill him, then it's my job to save him and get him the hell out of there.