I wake up in my bed with a killer headache. When I try to move, my muscles scream at me to lie still, but the pain throbs through me even after I comply. Sunlight still slices through the thin curtains and the blood on my lips is moist, so I couldn't have passed out for long.

Staring at the ceiling, I contemplate my next move. I have to get out of Malaguay, no doubt about it. Except for Charo, no one has ever hit me before—my parents never even spanked me—and the one time a church member was discovered to have beaten his wife, the congregation was in an uproar. My mom told me back then that partner violence was an absolute no-go and that research showed the abuse escalated over time. It's one of the things I take at face value. I'm not eager to find out if she was right or not.

Now the only question is how to get myself home. After what just happened, asking Miguel for my passport is out of the question. Any confrontation could turn him into a monster again; something I need to avoid at all costs if I don't want to risk further harm.

Convinced that my papers have to be somewhere in his desk in the study, I prop myself up. With great effort, I swing my legs out of bed and tip my toes onto the floor to check for pain. My lower back is sore, but otherwise, I should be able to walk.

With a groan, I get to my feet and reach for the bedpost for balance. The first steps are pure agony, but by the time I reach the door, my thirst to escape has taken over. Tomás stressed in basic training that pain is a matter of willpower.

If you try hard enough, it can be controlled.

Back then, I thought he was full of shit, but now, I manage to carry on with the right motivation.

When I halt in front of the door to Miguel's office, the entire house is shrouded in silence. The clock in the hallway reads one p.m. He's probably over at the compound or grabbing lunch in town, and Naiara is out by the pool. This will be my best chance to search the study.

I softly knock to make sure. All remains still. With slight hesitation, I push the door open, the crack just wide enough to peek in. No sign of anyone. With a held breath, I tiptoe forward, pain and discomfort forgotten. My freedom is within reach. Six steps, five, four—my gaze is fixed on the desk. I just hope I can find the passport quickly and get out of the house before Miguel returns.

By the time I sink into Miguel's chair, my shirt sticks like a second skin to my back. I swipe a few strands of my hair from my forehead, a mistake I regret instantly when my fingers brush the left side of my face. Pain explodes in my head. It takes me a moment to catch my breath, the throbbing driving nausea up my throat.

Ignoring my desire to barf, I inspect the drawers and systematically go through the desk. None of the compartments are locked, the reason becoming all too soon apparent. Most of the drawers are either empty or stuffed with useless supplies. With a sigh, I lean back, scanning the room. When he took my papers, Miguel had mentioned a safe. Where could it be?

"Stacy, what are you doing in here?" Naiara studies me from the doorway with scrunched brows.

I force a smile on my lips, trying to hide that she almost startled me to death. "I was looking for painkillers."

"They're in the bathroom." Her gaze cuts into me and I twitch in Miguel's chair. "You shouldn't be in here. Miguel doesn't like when people go through his office."

"He told me it was okay." I don't break eye contact to cover the lie. "I'm his girlfriend and he trusts me."

A slow smile unfurls from the corners of her mouth. "Let me show you where the medicine cabinet is."

I follow her with slumped shoulders. If she squeals on me, what should I tell Miguel? He likely won't buy the painkiller story as easily as she did.

She steers toward the main bathroom on the second floor and points at a cabinet on the wall. "All the medicine is in there. Feel free to take whatever you like."

Gazing at my face in the mirror, I cringe. Half of my left side is swollen with a big red bruise under my eye; it makes me look as if I just stepped out of a freak show. My jaw tightens to suppress the tears that shoot a new wave of pain up my temples.

"You need to learn to stay away from Miguel when he is in one of his moods." Naiara's smile is full of sympathy. "He really isn't as bad as you might think right now. Sure, he has a bad temper, but he'll do anything for you if you know how to handle him, especially since he's crazily in love with you."

How can she call it love if someone hits you? "Does Santino beat you, too?"

"Hell no." She giggles. "He knows I'd cut off his balls in his sleep if he did. My dad is also one of his closest advisors, so he wouldn't dare."

With one jolt, I tear the door to the medicine cabinet open, not really in the mood to have a lengthy discussion on the topic. How could she possibly understand what I'm going through if she's never had the man who claims to love her but then hurt her the way Miguel hurt me?

I frown; all the medicine is American. So much for rejecting everything of the enemy. After some searching, I find a bottle of prescription acetaminophen, which is stronger than the over-the-counter kind. These will have to do. I drop two tablets into my palm, swallowing them down with a little bit of water from the tap. I squeeze the medicine bottle into my jeans pocket for later.

When I turn around, I yelp. Miguel is standing in the doorway instead of Naiara. His dark eyes are blank; I can't tell what mood he is in. A bucket of emotions pours over me; I'm unsure if I want to run away or punch him in the face. In the end, I decide on the "wait and see" approach. Both my legs and arms are terribly weak and I want to avoid another confrontation today. Chewing my bottom lip, I stare at him, waiting for his next move.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." I turn back toward the sink and turn on the water in the hopes that he'll give me some privacy.

Instead, he steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. "I'm really sorry I hit you."

As he comes closer, I hold my breath, my body tensing. His proximity gives me cold chills.

"You made me angry, but that's no excuse to punish you before telling you about the rules." He wraps his arms around me from behind and nuzzles his nose into my hair. "Will you forgive me?"

"I'm scared of you, Miguel." Tears well in my eyes; I hate myself for being weak. "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Stacy, I'm so sorry. Please, I love you. I don't want you to be afraid of me."

It's a little late for that. Yet, without a passport, I need to buy time. "Give me a few days, okay? It's a lot to process."

"I understand." His shoulders deflate. "Let me make it up to you. Please, just give me one more chance."

I close my eyes, confusion and doubt gnawing at my very substance. His gaze oozes with sincerity, but this little nagging voice warns me to be cautious. Then again, the Bible teaches forgiveness and second chances. Maybe this was just a one-time exception. My pounding headache isn't helping. I need more time to figure this out.

My smile is slow, and not only because my face hurts whenever I flinch a muscle. "Let's just take it one step at a time."

"Then at least let me take you out to dinner and we'll talk some more."

I'm in too much pain to even think about food. "Truthfully, I'm not feeling well and want to lie down. Maybe tomorrow."

"Sure, okay, we do whatever you want."

When I take a step forward, he slides his arm around my waist for support. "Let me take you to your room and get the laptop. That way, I'm around if you need anything."

I want to be alone but appreciate that he's making an effort. One more time, I scan my face in the mirror. An unknown person gazes back. In a sense, she's stronger and cleverer than the girl who arrived here four months ago, but in another, she's scared beyond belief. On second thought, it may be best if I go home. Now, I only need to figure out how to get there.

~~~~

For the next few days, Miguel doesn't leave my side and bends over backward to fulfill my every wish. Even though he makes a big fuss about my injuries and calls the doctor a couple of times to check on me, he doesn't apologize again. This strengthens my belief that his earlier words of remorse were just for show to keep me subdued and that future violence is a distinct possibility. Treading carefully around him has become my new routine. Otherwise, I more or less pretend that I've forgiven him to signal that we have moved on.

It doesn't help that I'm starting to miss my family, especially my mom. She would know what to do. Vivid dreams of little fun snippets of my childhood wake me up at night; when I realize I'm still in Malaguay. silent tears replace them. Even the prospect of my parents bossing me around and reminding me what a disappointment I am is no longer daunting.

After a week, I've almost recuperated; only my shoulder still hurts a lot. According to the doctor, one of my muscles is torn and will take months to fully heal. I down painkillers by the handful to get the persistent ache under control.

To escape Miguel's constant pampering, I finally insist on returning to my patrol duty. Secretly, I have decided to ask the US embassy for help, but I don't have a clue where their offices are. During earlier trips to the capital, I've never seen a house that looked even remotely like an official government building or one that flew the Star-Spangled Banner.

When I arrive at the compound for the second morning shift with Miguel in tow and find Emilien unharmed, I let out a sigh of relief. Miguel still must've spoken to him since he can't look me in the eyes. To my dismay, Tomás also announces that he'll be joining me on patrol, which not only makes me second-in-command but will bar any visit to the embassy.

I snuggle against Miguel with a little purr. "Don't you trust me anymore with the patrol?"

"It's just for a few days until you've fully recuperated. Tomás thought it might be too much for you otherwise."

When my gaze flicks to Tomás, he's watching us with one of his usual smirks. "Ready, Stacy?" The way he rolls the R sounds mocking.

A group of girls sits outside the training center in the late September sun, Shauna among them. She lives in town and might know what's outside the patrol perimeter, and if I get a chance to talk to her alone, I could ask her about the embassy. "Maybe it was premature to go on patrol." I try to give my voice a pitiful whine. "I don't feel well."

Tomás arches a brow. "You're backing out?"

"She said she isn't feeling well, cabrón. Back off."

Miguel wraps his arms protectively around me. When Tomás spins on his heel and gives some rapid commands in Spanish, I grin into his shirt. The soldiers climb onto the waiting truck, and a few minutes later, Tomás gives the whistle to depart.

"Do you want me to take you back to the mansion?" Miguel asks.

"I thought you had to work. I can just hang out with the girls until you're done. It's such a nice morning and I haven't spoken to them since the wedding."

"Okay, it won't take long—an hour tops. Are you sure you're okay out here without me?"

"Yes." I rise onto tiptoes and press a kiss on his lips.

We walk together hand in hand toward the training center and split just before we get to the door. As I approach, the girls' conversation falls quiet; they all stare at me with questioning eyes.

"So you met the real Miguel," Raine sneers. "Thought you're better than us since your Prince Charming picked you for patrol, but as it turns out, he isn't so charming after all."

Heat rushes into my cheeks. I might've gloated a few times during basic training, but this, I don't deserve. I open my mouth for a sharp reply when Shauna butts in.

"Oh, shut up, Raine." She pats the small wall right next to her. "Sit here, Stacy. We were just discussing the upcoming ball. Did you get your dress yet?"

My brows knit together. "What ball?"

"The president's birthday is next weekend. There'll be a big buffet and a dance. All the foreign girls are invited."

Miguel hadn't mentioned it, but I won't give Raine the opportunity to scoff at me again. "Oh yeah, that one." I lower myself next to Shauna with a straight face. "I haven't decided on the dress yet. What are you gonna wear?"

The others are soon back to discussing fabrics and shoes, hotly debating what hairstyle would go best with their selections. Shauna and I follow the conversation in silence.

"Do you know where the US embassy is?" I mutter under my breath.

"It's in a restricted part of town where all the embassies are. They call it refugio. The area is secured by a wall and you need a special pass to get through the checkpoint. Trust me, I tried to get to the Irish embassy, but even a mouse can't get through without permission."

Tears glisten in her eyes and I can only imagine what Tomás did to her when he found out.

"So that's it? We're stuck here?"

She glances at Bettina, who's leaning back against a tree, rubbing her gigantic belly while chatting away with Raine.

"There might be a way for you since you're running patrol, but we can't discuss it here. If Bettina finds out, she'll tell Ramon and they'll close the loophole."

"Tomás will go on patrol with me for the next few days, but as soon as he's out of the picture, I'll stop by your house. We can discuss it then."

"Okay. We live right on Calle St. Andrés, number is fifteen. It's the third parallel street from the church."

We both continue to sit in silence, listening to the other girls laughing and making plans with excitement glowing in their faces. It's as if an invisible bond has formed between us; I understand her now and feel terrible that I never realized the horrors of her life. We are both trapped in a foreign country, but with her help, I'll make sure we both get out unharmed.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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