The medicine the doctor gave me puts me into a comatose sleep. I miss the wake-up siren at six and the commotion that usually rocks the compound in the morning, sleeping soundly until almost noon. It's the first time since my arrival that I truly feel refreshed. Too bad it's on the day I'm going home. With a newfound spirit, I jump out of bed. It proves to be a big mistake. The soreness almost splits my head in half.

When I observe myself in the mirror, my eyes widen in shock. The whole right side of my face is swollen from Charo's slap and my lip is split. Dark circles underline my red, puffy eyes. No way I'll step outside looking like this. With utter care, I apply makeup to the spots until most of the damage is hidden, but it still gives me an artificial appearance. Only the burning thirst in my throat convinces me not to crawl back into bed and cry under the covers.

When I open the bedroom door, the two soldiers, who have been dozing in front of my room, jump up, saluting.

"Buenos días, señorita," one of them mutters while the other stares at a spot in front of his feet without flinching.

I recall this means good morning. "Buenos días."

He gives me a good once-over and I want to close the door in his face. By now, everyone will know what happened last night. Heat stings my cheeks; it's so embarrassing, even if none of it was my fault.

He signals me to follow him. I hesitate for a moment, reluctant to leave the safety of my dorm room with two strange men. It's stupid. Miguel put them there for my protection. They would never harm me. When I take a tentative step forward, a dizzy spell hits me and only my palm pressing against the wall allows me to keep my balance.

Shaking my head, I get rid of the fuzzy feeling surrounding my brain like a layer of fog. "Where are you taking me?"

"Perdóname, pero no hablo inglés."

I give him a feeble smile; so much for communication. When he keeps signaling that I should follow him, I finally give in. He probably has orders to take me to Miguel.

Pointing at the bathroom door across the hall, I raise my index finger. "Uno minuto." My Spanish is probably wrong, but they still seem to understand me.

After I relieve myself and wash my hands, they lead me out of the building. We cross the yard and I'm conscious that all eyes are upon me. Conversations halt and people openly stare at me. My face burns hot and I battle the rising tears.

Why can't I be invisible?

The soldier opens the door to the training center and ushers me inside. The air- conditioning is like a freezing wall, yet the gazes of the soldiers we pass still burn holes in my back. When we reach a deserted corridor, I let out a sigh of relief. At least for a moment, my torture has halted. We end up in front of a white-washed door and the soldier knocks.

"Entra." Miguel's voice is laced with frustration and the soldier edges away but then opens the door.

The atmosphere in the room can only be described as explosive. Miguel glares with a stony face that relaxes when our eyes meet. The two men facing him turn around to gawk. Tomás is one of them. A nasty smirk spreads on his lips as he soaks in my appearance.

Miguel beams at me. "Oh, Stacy. I'm glad you finally woke up."

Tomás's snort earns him the evil eye from Miguel. They scowl at each other until the second man intervenes by clearing his throat.

"Let's finish this up later, so that the commandante can attend to his guest." As he rises, his stare is fixed on Tomás.

For a moment, time comes to a standstill while Tomás remains frozen in place. "Sure. I'll swing by this evening to get my new assignment."

Miguel's hand balls into a fist. "Don't push your luck, Tomás. This is as far as this will go."

Tomás's smile is complacent. "I totally understand, Miguel. I appreciate this opportunity." The words drip with sarcasm and are met by Miguel's murderous look.

"Get out before I change my mind and have you thrown into the brig."

Tomás chuckles as if this is the least of his worries. When he passes me, his wink is accompanied by a pearly smile. Somehow, I can't shake the feeling that I was at the center of their argument, but I discard the hunch. I haven't seen Tomás in a few days and didn't notice him last night as one of the spectators. With his good looks, he usually sticks out like a sore thumb.

The door closes behind them and I give into my burning curiosity. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing important. Tomás is just an opportunist who would sell his family to get ahead." Miguel points at a chair. "Sit down. How are you feeling this morning?" His face has softened; his eyes are laced with concern. It's the same genuine expression he wore last night.

"Okay, I guess."

When he arches a brow like he doesn't believe me, I grimace.

"Are you in any pain?"

I smile at him and on cue, soreness spreads across my face. "A little."

He opens up one of the desk drawers and takes out a small pill bottle. "Here, this is a painkiller. You can take up to eight a day, two at a time."

I pick up the container and study the label. It's in Spanish.

Miguel gets up and walks over to a cabinet holding a small refrigerator. Handing me a water bottle, he juts his chin at the medicine in my hand. "It's like ibuprofen. Trust me, they'll make you feel better."

My throat is so dry that I have trouble swallowing. I twist off the top of the bottle, downing half the water in one go before taking a deep breath. That's so much better.

"Did you have a chance to call the airline yet?"

"I did. Unfortunately, the ground staff at Quito airport are on strike, and all flights have been canceled. The strike is expected to last three days, and I won't be able to get you on a flight before that." He squats next to the chair, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "Believe me, I tried. I even called the airline to see if I could get you on a flight out of Bogota or Peru, but they are booked solid because of the strike. I'm so sorry, Stacy. I know you want to go home, but there's nothing I can do."

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I just want to be home with my mom. "And there's no other way?"

"No. My father is out of the country or you could use the Gulfstream, and my business planes are all tied up. I tried everything." He rubs my hand. "I'm really sorry. I'll take you sightseeing, so you don't get bored, and I'll keep you absolutely safe. If anyone even talks to you without my permission, I'll have him tossed into the brig, and the second the strike is over, you'll be on that plane."

"You promise?"

"You have my word."

"And I don't have to see Felipe?"

"No. I sent him away on patrol in the mountains. He won't be back for a long time."

His contrite smile swallows up some of the disappointment. As long as he's around to protect me, I may as well make the best of the situation. It's not his fault that my vacation turned into a nightmare or that the airlines had to cancel their flights. Acting like a spoiled brat for not getting my way will get me nowhere.

"I guess there's not much we can do." I straighten my deflated body and wipe the few tears off my cheeks that managed to spring loose. "Can I at least call my parents?"

"Of course." He pulls a cellphone from his shirt pocket. "What's their number?"

He dials for me and hands me the phone. I turn away from him in the hopes he'll give me some privacy, but he settles back in his seat behind the desk and stares at me. Awkward silence falls over the room as the phone rings.

Finally, my mom picks up. "Hello." Her voice is a magnet for my tears.

"Mom, it's Stacy." A silent sob runs through my body. "I just wanted to call to tell you I'm fine."

"Where are you?" The words are cold; she must still be mad.

"In Malaguay. I was gonna come home, but there's an airport strike . . . but I should be back soon."

"You shouldn't have left without discussing this with us. That was irresponsible of you."

"That's all you have to say?" A cold claw cuts into my chest. "I mean, Dad hasn't really shown himself from a responsible side, considering his affair with Lauren."

"Don't blame your father for your poor judgment. Just disappearing with only a note is unacceptable."

"But Mom—"

"Did you know there was a travel warning for that country?"

"Yes, but Felipe said—"

"And just visiting someone you met on the internet. What were you thinking?

"Mom. I'm sorry—"

"But that's your problem, Stacy. You were probably not thinking at all. You constantly make these impulsive decisions without consideration for anyone else. Do you know how selfish that is?"

Her words slice into me like a sharp knife, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. Why can't she for once care how I feel? It's always all about her and Dad and how much of a disappointment I am"I'm sorry, Mom."

I stare at the floor to avoid Miguel's quizzical look. Tears well in my eyes, but I manage to keep my words halfway steady. "I have to go. I'll text you when I know my flight details."

With trembling hands, I end the call. All of a sudden, I'm glad there's a strike. No way I want to face my parents and have them beat down on me, too. They probably won't even care what happened to me, claiming it's my own fault for even putting myself into this position.

"Hey, are you okay?" Miguel's soft voice soothes some of the uproar inside me.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Wiping my face dry on my shirt, I give him a brave smile. "My mom was just really mad because I left without telling anyone."

More tears rise. Her voice was full of anger and frustration. It'll take ages to live this one down.

"It can be tough to meet your parents' expectations, but you shouldn't let that bother you. You're an adult, Stacy, and perfectly capable of making your own decisions."

I wish it were that easy. Since I'll be dependent on them financially all through college, they will continue to meddle in my life as if I were a little child. Eager to change the subject, my attention returns to the pain medication on the desk. "So you said I should take two?"

"Yes, and you can have more in a few hours."

I choke down the pills, finishing the rest of the water by taking small sips. He waits patiently, his smile full of warmth and concern. More tension is sucked out of me with every swallow and my gaze travels around the room. It's a standard office but without a computer. Multiple shelves are filled with binders of different sizes and colors, and the papers on the desk are neatly stacked, the pens stuck in a little holder. My inspection ends with a diploma hanging on the wall.

"Oh my god, you went to Harvard?"

"Yes." When my jaw drops, he chuckles. "Two years. I got an MBA from their business school."

"Wow. Where did you go for your undergrad?"

"National University of Colombia. What about you? Any college plans?"

"For now, just community college." I wrinkle my nose. Once I get home, I'll have to meet with an advisor to confirm that I indeed have a spot in the entering fall class. My parents will probably disown me if anything else goes wrong this summer. "I was thinking of getting an associate degree first. Not sure what to major in, though."

"Don't sweat it. You'll figure it out." Some of my worries evaporate under his sweet smile. "Are you hungry?"

The fight with my mom has killed my appetite. "Not really."

"Good because I want to show you something."

I allow him to grab my hand and whisk me away, the curiosity making me twitch with excitement. Surprisingly, our adventure ends in the shooting range just one flight below. A few groups of soldiers are practicing, but luckily, they're too engrossed in their exercises to pay any attention to me.

Miguel picks up a pistol. "Have you ever fired a gun before?"

I shake my head. My parents would've never allowed any of us kids around firearms since they can take someone's life in the blink of an eye. Personally, I've always found them fascinating, just like the military. Power and responsibility go hand in hand. The boyish excitement in Miguel's face is catching and I'm ready to give it a try.

"This is a Beretta M9." He flips up a little knob on the top of the grip. "It's the gun we use for beginners and it's quite easy to handle." With slightly spread legs, he turns toward the target, firing off a round without the slightest hesitation.

With admiration, I watch as the bullets find their mark right in the center of the target's head. He's such a good shot.

Lowering the gun, Miguel drops a small metal box on a table. He reloads it with bullets and snaps it back in its place. With the barrel pointed to the ground, he offers me the weapon. "Your turn."

When I clutch the grip, my hand shakes slightly. Slowly, I turn toward the target, raising my arm. The sudden sense of power is thrilling.

Miguel moves my waist a little. "You have to find your center to have full control over the gun. Every time you fire, you will feel a kick in your shoulder. It's called a recoil. You'll get used to it after a while, but it will mess with your aim until you learn how to adjust."

His breath tickles my neck and I close my eyes, trying to focus. Though I'm still shaken up from last night, his presence is soothing and my insides twirl a little when his lips brush against my skin. For a beat, I'm lost in the moment and forget that I'm at a shooting range.

"All you have to do is pull the trigger."

My attention shifts to the target in front of me. When I pull the trigger back, I imagine Felipe's face.

Pain kicks my shoulder at the same time a loud bang threatens to split my eardrums. The barrel swings upward and to my horror, I miss the target completely.

"That was really good for a first try." Miguel pulls me a bit closer to shift my weight around. "Most people are reluctant to shoot when they first start out, but you seem to be a natural. Try again."

His aftershave stays with me as I briefly close my eyes to prepare for the second shot. This time, the backward momentum from the recoil doesn't surprise me and my hand is more steady. Though I miss, I feel empowered.

I fire three rapid shots in a row before the pain in my shoulder becomes unbearable. With a whimper, I lower the gun, barely able to hold on.

"Let's take a break." Miguel leads me over to a bench and gets me some cold water.

When I rotate my shoulder, he uses his fingers to massage the throbbing pain. The ache becomes bearable. I lean against him, closing my eyes, totally engrossed in his touch. The adrenaline, still pulsing through my body, is liberating. I could picture myself owning a gun once I'm back in the States. In secret, of course. If I could protect myself from harm, something like last night would never happen again.

After a while, the shooting sounds around us cease. Instead, a pressing silence hangs over the room. I reopen my eyes to find Juana standing in the doorway, gazing at us with tears in her eyes. I cringe at her visible hurt, the betrayal all too evident on her face. She must think Miguel and I have something romantic going on.

She spins around and storms out. I stare at Miguel. He has not moved an inch but is still massaging my aching shoulder. "Don't you want to go after her and explain?"

"Why? There's nothing to explain."

"Well, she might think—"

"Don't worry about it. Juana is a big girl. Besides, we broke up, and she just hasn't accepted that it's over."

My brows knit together. "You broke up?"

"Yes. That's what couples do when one of them falls in love with someone else."

He winks at me and I give him an uneasy smile. Too much information to share with someone he barely knows. Must be the South American openness I read about.

He pulls me to my feet. "Come on, let's continue. I want you to hit the target at least once today."

A few rounds later, I get the hang of it and finally hit the target. Firing off the rest of the magazine, two more bullets find their aim. A thrill surges through me; I throw my arms around Miguel's neck with a laugh. For once in my life, I'm good at something.

"That was extraordinary. I have rarely seen anyone shoot better their first time."

Pride overcomes me and my cheeks burn with a sense of accomplishment. Only a loud grumble from my stomach interrupts my ecstasy.

Miguel grins. "Oh, someone is hungry. Do you want to grab something to eat at the mess hall or go to town?"

I'd still rather avoid the crowds and a quiet dinner with Miguel would allow me to get to know him better. "Go to town, if you don't mind."

He pulls my palm against his lips. "I know just the place. You'll love it."

He slips his arm around my waist as we walk out, and for a second, my body goes stiff. Then I relax from the warmth of his touch. He saved me and he's nothing like Felipe. Almost at the door, we bump into Tomás.

He smirks. "You kids have fun now."

"Te dije que te mantuvieras alejado de ella." Miguel's voice trembles with anger.

"Oh, don't worry, I remember. It's just too bad that Stacy is stuck here because of the strike." Tomás's smirk is even wider than before. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's making fun of the situation.

Shooting Tomás another deadly glare, Miguel ushers me away. Outside the training center, he tears open the door to a Jeep with a huff. "I have to apologize for Tomás's behavior. He can be a real jerk."

"I've never liked him."

"Yeah, he has that effect on people. Making someone's life miserable is his hobby."

"Don't worry, it's not your fault."

For a second, his gaze lingers on my face. "I'm just really glad you aren't upset anymore."

The day has actually been bearable with him around. I smile. "For all it's worth, I had a nice time this afternoon."

"That's good. Just try to give Malaguay another chance, okay?"

"I'll try." In that moment, I'm more determined than ever to make the best of the situation. My father always said you should never question God's ways. Everything happens for a reason. Only those who accept the burdens and move forward will succeed in the end. Being afraid that behind every smile is a potential rapist will not get me anywhere. Besides, only problems await me at home, and they surely will still be there when I return.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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