Another tear slips down my cheek, and I go over to the couch and curl up with the afghan.
I miss him so much. The pain never seems to leave my heart.
In my agony, words slowly form in my head. I grab the guitar that's next to me and strum a few notes.
"Country boy," I sing through my tears.
And that's how I spend my two weeks. Every emotion I feel about losing Dirk, or how he made me feel when we were together, I write down.
At the end of my fourteen days, I have an album of songs complete. When I play them for Mateo, I can't help the tears I shed. But all he hears is money attached to my songs.
When he rises, he tells me to put on a cocktail dress and get ready.
I don't know why I assumed I would get another night to myself, but I'm not ready to go out. "I need another night."
"Too bad. I'll be in the car waiting. You have an hour to get ready."
My stomach sinks. "Where am I going?"
"Jonas is at the hotel. It's time you got reacquainted."
Bile rises in my throat. "Please. I'll write more. Don't make me go."
"You have no choice. Stop making it harder than it has to be. One hour Zoe. Don't be late." He drops another container on the table and leaves.
There have been eleven boxes of drugs I've washed down the sink. Each time, it seemed to get a little easier. Tonight, I struggle.
The notion of being back with Jonas is too much to bear. Chills run down my spine at the thought of his touch.
I weaken.
I need a bump, or I won't survive.
With a shaking hand, I pick up the metal cylinder. I open the lid, stir the straw in it, and the devil on my shoulder tells me one hit is what I need.
The devil fights with my conscience.
I pick some up with my two fingers and watch the dust fall. The knot that forms in my throat grows, and I close my eyes, swallow it, and when I open my lids, something else catches my eye—the steak knives.
Clutching the metal tube with one hand, I pick up the box with the other. I take them to the counter and set everything down. Then I pull out a knife and set it next to the two items.
What don't you ever do, Zoe? Dirk's voice says in my head.
Hesitate.
Everything becomes clear. And one thing I can't be tonight is high.
I dump the cocaine down the sink then wash it off my fingers and the sides of the box.
There's a sharpener on the side of the cutlery box, and I take the paring knife out and sharpen it. When I rub my finger over the blade and am convinced it's sharp enough, I take it to the bedroom and put it in my evening purse.
I put effort into how I look, knowing that Jonas will demand it, and the better I look, the more relaxed he will be. Instead of wearing my hair down, I wear it up in a slick french twist, so no pieces hang loose.
But I won't let him have his way with me again. I'm going to die tonight or he will. No man will lay another hand on me ever again unless I choose to have his hand on my body.
And the only person I choose is Dirk.
But he's gone.
Is he?
Stop thinking about him right now. You need to concentrate.
When the hour hits, I double-check the knife is in my purse and put a long coat over my dress. It's not that cold out, but it isn't thick, so it won't look too out of place.
Mateo is in the car when I get in. He checks me out and smiles for the first time since I returned. "Glad to see you still remember how to fix yourself up."
"He's at the Belizean embassy hotel?"
"Yes."
They won't alert the authorities if he's dead in the room. All of Belize would be furious if a drug lord were in the embassy.
Can I really do this?
You have no choice. It's him or you.
Whatever you do, don't hesitate.
I stare into the blackness of the night, full of anxiety, but determined not to become his victim again. My nerves are a rollercoaster, but I maintain my composure in front of Mateo.
The car stops, and I expect Mateo to get out, but he doesn't. "You aren't