him it's out of sight, out of mind, he never expected it to happen in front of him and maybe seeing it actually prompted him to feel guilty and own up, but if it had happened at the airport he just had to have his phone off and he'd be none the wiser. He's a coward and a bastard, I despise him, but only because I loved him so much. The hurt I'm feeling outweighs any other emotion, his betrayal is too much to bare; he knew everything I had gone through recently, but he went ahead with it anyway. Any half decent human being would have backed out and let me be, but then I guess any half decent human being wouldn't be doing this to innocent women to begin with.
Betrayal, it reminds me of the Mariachi songs and more specifically the one Carlos chose to stand up and sing to me, was it some kind of cryptic hint, a hidden warning of what was to come?
"I loved her, yet she broke my heart,
I feel sorry for anyone who now,
Asks me for my love, I am truly hurt.
I will never give love another chance."
I hadn't thought about the words before, I was too busy enjoying the romance of being serenaded to pay attention, which says it all really; this whole holiday I have only seen and heard what I wanted to, the signs have all been there, clear as day, but I was blind to them, bloody rose tinted glasses!
My mind is still searching for answers and remembering blatant signs I was too stupid to see when we arrive at the police station. Opening the door they all but drag me out by my arm and into the white building.
It's cold inside, both in temperature and atmosphere, no one talks to me, instead just pointing at where I should stand and freeing my hands only to point at a piece of paper they want me to sign.
“I don't know what this says” I say to the man behind the desk, who simply rattles something off in Spanish and taps the box again.
“Please, can I have an interpreter, I don't understand.” I know what they want me to do, but I'm reluctant to sign anything without knowing what it is, for all I know it's a confession they've drafted up.
The man behind the desk raises his voice, glaring at me and shoves a pen into my hand, slamming it down roughly onto the piece of paper. I don't know why I can't just have an interpreter, there has got to be someone here that speaks English, most of the population know it at least to a certain degree; they could pretty much bring someone in off the street and they could give me a vague idea of what it says.
I can see I'm not going to get any help here and the longer I prolong it, the angrier he is getting, so I just sign the damn sheet and hope for the best.
Next I'm taken into an interview room, the walls are a muddy brown colour and there are no windows or two way mirrors like you see in the movies, just stone walls on each side. A metal table sits in the middle of the room with one chair on one side and two chairs on the other. That is it, no recording device, no other furniture, just a cold dank room. I'm plonked down in the single chair, then my guard retreats from the room, closing the door behind him. I wonder if Blair and John are here yet, and what they are doing to save me from this hell. I'd like to think that with Blair's savvy she will have haggled me out within the hour, but somehow I don't think even she has that kind of power here.
There is no way of telling the time as I don't have a watch on and there is no clock hanging from the empty walls, but it feels like about an hour before anyone comes back into the room, meaning it must be around 10pm by now.
A man and a woman enter, both suited and booted, with serious expressions. They both hold mugs of steaming coffee, what I wouldn't give for a cup of even the cheapest coffee right now.
As they sit down in front of me I hold me hands on my lap, tracing my finger round the hard scab of my tattoo.