It All Started With A Piñata

Chapter 4 - The Battering

I ran until I was sure that they would not find me. I ran through the streets, unravelling the path that we took to the villa. I passed houses with rounded edges, sculpted from adobe, and peach coloured homesteads with red-tiled roofs. The world was organic, flowing to the rate of my heartbeat. Tears bubbled over my eyes - it felt like I was looking through a pair of glasses, when normally I could see perfectly. 

I cried until I was too exhausted and numb to have feelings. I have been calm for a while now. 

I sniffle in the humid air - I sound like myself in April, when the flowers bloom and my allergies are terrible. Snot dribbles down my chin, and hastily I wipe it off with the shoulder of my T-shirt. Great. I feel like a slug, coated in mucus, drifting along indifferently. I don't think I will ever want to come back to Mexico. And if I do, I am coming back alone. 

I approach a small, central area of shops when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It's a text from Dad. 

"Hey buddy, are you okay? Can we talk?" 

I stare at my phone, debating whether to go back. I have already been out for five hours, and it would take me a while to walk back. By then, it could be dark. It could be unsafe. 

Another text flashes on the screen.

"Please call. We can come and get you."

Forget that. I shut my phone off and shove it in my back pocket. The last thing I want to do is talk about my feelings. And worse, have to talk to Romayo. I just want to go home. 

For once in my life, I want to get really wasted. I want to forget everything I know to be true. I want to lose control. 

There is a bar at the end of the street, decorated with rainbow lanterns and a statue of a man in a sombrero. I walk in.

"Identificación?" the man behind the counter asks. 

"Tengo dieciocho." Although I never thought I would need it, I am actually grateful for the Spanish lessons that Mom made me take last summer. 

 I hand him my driver's licence, my ugly photo staring back at me menacingly.

"You are not from here?" the man asks with a heavy accent.

"I'm from America."

"You need to be careful, señor. This area is more safe, but still there are dangers when night comes." 

"I will be. Thanks."

I stare at the liquors, forming an ombre spectrum behind the bar. Mexico is known for tequila, so I best try it while I am here. 

"Could I get three shots of tequila please? That one there?"

"Muy bien."

Skillfully, he pulls three glasses off the shelf with one hand, and fills them with clear liquid. I stare at the tequila, wondering how it will feel to be drunk for the first time.

"Gracias."

I hold the glass to my nose - it smells toxic. The glass is cold against my lips, but I turn it upside down. I choke, the alcohol burning my throat. It is a good burn though. It feels like pulling out a splinter - it hurts, but it takes the pain away at the same time. 

A few minutes later, I can feel my body relaxing into my seat.

I finish off the next two shots easily. I smile to myself, wondering why I never drank before. It feels so good to forget. 

I order another 3, and down them quickly. The room gets darker until my eyes close. I hear the lively chatter of people in the bar. Then I drone the noise out too, and happily fall asleep.