It’s late at night —way past the time when the partying outside ended— when Bea can finally let herself cry.
She hides her face under a pillow, bites it when the sobs spill out of her like she imagines the waves crash against the rocks in the beach: a furious impact that threatens to rip her in half.
Bea wishes there was something she could do to turn back time and never steal the coke that started it all, even if it means she would never become tangled in the sheets of Ludo’s apartment, between Mahdi and Ludo’s bodies, wrapped in their warmth from head to toe.
There’s something about allowing herself to break that feels cathartic, but when the sobs stop and the tears dry on her skin the hole inside her chest is as big as it was before.
She didn’t think heartbreak was a real thing until now, when the two halves of her heart are no longer within reach. She misses them like a lung, sure that she hasn’t breathed properly since Mahdi left.
For a moment, Bea entertains the thought of leaving, grabbing the bag still packed under the bed and running away, but where would she even go? She doesn’t have money or connections to help her outside. All she’s ever known is la Misa and there’s no way Ricardo will let her walk away. Oh no, he’d make an example out of her, the way he did with Victor.
She sits up on the bed and looks over at her bag. Maybe she could find Ludo still, but leaving Mahdi behind feels wrong in so many ways. The only way Mahdi can survive this is if someone stops him from coming after Ricardo.
With a heavy heart, she realizes Mahdi must be getting ready to strike. He doesn’t know Ricardo will kill him if given the chance and he won’t even flinch. Ricardo wouldn’t even need to get his hands dirty when he’s got la Misa with him.
Bea touches the spot where her heart is breaking all over again, rubbing to stop the ache right under her sternum that won’t go away. Realizing there’s nothing she can do to stop it, she stands up and walks back and forth in her room, her feet drawing the same path over and over again.
She gets her phone from her bag and calls Mahdi, but the phone rings and rings until eventually it goes to the generic voicemail message he never bothered to change. Next, she calls Ludo, but it goes straight to voicemail. Bea keeps trying but neither of them answers, until eventually she tosses her phone on the bed and keeps pacing around the room.
Without anything else to do, she walks to Celeste’s room and knocks softly. Celeste opens the door for her not a minute later.
Frowning, she asks “what happened, Bea?”
“Ay, Bicha—” she doesn’t get another word out before a sob escapes her mouth.
“Come in, come in,” Celeste gestures for her to step inside, closing the door once Bea is in the room.
Bea, standing next to the bed, feels the tears running down her cheeks, trying to swallow the distraught sobs that threaten to leave her mouth.
“What happened to you?” Taking her hand, Celeste drags her over to her bed and sits down with her.
In between sobs, she tells her everything: the coke, the parties, the sex. Then she tells her about their trip, their plans and why they fell through. Bea’s words flow from her mouth in bursts, disjointed and directionless, but Celeste holds her hand through it all.
While she retells their story, her heart fills with something else: anger. At Mahdi, at Ludo, at la Misa, at Ricardo, but mostly at herself. Bea could’ve killed her brother for what he took away from her but ultimately, she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t a killer and it was her brother, she couldn’t do that to her own mother.
“Bea, why didn’t you tell me before?”
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Bea answers, “would you have believed me?”
“Always, Bea.”
After a moment of silence where her heart beats faster in anticipation, Bea speaks, her voice raw from all the crying. “Bicha, I don’t know what else to do.”
“You find them. You go find your men and leave.”
“Cele—”
“Don’t ‘Cele’ me. You can do it, you can leave la Misa. If anyone can make it out, that’s you.”
“If I leave, Ricardo will kill me. He said as much.”
“No. Listen to me, Bea. You are the strongest woman I know. You’re going to leave and you’re going to be free, you hear me? Even if you don’t find them. But you will, I know it.”
Celeste kneels and reaches under the bed, her hand disappearing for a moment inside the mattress. Then she pulls out a wad of bills and leaves it on the bed.
“Bicha, I can’t take this.”
“Yes, you can. One of us has to leave this dreadful place. I’ve been waiting a long time, I can wait a bit more.”
Bea tries to push the money away but Celeste won’t let her, giving her a silent, hopeful look.
“Where do I even go?” Something that feels like hope laces her words.
“Away. Now. That’s all that matters.”
Without thinking about it, Bea hugs Celeste, tight enough to leave an imprint on her own body. She will come back for her one day. Right now, she’s got pressing issues: she has to run.
Bea kisses Celeste’s cheek and promises to see her soon, then leaves the room and walks decidedly to her own, picking up the bag from where she left it that morning.
She loves her boys, but even if she never speaks to them again, at least she will be out. Free. The word feels foreign in her mouth after her last conversation with Ricardo.
When she steps outside, the sky is turning gray as dawn comes closer. No one is around to stop her when she leaves the premises.