Blood And Borders

On a stained mattress, that was pushed into the corner, ten year old Valentina pulled Catalina into her lap, wrapping her thin arms around her sister like a human shield.

The air in the small, humid bedroom smelled of cigarettes and old liquor that had spilled and now seeped into the carpet.

Outside the door, all you could hear was screaming.

The heavy thud of a chair hitting the wall, was then followed by their mother’s cries and pleading, then the booming, drunken rage of their father.

The beating was so loud and clear that every time a blow landed, four year old Catalina flinched, her small body shaking with a silent cry that got caught in her chest.

“Shh, Cata. Don’t listen,” Valentina whispered, pressing her sister’s ear against her own heartbeat.

She tried to hum one of the nursery songs her little sister would listen to, but the noise from the living room drowned it out. Valentina knew she had to do something quick to distract her, she had to give Catalina a different world to live in, even if it was just made of words and only for quick moment.

“Listen to me,” Valentina said, her voice trembling but determined.

“Close your eyes, and just think about this in your brain. One day, we aren’t going to live here. I’m going to grow up, and I’m going to be very, very smart. And I’m going to buy us a house. A real house, with warm water for our showers and with windows that never break.”

Catalina’s sobbing slowed down a bit, her wet eyelashes fluttering against Valentina’s neck. “Is... is there hitting there?”

“Never,” Valentina promised with certainty, her eyes locking on the wallpaper that was peeling from the wall.

“In that house, there are only good sounds. You’ll hear laughing, and music, and people cheering because we’re happy. And the kitchen? It’s going to have a special drawer. Just for you.”

Catalina pulled back just enough to look up at her with her big eyes, now red.

“A drawer?” Cata said confused.

“A candy drawer,” Valentina managed a small, shaky smile.

“Filled to the top with those chocolates that have peanuts inside them just how you like. The ones in the crinkly wrappers. And it will never, ever be empty.”

Another loud crash came from the hallway, followed by the sound of their father’s heavy boots.

Catalina gasped, burying her face back into Valentina’s chest.

“You promise?” Catalina whispered into her sister’s shirt, her voice tiny and pleading. “You promise we go there?”

Valentina felt a hard knot tighten in her chest, a solution that was far too heavy for a ten year old to carry, but she had to try. She looked at the door, now with tears streaming down her face too, her expression turning into anger for being in the life she and her sister were given, but also determination.

“I promise, Cata. I cross my heart.”

Internally, Valentina made a second promise, one she didn’t say aloud.

She vowed to work until her hands bled, to study until her eyes burned, and to climb over every obstacle this world threw at them. She would create their own place full of peace, and she would never let people like her parents through the door again. Sadly she wasn’t just a child anymore; she was a protector.

That night, and like every other night, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, holding on to one another as if they were scared they would be ripped apart.

The next morning, the sun shined through the cracked window, but the spot on the mattress beside Valentina was empty. Her eyes snapped open. Panic, ran through her chest.

“Cata?” she whispered, then louder, “Catalina!”

She scrambled off the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird in a small cage. She burst into the living room, her breathing finally coming down once she saw Catalina was sitting on the edge of the ripped up sofa, her small shoulders hunched forward.

Sitting across from her, was their mother, Maria. People would say she was once something pleasant to look at, and now all you saw was a skeleton shadow of the woman she used to be.

Maria sat slumped in the chair, and for a moment, Valentina wondered if her mother was even aware she was still alive.

Her face already turning into a deep, purplish-black bruise across her left cheekbone, swelling so heavily that her eye was forced into a painful looking slit. A small amount of dried blood still ran down from the corner of her swollen lip down to her chin.

Her hair, once a light brown, that Valentina barely remembered seeing brushed and shiny, was now a wild, matted nest. It was tangled with sweat and bits of debris from the floor where she had been dragged, sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

She looked less like a woman and more like a broken porcelain doll that had been glued back together too many times. Every time she took a drag of her cigarette, she would wince, a sign of pain from the cracked ribs hidden beneath her stained shirt. There was an emptiness in her expression, a look of someone who had long ago checked out of her own body to survive the pain.

When she turned her head to look at Valentina, the movement was stiff, almost robotic. The yellowing bruises from the week before blended in with the fresh ones, making her skin look like a painting of repetitive trauma.

The smell in the living room was no different than any other room, a sickly chemical smoke. Her mother’s eyes were glossy, occasionally rolling back in her head, as she held a cigarette between trembling fingers.

“Leave her alone,” Valentina snapped, stepping between them to shield her sister.

“She’s... she’s my daughter,” her mother slurred, the words blending together, sliding out of her mouth like oil. “I’ll talk to her... if I want.”

Valentina paused to stare at her mother, not with anger, but with an immense sadness, because she also wanted to hear Maria call her ‘daughter’. After a long pause Valentina responded back to her, not knowing if she would even comprehend what was being said, because of the state she was in.

“I’m your daughter, too,” Valentina reminded her, her voice trembling with a mixture of rage and a desperate need for recognition that never came.

Her mother’s gaze slowly drifted toward Valentina, clearing her throat just enough to fill with a certain disgust.

“You?” she spat, a bitter laugh rattling in her chest along with a malicious smile.

“You’re only here by force. Same way you were made.”

Her smile faded, she stopped looking at Valentina and blankly stared at the ground.

“You think I wanted any of this?” Maria whispered not only to her child, but also to herself.

The words felt like a physical blow, implying a violence Valentina was only just beginning to understand. Before she could process the hurt of her mother’s words, Catalina reached out and tugged on Valentina’s shirt.

“Vale... tengo hambre, my tummys growling” she whispered.

“Okay. Come on, I’ll get you some cereal,” Valentina said, her voice turning soft for her sister even as her heart felt like it was turning to stone.

As Valentina stood at the counter, pouring what was left of the dry cereal into a plastic bowl, the front door didn’t just open, it exploded inward.

In walked Vicente, their dad.

He was a mountain of a man, his dark, thick hair swept back, his goatee groomed with a precision that was different compared the filth of the apartment. You couldn’t spot a part on his body that wasn’t covered with tattoos.

Behind him trailed a skinny, twitching man with pupils so dilated his eyes looked like black pits. Another client, Valentina thought, her stomach turning.

Vicente looked around the room when his eyes landed on Valentina.

For a split second, his hardened face softened, a quick glimpse of something that looked almost like fatherly concern passing through his gaze. He gave her a sharp, quick nod toward the bedroom, the silent command they both knew. Get out. Now.

Valentina didn’t hesitate.

She grabbed the bowl of cereal in one hand and Catalina’s small hand in the other, pulling her toward the safety of their room. But halfway there, the line snapped.

Catalina was yanked backward with a violent pull.

Valentina spun around, a scream building in her throat. The drugged out client had his hand wrapped around Catalina’s tiny wrist, a sickening, yellow toothed grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll take this one,” the man rasped, his eyes wandering over the four year old. “She’s fresh.”

Before Valentina could even lunge forward to defend her sister, a blur of movement intercepted the man. Vicente moved with the speed of a predator. He grabbed the client’s wrist, twisting it with a hard crack.

The man screamed, dropping to his knees with his head hitting the floor, as Vicente leaned over him, his voice a low, lethal growl. “My daughters are not the ones for sale. Ever.”

The client groaning in pain, quickly spilling out pathetic apologies, his face still roughly pressed against the floorboards. Vicente didn’t look down at him. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Valentina and Catalina, who stood frozen in terror.

“I said get in the room!” Vicente yelled, his voice shaking the thin walls. “Hurry up!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Valentina scooped Catalina up, cereal spilling onto the floor, and ran. They scrambled into the bedroom and Valentina slammed the door behind them, the click of the lock was the only thing standing between them and the monsters in the living room.

The bedroom door was closed, but in that crumbling apartment, a closed door didn’t mean anything. The walls were paper thin, the cracks leaked every sound of the nightmare happening inches away.

Valentina sat on the floor, her back pressed hard against the wood of the door, as if her small weight could keep the world out. She pulled Catalina into the space between her legs, covering the girl’s ears with her palms, pressing so hard her own hands ached. But she couldn’t cover her own.

“I can’t... Vicente, please,” Maria’s voice filled with deep exhaustion.

“I’m too tired. I can’t... not today. My ribs, they hurt too much to breathe...”

“You don’t get to be tired,” Vicente’s voice was a low, vibrating rumble that Valentina could feel through the floorboards. It wasn’t the voice of a father; it was the voice of a debt collector.

“He’s paying double because he likes the marks. He likes that you look broken. You don’t have a choice.”

“Please,” Maria cried, “Just let me sleep for one hour. I’ll do whatever you want after, just—”

The sentence was cut short by a sound like a wet leather whip hitting a table. Thwack.

Maria’s scream was sharp, piercing through the door and vibrating in Valentina’s teeth. Then came the heavy thud of a body hitting the wall, the same wall Valentina was leaning against. The vibration ran down her spine.

Thump. Crack. Sob.

Valentina squeezed her eyes shut, whispering into Catalina’s hair, “Think of the candy drawer, Cata. Think of the house with the music. It’s loud there, too, but it’s the good kind of loud. It’s people laughing. It’s the TV turned up with your favorite cartoons. It’s not this. It’s never this.”

Outside, the violence escalated.

There was the sound of glass shattering, likely the lamp from the end table. Valentina’s father was shouting now, his voice filled of entitlement and cruelty, in the background she could also hear the skinny man’s nervous, high pitched giggles.

Catalina’s small hands reached up, clawing at Valentina’s wrists, her little body convulsing with every bang against the wall.

Valentina didn’t cry. She couldn’t afford to, not in front of her little sister, she knew she needed to be strong for her.

She just stared at the opposite wall, watching a cockroach quickly shuffle toward the shadows, as she felt her breaking.

The feeling didn’t last long though, when Valentina heard the chaos outside the bedroom door suddenly shift.

The heavy hits of her father’s anger were replaced by a new, more frantic energy.

Shouts of “Police!” and “Hands where I can see them!” cut through the air, followed by the deafening sound of a struggle grunts, the clatter of handcuffs, and boots stomping against the floorboards.

Valentina didn’t wait to see who won. She didn’t know if the police were heroes or just a different kind of danger, she had never dealt with them but she knew the drill for survival.

She grabbed Catalina, who was now hyperventilating, and dragged her to the farthest corner of the room, huddling behind a pile of dirty laundry.

The bedroom door burst open.

Three officers came in, their bullet proof vests in tact. Their handguns were raised, scanning the shadows of the room. Valentina froze, her breath catching as the red laser casted across the wall just above her head.

When the lead officer saw them, two small, trembling girls tucked away like thrown away dolls, his stance shifted. “Clear!” he shouted to his partners.

He lowered his weapon, clicking the safety on, though his eyes remained sharp. He looked at the wreckage of the room, then back at the girls.

“Is there anyone else in here with you? Anyone hiding?” he asked, his voice trying to be soft, though you could hear the pumping adrenaline.

Catalina wouldn’t look up. She was burying her face so deeply into Valentina’s side that she was nearly dead weight. Valentina, however, kept her eyes locked on the officer. She gave a single, sharp shake of her head. No.

The officers lowered their guns completely, their shoulders dropping an inch. The tension in the room didn’t disappear, but it changed from violent to mournful. One officer knelt a few feet away, extending a hand toward Valentina.

“We’re the police,” he said, his voice steadier now. “We’re here to help you. We want to take you somewhere safer. Somewhere where nobody is going to hurt you or your mom. Can you come with me?”

Valentina stared at the man’s hand. She looked at the shiny silver badge on his chest and then thought about her parents. She knew the world was a dark place, but as she looked at her sister’s frail body, she realized they couldn’t stay in this corner forever.

Anything is better than here, she thought.

She looked down at Catalina. “Cata,” she whispered, leaning close to her ear. “Trust me. We’re going to go now. I got you.”

Valentina reached out.

Her small, calloused hand disappeared into the officer’s large palm. She stood up, pulling Catalina with her. The little girl clung to Valentina’s waist, refusing to let go of her sister’s shirt as they were led out of the bedroom.

As they walked through the living room, Valentina saw the aftermath: her father was pinned to the floor in zip ties, his face pressed against the floor, cursing under his breath. Her mother was being tended to by a female officer, her eyes still vacant, blood dripping onto a white gauze pad.

Valentina didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She kept her eyes on the exit, with a tight grip on Catalina’s hand, so tight it felt like they were one person. They stepped out of the apartment and into the blinding light of the hallway, leaving the only home they had ever known behind.