16. ALL BARK, NO BITE

                                    

                                          
"Ceviche tostadas," gloated Pablo as he laid the plates out in front of us, "Fresh raw mahi-mahi cured in lime juice, served on a toasted tortilla with guacamole, red onions, a few drops of sesame oil, cashew nuts, and cilantro."
"Wow, how fancy," I answered with a polite smile.
"If you're a picky eater, I can make you Mac n' Cheese," he grinned.
"It's fine," I said, and grabbed the wine bottle to top up my almost-empty glass.
"If you keep drinking this much, you're going to end up more fucked-up than you would have with ecstasy," he shrugged, "But, you do you."
I answered him with a blank stare as I downed my drink in a single, long swig, and the alcohol stirred my brain around like a frozen margarita. I ran my fingers through my hair to get it out of my face, and hopefully get rid of a few ugly curls as well, but my fingers got caught in the thick maze of knots. 
"Do you need some help with that?" he asked, hovering his hand close to my head as untangled my fingers. 
"My hair is bad enough as it is, Pablo, it doesn't need mahi-mahi juice," I groaned, leaning away from him.
"But it's really romantic!" he chuckled, and he touched the top of my head.
"Hands off, fish-fingers," I hissed, and swatted his hand away.
Pablo smiled and took a bite out of his tostada, and so I mimicked him. He joyfully munched on his food, as I cast him an unrelenting gaze. I still didn't know what this date was all about, aside from Pablo showing off his house, his guards, and his culinary skills.
"Should I be nervous?" he asked, "That look on your face makes me happy I didn't give you any cutlery."
"Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" I said.
"Stop saying that," he crooned, "You're really not that fat."
Had the tostada not tasted so good, I would have whacked it across his smug face. 
"Don't be stupid, Pablo," I hissed, "You know what I'm talking about."
He put down his tortilla, and wiggled his mustache as he finished chewing.
"I have one question for you, Gordita. Once you leave this place, where are you going to go?" he said calmly.
I knew where this was going. I nervously rubbed my fingers along the foot of the wine glass, aching for another gulp. Pablo watched me carefully, waiting for an answer he knew I didn't have.
"Home," I muttered.
"Home?" he repeated, with a chilling tranquility in the tone of his voice, "With your mom, your friends and your roaches?"
"Well, you don't deserve me more than they do," I mumbled, trying to keep myself from choking up with tears.
"This isn't about me, Gordita," he said softly, as he wrapped his fingers around  my hand, "Are they what you deserve?"
My lips started to quiver, and my vision blurred up from the tears.
"You're a sweet girl, you're smart and you're funny," he continued, "You're worth much more than what you have in Goose Creek. Why are you so eager to go back there? What do you have over there that you can't have right here?"
"Freedom," I sniffed, struggling to hold my head up high.
"Well okay Braveheart, but you know that's not an option."
"Why not?" I cried, "If you trust me enough to tell me your name, to sleep in my bed, and to let me roam around your house - why can't you trust me when I tell you that I wouldn't tell anyone about what happened here?"