Basically, I needed an outlet for my pain, and he was there.
“Yes… I think so.” I stop and take stock of my body. Aside from the mouth pain and a minor headache, I don’t feel any worse for wear. “Why does the inside of my mouth feel like raw meat?”
“Tachas,” Mateo sighs.
“Huh?”
“Ecstasy, mariposa, I’m pretty sure they slipped you ecstasy.”
A kaleidoscope of scenarios flash through my mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Those guys could have done anything to me—they could have freaking gang-raped me, and I would have been helpless to stop it.
“Hey, shh, you’re okay.” Mateo wraps his strong arms around me and draws me close. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until my tears have soaked through his shirt.
“Sorry,” I offer with a forced grin, swiping at my cheeks.
“Do not apologize.” He nods down to the bottles in my lap. “Take two.”
“Thanks.” My hands tremble, but I do as he says, passing both bottles back to him once I’m finished.
“What do you remember?”
“I was home and sad and drinking. And I was about to go to bed when I realized it was the first night of the fair, so I… yeah.” I expect him to tell me I’m an idiot, for him to lecture me like my own father would have at any moment, but Mateo simply nods for me to continue. “I got a corn dog, and then those guys approached me. I was leery, but they seemed all right. They took turns doing beer runs. It gets a little fuzzy after that.”
“Are you even old enough to drink?” He squints at me, as if he’s mentally doing the math.
I look down at my hands, ashamed. “No,” I whisper.
He reaches over with a tender touch, once again turning my face back to his. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat whooshing in my ears.
“Don’t blame yourself and don’t think I am judging you.” His eyes lock on to mine in a way that feels like he’s peering into my soul. I squirm under the weight of his dark stare, but Mateo doesn’t relent. “The only people to blame are those low-life assholes who drugged you. I don’t care if you were drinking and wearing revealing clothing. Hell, you could have been butt-ass naked and it still wouldn’t have given them the right. You did not consent to taking drugs, Seraphine, and that’s that.”
“That’s that?” I echo back, doubt still eating away at me. The thought of someone—multiple someones—potentially violating me has my skin crawling and my gut churning.
“Sí.” He says the word with such conviction that I don’t question him any further, even if I’m not so sure I agree. I mean, it’s hard not to let doubt creep in. Day in and day out, girls and women hear about how they shouldn’t have put themselves in the situation or dressed in such a way. Nine times out of ten, the blame falls on the woman, and I can’t help but wonder, if Mateo hadn’t come along, what would my odds have been?
Beneath all of my hurt and fear, I know Mateo’s right. Yes, I acted irresponsibly, and I fully own that. However, that still doesn’t give anyone the right to drug me. Plain and simple.
“Hey, Mateo?” I nibble my lip, torn on whether or not I should ask the question burning the back of my throat.
“Yeah?”
“How did I end up here?”
He mutters in Spanish under his breath before answering me. “Desi saw you, talked to you, and was worried. She called me.”
“You… you came there just for me?” I know I sound like a silly girl with stars in her eyes, but I don’t care. The knowledge that Mateo knew I was in trouble and came for me only serves to fan the flame of the silly crush I’ve always harbored for him.
“Dave would’ve done the same for Desi.”
His words instantly reduce my inferno down to embers, and while it hurts, it’s the reminder I need. I am nothing to this man other than an old friend’s daughter. He’ll never see me as more, and it would serve me well to remember that.
“Right, yeah,” I whisper, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel. Instead of wallowing, I square my shoulders and carry on like my cheeks aren’t burning with shame. “So, anything else I need to know about? Did I do anything totally humiliating?”
Mateo’s eyes flash, and I know I did something, but he simply shakes his head.
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you fed, and home.” He stands and crosses the room to his dresser. “Throw these on and come to the kitchen—down the hall and to the left.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. In addition to being seen as a child, I’m an inconvenience he can’t wait to rid himself of. Maybe I should skip breakfast, sneak out, and hoof it home?