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catxmendoza · 3 years

Text

a girl named chiqui.

self para. a prison in southern texas, six hours away from olympus.

tw. anxiety, death, grief, imprisonment, prison, mentions of murder, drug use

**ooc. any reference to mexican culture has been thoroughly researched, and the mun has also spoken with latinx, mexican and tejanx individuals to verify that references are handled in a respectful manner. of course, the mun is always open to suggestions, criticisms and directions.**

Her road trip was almost spontaneous.

She hadn’t been able to sleep since the explosion. Most of her nights in the past month had been spent tossing and turning until the sun came up and gave her a reprieve from her own head. Boxing didn’t help, neither did smoking or drinking or running. Her mind raced with thoughts, what ifs and memories she believed she had buried years ago. Every time she closed her eyes though, they struck her like lightening. Her mother’s smile, the smell of her abuela’s quilt draped over their couch, the sound of birds outside their kitchen window, even her father’s voice teaching her his many lessons about life. A waking dream, a nightmare, she wasn’t sure what she was suffering through, but that explosion had rattled her in more ways than one.

The memories became suffocating faster than she thought they would, until every other thought was drowned by her life from before it was ripped apart. Every memory was tied up in a chest-clenching feeling of anger and grief, shaking her to her core. There was no escaping it, no running or smoking or drinking it away until she was left numb.

Cat hid her dilemma well enough, she thought, but behind closed doors she paced the floor with a joint in her hand just thinking. Her mother’s altar, situated in the far corner of her living room, seemed to mock her. It was ironic, considering she had set up that altar herself, and lit candles donning Jesús Malverde image just that morning. But every time Cat looked at it, she swore she could practically hear her mother’s voice whispering to her/

Go see him.

He would be worried.

He must be worried.

What are you afraid of, mi amor?

Everything. Catalina Mendoza, who marched around Olympus like she had hell on her heels and relished in it, was absolutely terrified. Of what, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she could feel it in her bones. Olympus was ripping itself apart and she had a feeling -call it a hunch- that when all was said and done, there wouldn’t be anyone to truly watch her back. No family to fall back on, no friends close enough to understand- mierda, not even her uncle would take her back after the shit she pulled. Knowing him, he’d let her get killed just to be done with it. There was no one... except him.

It was that thought that propelled her to her room, pulling out a duffle bag and some clothes for a couple days away.

Cat was on the road to Texas the next morning. The first few hours were spent singing as loud as she could with her playlist - “ Amor prohibido murmuran por las calles!” - however the closer she got to her destination, the deeper the pit in her stomach became. She had been there once before, right after the funeral. It had been nothing but vicious words -from her- and silence -mostly him. She had sworn it would be the first and last time, and yet here she was, pulling up to a desolate looking building surrounded by towers and barbed wire lined fences.

It probably wasn’t smart to walk into a prison, what with her activities in the past year, but she was mostly free of suspicion. If they were going to arrest her, they would have done so back in Louisiana. There was also the possibility that he just didn’t want to see her. She wouldn’t blame him. She sat in her car for a good twenty minutes staring at the entrance marked Visitors, trying to calm her racing heart and the swell of emotions in her chest. There was the strong urge to say fuck it and drive her six hours back to Olympus, Louisiana and forget about this entire thing, but something else, something just as strong, grounded her to the moment. Cat took a deep breath, and gave herself a determined look in the mirror.

“Get your shit together, Mendoza.”

And she did. She got out of her car and walked into the prison before she could tell herself to turn around again. The sign in process was as brutal as she remembered it- metal detectors, pat downs, the bleak and stark reminder of her current circumstances.

They herded her and a few others into the visitor’s hall, where plastic round tables sat with with two chairs on either side. Guards were stationed at every exit, and she could see cell bars from her view of the door where they kept the prisoners. She felt strangely exposed sitting there waiting, only idly listening to people reconnecting with their loved ones around her. Cat tried to tell herself that it was only a few minutes, but a part of her was already convinced that he wasn’t going to show up. He had made it clear the last time she visited that it should be her last, that he didn’t want her coming to see him for one reason or another. Those words had cut deep, especially considering she had just buried her mother. The one person she needed most in the entire world simply... gave up on her, and everything else for that matter.

Just when she was ready to get up and leave, the door opened once more and he appeared. It struck her how familiar his face was, yet he had changed. He was a little skinnier, and weathered. There were wrinkles and gray hairs that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him, and a full beard that only served to make him seem older. But he was still her Papá.

He stopped short when his eyes landed on her, as if he had seen a ghost. There was no expression on his stony face, and she tried her best to keep hers still as well as she observed him. The orange jumpsuit was such a stark difference from the dark green overalls he used to wear whenever he worked on his truck, but then again, he was a different man than the person who came sit before her.

It was silent between them for a moment, with him staring at her and her staring at him It occurred to her that in the many nights that she had sent thinking about this visit and the hours she had driven there, she hadn’t once thought about what she would say when she finally sat in front of him. Hola didn’t seem appropriate, nor did It’s nice to see you, because frankly it wasn’t. There was so much she wanted to say, all flooding to the surface, she couldn’t decide which words mattered more.

“Se supone que debes estar en mexico. [You’re supposed to be in Mexico.]” He said, quipped and to the point.

Catalina blinked at him for a moment, thrown by the statement. It had been 10 years since she had seen him, ten years without so much as a phone call to see how she was doing. And that was what he decided on? She couldn’t decide if she was angry, shocked, or completely exasperated with how typical it was of the big bad Sicario who plagued their city to demand things of her.

The drug dealer adjusted herself in her seat before she raised a brow at him. “Bueno, no lo estoy. [Well, I’m not.]”

“No jodas. [Don’t fuck around.]” He sounded tired, in no mood for whatever sarcasm would surely pour out of her mouth. She was his kid, no matter how much she liked to deny it every chance she could get. He knew her, even years later. “¿Tu Tío sabe que estás aquí? [Your Uncle know you’re here?]”

She shook her head. “No. We’re not really on speaking terms these days.”

“...Hm.”

He was silent again, looking at her from beneath scruffy brows and crows feet. She could see the remnants of laugh lines poking out from beneath his beard, remnants of a life he lived with her and her mama. She couldn’t imagine that he smiled much these days.

Catalina’s gaze went down to her hands, focusing on her dark nails and the scar that wound down around her wrist. The arm she had broken in the explosion was still a little skinny, but it was slowly returning to normal. She looked at him once more, pursing her lips. “Nosotros tuvimos un desacuerdo. [We had a disagreement.]”

He scoffed softly. “Tu Tío no tiene desacuerdos, los termina. [Your Uncle doesn’t have disagreements, he ends them.]” Carlos Luis leaned forward on her forearms, cocking his brow in a way Catalina did quite often. “¿Qué hiciste? [What did you do?]”

Of course, it was Catalina who did something. God forbid, Sebastian Ramirez ever take responsibility for anything, even when he wasn’t here. She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did I do? Mierda, Carlos, diez años. Diez años y todavía estás defendiendo a Sebas como si fuera un santo o un Dios. [Shit, Carlos, ten years. Ten years and you’re still defending Sebas like he’s some kind of saint or God.]”

“Hey,” Carlos warned, low and in his throat. “¿Has venido desde donde sea que estuviste para discutir sobre tu tío? ¿Perder mi tiempo, perder el tuyo? [So you came all this way from wherever you been to argue about your uncle? Waste my time, waste yours?]”

Cat rolled her eyes, anger twisting her stomach in knots. “You know what, I don’t know why I even bothered-”

She stood up, fully prepared to march out of that room and never look back. She was only a few steps away when his voice cut through the air.

“Catalina.”

Her entire body froze as his voice echoed off the walls, drawing looks from people around them. For a moment she felt like a little kid again getting caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. As angry as he sounded, as angry as he was, he could never stay mad at her for long. This? This was different.

“Wait...” He said with a clear struggle and a heavy sigh. She turned back to look at him, taking in his sagging shoulders and the “Por favor, sit down. [Please, sit down.]”

It took her a moment more to decide whether or not to stay. He gave her another imploring look, one that was mixed with irritation at her defiance.

“Por favor, Catalina.”

Cat sighed and begrudgingly slid back into her seat with knitted brows. They were silent again, stewing in their own anger and frustration like two petulant children. Usually, this was the time when her mother would demand a truce from them both. Stubborn is as stubborn does, she would claim, and damn, was she blessed with a husband and daughter with extremely hard heads.

Her mother would want them to get along. No matter how angry they were, no matter what they said before, she would want them to be okay. Even in their circumstances.

Carlos eyed her a moment, almost as if he were analyzing him. “¿Dónde te has estado guardando? [Where you been keeping yourself?]”

“Louisiana.” She answered, without digging into specifics. “Joined up with some associates there. They treat me good enough.”

He gave her a strange look. “Louisiana? ¿Qué diablos te traería a Louisiana? [What the hell would bring you to Louisiana?]”

She could try to rebuild the bridge she burned with him, at least. She had driven far enough, she might as well have something to show for it. Cat cleared her throat, not lifting her gaze to meet his eye. “I found them.” She confessed, earning a confused look from them. “Those men. Esos monstruos que se llevaron a mi mamá. [Those monsters who took my mother.]”

Carlos frowned deeply at her, the implications of what she was saying dawning on him. His eyes darted to the guard as he leaned forward. “¿Cómo? [How?]”

“Recibí una propina, seguí y terminé un estado. [I got a tip, followed up and wound up a state over.]” Cat told him in a low voice. “Sebas didn’t agree.”

“No, he wouldn’t. I don’t blame him.” Carlos clicked thoughtfully. “Si desentierras a los muertos, seguramente atraerás buitres. [You dig up the dead, and you're bound to draw vultures.]”

“Yeah, he said that same stupid shit. Did Abuelo tell you that?”

Instead of getting angry at her crassness, he actually chuckled. Instead of a smile though, his lips twisted into an almost snarl, as if the actual pained him. “Tu abuelo era un borracho y una amenaza. Nunca dijo nada significativo en su vida. [Your grandfather was a drunk and a menace. He never said anything meaningful in his life.]

“Like father, like son.”

Again, Carlos didn’t become enraged at the blatant disrespect. He just sat there, taking it in. Cat almost felt bad about the jabs, but a part of her liked how it felt to take out her frustration on him. The part of her that implicated him in her mother’s death and still, to this day, laid blame at his feet. It was his enemies, after all, who had come to kill him in the night and instead found she and her mother. Any memory she had of that night was nonexistent, she only knew what she was told. But it was enough to stir a fire of anger in her.

“...No estoy de acuerdo con tu tío. [I don’t agree with your uncle.]” Carlos confessed with a weary look. “If I was free, if I had the chance...” He didn’t need to say it. If he was free, those men would have been dead years ago. If he had been free, they wouldn’t have even been memories, because that was how good he was at what he did. His skill, however, led him to where he was now. Widowed. Imprisoned for life. What he would have done was inconsequential. Carlos shook his head. “Tu madre querría que te impida hacer lo que creo que vas a hacer... [Your mother would want me to stop you from doing what I think you're gonna do...]

Cat scoffed. “I don’t want you to-”

“Déjame terminar... [Let me finish...]” Carlos said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. God, he really did look so much older than he did. Gaunt, like a shell or a ghost of the man he was. “Conozco esa rabia que supura en ti. Eso es lo único que obtuviste de mí. Tu cabello, tu cara bonita, tu cerebro, lo obtuviste de tu madre. Pero esa rabia, ese soy yo. [I know that anger that festers in you. That's the one thing you got from me. Your hair, your pretty face, your brain, you got that from your mother. But that rage, that's me.]”

Catalina stared at him with knitted brows, taking in his words. It occurred to her that she didn’t have anyone else to talk about her mother with. He was the only only other person who remembered their life when it was happy and good. He was the only other person who understood how frustrated and pissed off she was at everything and everyone for what life had stripped from her. He knew, and perhaps that was why she felt the urge to visit in the first place. To not feel alone in the feelings she was stewing in.

Carlos breathed deep through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Vas a hacer lo que tienes que hacer, y no te voy a decir que te detengas o bajes la velocidad porque eso sería jodidamente estúpido.” [You're gonna do what you have to do, and I'm not going to tell you to stop or slow down because that would be fucking stupid.]” He shook his head. “But I am gonna tell you to watch your back, and when you’re finished, corre como que te sigue el diablo. [run like the devil’s behind you.]

Run. For as long as Catalina had an itch for revenge, she had always known it would end in a few ways. Death, imprisonment, maybe worse. But running? An escape plan had never been in her purview. She was perfectly content believing that the path she walked had an early and abrupt end.

Or maybe she was simply lying to herself.

Her father didn’t run. He had stayed when the police showed, too engrossed in grief to know better. His was a cautionary tale of many different kinds, love and life being at the top of that list. If anything, she would want to do everything he didn’t. Yet, they still walked a similar path.

“¿Qué pasa si ya no quiero correr? [What if I don't want to run anymore?]” Catalina sighed, starting to sound as exhausted as she felt.

Carlos chuckled bitterly. “What, you think you got a choice? Ay Chiqui, you’re supposed to be smarter than me.”

She smiled. “I am smarter than you.” She murmured, sniffing lightly.

Chiqui, the nickname she held when she was tiny and braver than she should be.

She was sure visiting hours were ending soon, and they would have to part. However she thought this would end, she didn’t expect... well, an uneasy truce. It was probably in the name of people they no longer were, but in the end, she doubted that really mattered. “There are things happening in the place I’m staying in. Shit is stirring and I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything before then, but when I do...”

“Quiero saber. [I want to know.]” He said with a twinge of a plea in his tone.

Cat nodded. “Okay.” It was less than perfect and not at all a promise, but more like an invitation. An open door into the family they had once been. The afternoons spent boxing in their back yard and shooting bottles in the woods. The speeches about being strong and proud in the face of adversity, and the way he used to sing to her mama. It was slowly edging through the anger and resentment she had built around his name and image in her mind. The blame she placed upon him .

And even those images fluttered through her mind and steadied her heart, it didn’t ebb away the anger. If anything, it deepened it to her soul. It was not one parent she was robbed of, after all, but two.

The guards soon announced that they should all say their goodbyes. It didn’t seem like enough time, but she supposed that was point. Catalina stared at Carlos, unsure of what to say or do. He stood and she followed, her fingers brushing against the plastic table between them.

“Take care of yourself.” He said.

She nodded. “You too.”

Another moment passed by with the two of them simply standing there. And then Carlos was around the table, his arms around her in a tight hug. It brought her back to when she was a kid, and those same arms lifted her high in the sky and helped her fend off imaginary monsters. Her father, her Papá, the only thing she had left on this planet. He kissed the top of her head and stepped back before the guards could warn them.

“Ve por ellas, chiqui. [Go get them, chiqui.]

With that, he disappeared out the door he came, leaving her behind at the table. She blinked as the sting of tears swept down her cheeks, the weight that had been on her chest for weeks still prevalent, but less so. She even felt like taking a good nap. But above all, she felt a renewed spirit well in her, hungry and angry.

She had work to do.

#tw anxiety #tw alcohol #tw self medicating #sort of #tw murder #tw grief #tw death #tw drug use #tw prison #tw imprisonment

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