Riding the potholed roads in the opposite direction, I watched people arriving at their bus stop for work and labourers cutting brush along the side of the road. The sky was slate grey. I rolled down the taxi window for a warm breeze.

We drove through scrubby brush for a while and then arrived at a small, nondescript building with a chain-link fence. The morning light was starting to seep over the horizon. Andrés was sitting on the brick wall across from the station, in a red shirt and white pants. He waved somberly as the taxi slowed to a halt and I handed the driver some colones.

Silently, Andrés grabbed my hand as we walked toward the double doors and buzzed to be let in. We approached a window, and he spoke in Spanish to a stern officer. Her eyes softened as she listened, and she turned to me. “You wish to report an assault?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is that how you got that bruise?”

“It is.”

“Come with me, please.”

“Can my friend come?”

She glanced at Andrés and nodded once. “Yes, of course, he can come for support… and as a witness.”

We sat in an airless room with instant coffee while Officer Mora took me through the standard set of questions. Where did this take place? What were you doing there? What precipitated the argument?

“There was no argument.”

“So, she just came up and… punched you?”

“Well, no. There was a short argument, I guess. She thought I was flirting with a man she was interested in.”

An almost-imperceptible eyeroll. “I see. And who made physical contact first?”

“She did.”

“Closed fist or open hand?”

“Closed fist punch.”

“Did you defend yourself?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Did you fight back?”

“No.”

“And this is your friend, correct?”

“Yes, we’ve known each other for six years.”

Mora paused. “Has she been violent before?”

“Not like this.”

“So…like, how?”

“She can… she tends to… she’s a highly sensitive person. She’s animated.”

“Mostly verbal abuse, then, up until this point?”

“Uh… well. She has yelled at me in the past, threatened things.”

“Threatened violence?”

“Not specifically. More like, ' You don’t want to mess with me! kind of thing.”

“Okay. Did you document your injury?”

“Yes, I have photos. I can send them to you.”

“Thank you for that. Now, señora Megan, I have a question for you.” Officer Mora put down her pen and looked at me with care. “Here in Costa Rica, you have the option to reconcile with this person. It is called conciliación. This means you do not go to court; you resolve it. Maybe you ask señora Christina out for coffee; you talk. She apologizes. She pays you. You are friends. This helps everyone avoid… unpleasantness. Are you interested in this option?”

I looked at Andrés. He gave me a tiny shrug. It’s all you.

“I am not.”

“Very well.” Mora was all business. “Señora, thank you for making this report today. I am going to take the witness’s statement, then we will begin our investigation. The resort will be contacted. I suggest you stay nearby for the next few days, in case we need to speak with you again.”

I was excused from the humid backroom and waited for Andrés to give his statement in private. Turning on my phone for the first time since we arrived, a barrage of messages and missed calls from Christina greeted me. Did you go for a walk again? I told you I don’t like that. Where are you? What the fuck? Did you leave the resort? I’m coming to find you. I jumped as a call came in. It was her. I clicked the silent button and placed the phone face down in my purse.

Andrés stayed with me the first night. He helped me find the roadside motel near the airport. We ate empanadas from a street cart and stayed up late into the night, smoking cigarettes and venting about our toxic exes – friends and lovers. The next day, he had to head to a neighbouring town for work. He hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead before he left. “You did the right thing, chica.”

I cried harder than I had in years.

I spent the next night alone. I double-locked my door and closed the blinds, peeking out at the parking lot occasionally. When the sun started to go down, panic set in. My flight time was approaching. I pulled out Mora’s card and dialled the number.

“Mora.”

“Hola! Um… buenos días, Officer Mora. Soy Megan. From…”

“Hola, señora Megan.”

“Hi! Yes. So, I hate to bother you; I just wondered if there is any update…”

“Our officers went to the resort yesterday.”

“Oh! Oh, they did.”

“Yes, as far as I know, señora Christina has been asked to leave the resort. From there, a hearing will be scheduled. You will need to be at that one.”

“Okay, and will I – “

A siren sounded in the background. “Disculpe, señora Megan, I have to go. I will call you tomorrow morning with more details.”

I dropped the phone on the bed and sat down. The floral pattern on the duvet was swirling. I felt dizzy. Where is she tonight? Almost by force of habit, I checked the parking lot, half expecting to see Christina, standing down there, fists balled, staring up at me. It was empty.

The night passed, somehow. Dark hours stretched in front of me, with no end in sight. I checked on my flight status. Scrolled Instagram. Checked Christina’s profile. Then, I turned on the TV on a low volume, just for some company. As the sun rose, I shuffled to the bathroom and ran warm water from the taps. I closed my eyes and let the droplets wash away the film of tiredness.

The espresso was shockingly delicious in the lobby. I helped myself to a double shot and two pastries. I sat at a small bistro table and watched a telenovela on mute. Two women were screaming at each other.

My phone buzzed. It was Officer Mora.

I glanced up at the old man at the front desk, listening to public radio on full blast and thumbing through Diario Extra. He hadn’t looked at me once. I got up and stepped out onto the curb. “Buenos días, Officer Mora.”

“Hola, señora Megan. I’m calling with an update.”

“Thank you, yes, please. Do you need anythi—”

“Señora Christina was removed from the resort the day you made your report – the day before yesterday. She was quite upset, but she was informed that she would need to stay for a hearing regarding this complaint.”

“Okay. This hearing, is that –”

“That is the thing, señora Megan. The hearing has been scheduled for two weeks from today, with Judge González.”

“Two weeks!” I started to make a checklist. “Um, that’s fine, but I will have to cancel my flight —”

“No, no. Megan. This is what I’m telling you, the update. Señora Christina is gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“Gone. She flew home. When we tried to contact her with information about the hearing, we found she had taken a flight late last night.”

“She’s gone.”

“Yes, señora.”

I barely heard Mora as she detailed what the next couple of weeks would look like and how I would be contacted for a virtual hearing. She’s gone… she’s gone. I thanked her for her support through this and hung up. I stood silently for a moment. Mouthed, She’s gone.

I sat down back inside. The old man glanced up and gave me a friendly nod. The TV was showing the weather. I tapped open Instagram and saw I had one less follower. She’s gone. I refilled my espresso and checked my flight status.

It won’t be long now.

Photo by Merve Kalafat Yılmaz on Unsplash

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Chapter 1&2 here.

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The storm calmed after an hour-long rant about how men never know how to handle her.

Justin was a guy Christina had been speaking to on Instagram for the past two weeks. He hadn’t responded to the boob-pics she sent him from the lounge bathroom. So, it was forty-five minutes of hair-holding as Christina retched over the toilet, bracing herself on the coo…

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We were about to begin our descent, thank God. It had been a long six hours pretending the $1,300 last-minute upgrade was worth it. If it had been up to me, we would have set up shop at the sports bar, nursing overp…

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I’ve been a frequenter of grimy bars since I was fourteen, but never one quite like this. Any second, a brawl could erupt, and I could be shanked. There was a time in my life when I felt like that would be a perfect way to die.

The tacky, multicoloured Christmas lights lining the bar gave off a lurid glow, illuminating the weathered patrons.

I arrived with The Guy. “Stay close to me tonight,” he warned in the cab. “There are some sketchy characters in this bar we’re going to.”

See, I thought to myself, he loves me.

We took our seats at a table of his friends. Well, one table of his friends. In this group, the men sat apart from the woman. I sat next to him. I felt all their eyes travel me, from toes to tits to teeth. The hoppy air gathered in my throat. Most people were still wearing Ski-Doo jackets and toques. They all murmured half-assed “hellos” to me and immediately shifted the attention to the hockey game. Tractor beam. Breaking the silence would only get me berated on the ride home. So I sat with a big fake smile plastered on my face, sipping a rum and Diet Coke. The men occasionally cracked a joke, laughed raucously and fell back into silence.

The Guy disappeared. There was generally about fifteen minutes where I could track him at a party or a bar before he made his move. He would be out chain smoking and discussing things I was not privy to with people I wasn’t allowed to meet. If I tried to come join him, I was met with a deep sigh and an eye roll. Tonight I didn’t care to try. I was so sick of the constant smell of cigarettes on everything I owned. I stayed inside and made my way to the ‘women’s table’.

They were kind enough to push out a stool for me and offer me welcoming smiles. There was some camaraderie here, as we stole glances at the husbands at the bar, deep in a conversation with the two female bartenders. “He’s never that interested in anything I have to say,” chuckled Suze, the woman to my left. She said it like a joke, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. The tension within the bar pulsed around me. It was only a matter of time before we were infiltrated.

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I took the long way here.

That much I know.

I crawled, I shuffled.

Kept my belly down low.

I sank deep into a pressurized state.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I grew hate.

But, of course, everything takes it’s toll.

And I started to believe

Without you, I’m not whole.

The plan was never to lose control.

But somehow I just couldn’t slow my roll.

So I put on a sho…

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