Emesta Quema could be considered many things. She was a daughter first, calling her mother every Sunday just to check in and finding excuses to drop by. Fussing if the woman over-exerted herself or didn't eat properly. Next, she was a caretaker. She pursued the work with great focus and delicacy, treating her patients like her own children. Finally, Emesta was a sister. She didn't have any full-blooded siblings but she had many younger cousins she'd tended to growing up, and now she had Yanire.
Another thing she happened to be was an American, and like many of them, one of the first things she had done with her adulthood is get a licence for concealed carry. She only owned two guns, feeling that any more than that would be excessive. Now though, she decided it was time to purchase a third. She avoided the gun stores on her side of town, afterall, who needed uppity guns to defend themself with? No, instead she leaned towards the rougher side of town, where they were already familiar with her licence.
When she strolled the glass cases, the man behind the counter eyed her. He almost looked like he wanted to ask but chose not to. Minding one's own business was an art. He was an older gentleman with toffee brown skin and an impressively long grey beard. She didn't recognise him from her first visits to the store but he looked similar to the young man from the first time. Emesta decided it was possible that they were related somehow and it was a family business.
Emesta didn't know the woman well, but she felt anything larger than a handgun would make Yanire uncomfortable. It was probably safer to stick with something user-friendly too, nothing complex or outlandish. Finally, she decided on a plain black Glock 19. It was the sort of thing you could tuck away easily and wouldn't be alarming were you to need it. She brought the item to the counter where the man asked to see her licence and ID.
The purchase was quick and Emesta was home before Yanire had woken up. It was nearing 10:30 now and she felt that was an appropriate time to wake someone from their slumber. Still she thought the matter over with great deliberation while she stood in the kitchen. She'd already set the kettle to boil for a glass of morning tea and tucked the weapon away in the living room's coffee table drawer. She knew she wouldn't be able to be home with Yanire every day and she wanted the woman to feel safe.
Just as she'd started to bite at the tip of her nail, there was a shuffling sound in the hallway.
"Good morning."
Yanire's voice wasn't much thicker in the morning than it had been before.
"Morning. Tea?"
Yanire nodded, moving towards Emesta and selecting a plain porcelain mug.
Emesta poured the steaming tea into the extended cup, leaving room at the top for cream in the event she wanted some. Yanire moved to the bar stool she'd sat in before and waited while the younger woman poured her own cup. When they were both set with tea, they settled into the barstools beside one another, early morning light streaking through the kitchen windows.
"Yanire?"
The older woman looked at her, waiting.
"Have you ever owned a gun before?"
She shook her head, brows furrowed.
"Well you should know that there are two in this household at all times, and a third stays in my car. One is locked in the safe in my bedroom, and I went and purchased the last today."
Yanire looked at Emesta with curious eyes.
"If you're alright with it, I want to make sure you know how to use it."
Yanire nodded, taking a deep sip from her cup.
The women then moved into the cosy reading nook, Yanire stopping to look around the room. There was a fluffy red rug atop the darkwood floors and the two back walls were entirely covered in bookshelves, full bookshelves to be exact. It was also furnished with two leather armchairs and a small coffee table between them.
Yanire watched as Emesta moved to the coffee table and pulled the drawer open. The women then pulled out a compact handgun and showed it to Yanire, being sure the trigger was pointing to neither of them. Yanire had never actually been allowed to touch a gun before, Martien having forbade it.
Emesta began to explain where the safety was and how it could be switched off and back on again. The mechanics of the gun were simple, so simple that Yanire was sure it was intentional.
"Now the gun is loaded, but I'll be leaving the safety on at all times. It's unlikely that it ever misfires, but in the event it does, don't be alarmed. I have insurance on everything and nothing here is particularly expensive."
Yanire nodded, eyeing the gun as it was tucked back into the coffee table drawer. She felt a little better knowing she'd have a way to defend herself, were the bastard to ever figure out where she was.
"Thank you."
The first few days were flush with what could best be described as growing pains. The women were unfamiliar with one another and nervous of how things could go. It wasn't until the end of the first week that they settled into a routine of sorts.
Emesta was typically out for the first twelve hours of the day. Either working shifts at the hospital, or attending her rather demanding college classes. Not to mention, she made frequent visits to her mother's neighbourhood to see family. She invited Yanire out on these visits, but met a decline at each one. Yanire felt intruding on someone's family was unacceptable, and Emesta never pushed the matter.
While her new roommate was out, Yanire felt it important that she found a way to contribute. She swept and mopped the floors twice a week and had started to make dinner for them each night. She'd asked Emesta if she wanted breakfasts done too but Emesta admitted she'd never really been fond of the meal, sticking usually to tea or coffee and toast. The exchange worked well enough for the both of them, and sometimes they'd have movie nights for bonding purposes. Yanire learned that, despite not growing up together, they had similar tastes in films. They both liked thrillers or mysteries, along with the occasional romance or comedy.
Eventually Emesta tasked Yanire with the grocery shopping when she realised she could get away with it. The woman had abhorred shopping since she moved into her own place, finding it tedious and boring. Her sister took to the task nicely, cutting Emesta's food budget exponentially by sticking to home cooked meals. That, and it was probably best that Yanire slowly got used to going outside again.
The women had existed peacefully together for nearly a month until something went amiss. Yanire received a text message on one of her old social media accounts from her mother. So she called the woman, hoping to get some kind of emotional support after everything that had happened.
"Hey, dear. How are you doing?"
"I'm fine, Ama. I miss you."
"I'm really sorry about Joeri. He was such a good boy."
Yanire sniffled through the phone, trying to hide the sadness before it could be detected.
"Yeah. He was… It's really hard, Ama."
Her mother breathed deeply through the phone, her own grief evident. Still living in the Philippines, she'd never met her grandson in person, though Yanire had left her with no shortage of pictures and videos.
"It's just terrible, dear. But uhm, where are you staying now?"
Yanire froze at the question. Why would her mother be asking that?
"I'm with a friend. Why?"
"I'm just worried about you, Yani."
Hearing the childhood nickname, Yanire softened a bit. Perhaps she was only being paranoid.
"Do I know them? Are they good to you?"
"No, Ama. You've never met them. But yes, they're very kind."
Yanire caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hallway mirror by the front door. Her hair was well groomed and the old bruises on her dark skin were all but gone now. She looked a lot healthier.
"Dear, we're very worried about you. Could you at least tell us where you're staying?"
Yanire froze at the word we. Her father had died a couple years back and her brother was living with his own wife now. What did her mother mean by we?
Yanire wasn't sure how, but she knew. She knew Martien was trying to find her. He'd even gotten her own mother to help him, the bastard. Yanire's heart started to thump wildly in her chest. She hung up the phone and put it on Do Not Disturb quickly. Her world was crumbling as she started to panic. She rushed up the stairs to the guest room on the right and locked it behind her. She moved the dresser in front of it for good measure and began to look around for something to defend herself with. The room was rather simple, minimalist even. There was a clean queen sized bed and a plant or two against the left wall. She knew Martien probably hadn't found her yet, but how could she be sure? Her reason was melting away as fear took hold.
Yanire wasn't sure how long she stayed that way. She'd picked up the heavy lamp base from the bedside stand and hid in the back of the room, as far away from the door as she could get. How long would it be until Martien found her? She'd had very few friends living in that house, very little access to anyone outside of Martien and Joeri in fact. He didn't allow her to talk to men online, automatically limiting her hiding places to women. Even then, she'd only had the girls from her book club and Emesta. How long until he narrowed it down? How long did she have?
Her panic was interrupted by her sister's voice outside the door. She sounded worried, being careful to knock lightly.
"Yanire, are you alright?"
Yanire dropped the lampshade and moved to the door slowly. She knew that Martien couldn't be there yet but her paranoia was unshakable.
"I think Martien is trying to find me."
Her voice was cold and robotic sounding, which only worked to worry Emesta further.
"What? How do you know?"
Yanire began pushing the dresser out of the way and opened the door. Emesta looked the woman up and down. Her hair was wild and tattered, her arm scraped from pushing the large dresser.
"My mother called. She said we. We. Who is we? He's asked her about me. He wants her to tell him where I am, and she'll do it. Fuck, what do I do?"
Emesta looked at the way Yanire trembled and her nerves steeled over as she started to think. Martien had obviously been abusive, and people like that didn't let up easily. Her arched brows furrowed in thought and she began calculating swiftly.
She had to get Yanire out of the country.