The Gilded Cage of Memory

CW: Substance abuse, mental health

Don Rafael began to slump in the chair. He vaguely caught the light sound of the needle and syringe hitting the floor, and he slowly began to realize a pressure had been alleviated from his forearm. He glanced down and saw the leather tourniquet was also lying on the ground, though he could barely recall having taken it off. His eyes were beginning to feel weary, and he was slouching more, practically laying on top of the writing desk. He rested his head on it, running his hands over the artisan carvings that ran along its borders. He kept his eyes focused on the reddish, wooden box he stored the tourniquet and syringe in, alongside the small vial of the liquid medicine, and began to relax.

It had been quite a while since he felt the need to take the drug, but ever since… she appeared, the woman who arrived on his doorstep and captivated him with her plump face and large cat eyes, he had a sudden urge for it. Perhaps it was because he believed that taking this medicine was the only way to atone for having her in his thoughts at all. As if by injecting himself he was repenting for breaking his promise. The promise he had made to another woman that there would never be anyone else for him. He had promised her that he would love her forever without giving any woman more than a second thought. But now that felt like another lifetime ago, before Soledad knocked on his door that fateful night. Nearly dead from hunger as the result of three days without food, she'd been lying on the floor at his doorstep, but when he opened the door and she looked up at him, illuminated under moonlight, it was as if she had bewitched him the moment their eyes met. Now he seldom thought of anything else except her

Soledad. He thought to himself. Maria Soledad. The irony always left a bitter taste in his mouth. That his new, whatever she was to him - Fascination? Obsession? Infatuation? …Could it be love? No, please, not that - could share the name of the first woman he pledged his heart to. Maria Elena. His Maria Elena. Except she was never mine.

Don Rafael's eyes were almost too heavy now but relief washed over him. He knew he would be with her soon. It was strange to him. He used to be able to see Maria Elena everywhere. After all, he had built everything; his money, his hacienda, the manor, most particularly the west wing where this very room he sat in was and was meant to belong to her, with her in mind. There was not a detail or furniture that he chose without considering her. Even after he completed building the house and she had married another man, even when the marriage led to catastrophe and her death, he did not stop imagining this as her home. And now suddenly he had moments where he struggled to remember her face.

He let out a long, exhausted breath, and sat up. It seemed to take every ounce of strength he had just to raise his head, but when we did he looked around the room. He scoffed. It was the first time he ever considered himself ridiculous for giving her her own wing in his home. It startled him to realize this was the first time he even considered his home his. When he made the west ring Maria Elena had only recently passed away. Murdered, as it would turn out, by the man she had chosen and married over him. In his grief and resentment he decided that he would give the woman he loved her rightful place beside him. The manor was always meant to belong to her, anyway. As far as he was concerned she was the mistress of this house, even if he'd built it during her engagement and brief marriage, and she would never step foot inside it, much less ever see it. But he had wanted a way to remember her always.

All these years he even kept it up himself. He made Saturdays halfdays so that he could secretly spend the afternoon cleaning the room personally, away from the peering eyes of his servants. He tailored the room just as if she had picked out everything herself. He even bought clothes and perfume he knew she would have worn. He told himself it was out of love and devotion for her. But as he looked around he forced himself to admit to what it really was: it was a way to keep himself chained to her memory. He saw the room for its truth. It was not a shrine of his love but a shiny, cold pedestal. A mausoleum to the ghost of a woman who had never even loved him while she lived. He had simply created what he always wanted; a gilded cage he could lock Maria Elena in so that he could worship her.

Don Rafael threw his head back and winced. He felt his old knee wound beginning to throb. It only happened when he took the medicine or he was desperate to have it. He touched the cross he always wore, the final gift she'd given him before her engagement, and decided it was time for the final act of her arrival. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should begin the process of finally letting her rest in peace, but he still felt desperate to be with her. The idea of being without her scared him too much. His home would feel too empty if he let her ghost go. His pride was too great to let her spirit vanish completely. And he'd decided a long time ago that his pride was the only thing she left him with. He didn't know who he wasn't without her haunting him.

So he reached for the syringe and tourniquet on the ground, slowly, because he felt so tired he could barely hold himself. He took the small bottle of the liquid medicine out of the box and wrapped the tourniquet around the usual arm. After he injected himself a numb sense of calmness washed over him. He let the syringe and tourniquet drop again and closed his eyes.

I'm here, Maria Elena. I'm here. Come to me. And then there she was. Standing before him as she always did. His eyelashes fluttered as if he was adjusting the image of her in his mind . She was a tall, slim woman, with beautiful brown skin and long, light brown hair. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he considered her the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. She was an angel to him. At least, she had been, until now. The image of a plump face flashed before his mind, but he dispelled it quickly.

“Elena,” he whispered, “I'm… I'm sorry. You're fading from me. And I don't know what to do. Why are you leaving me?”

She looked at him for what seemed to him a long time, expressionless. He didn't understand why she was not saying anything. Usually she always spoke to him. She would even dance with him. He wondered if that was what he should do.

He tried getting up, but as soon as he did and tried moving his feet towards the center of the room he stumbled and fell. It was a usual occurrence. There were often times when he attempted to move around while on the medicine and he would wake up afterwards days later on the floor. This time, though, he fought against the sleep that was enveloping him and sat on the floor. He rested against a wall and closed his eyes. But there was no point. She was gone. He began to cry silently.

“Sir?” He heard a voice call out. He did not dare open his eyes. “Sir?” The voice repeated.

“Soledad,” he whispered. Why? Why is she here?

He could not distinguish at the moment if he was really hearing her voice or he was imagining it. Maybe she was standing outside the door. But the voice came from right next to him. Besides, no one else in the manor was allowed to come inside this room. He did not even allow people to get close to it. Particularly her. Especially her.

“Yes, sir.” She said, “I'm here.” And then there she was. Standing in front of him. Standing in the place Elena had stood.

He looked at her, at her round face he adored, and reached up to touch her.

“Why?” He asked.

“Why what, sir?” She looked at him confused.

He swallowed, “Why are you here?”

She smiled then. “Because I'm here for you, sir.”

“Rafael,” he said, his voice low and thick, “Say my name. I want to hear you say my name.”

She nodded, “Rafael.”

His breath hitched at the sound of her voice saying his name. She crouched down then and they came face to face. They stared at each other, and Don Rafael began to realize he did not care if this was only a hallucination or reality. He was certain of one thing:

He grabbed her face slowly. And somehow he knew her face would be the last thing he envisioned before he died. He stared at her for what seemed like a long time, and she did not say a word.

Eventually the words he was choking on came out. “I… love you. I love you. I love you, Soledad.”