Chapter 9

Muscles

THE ticking of the clock above my head felt unbearably intrusive. It had been two hours since I reluctantly woke up this morning.

I went through my usual morning routine—taking a shower, brushing my teeth, running a comb through my long, lustrous black hair, and hastily throwing on the first article of clothing I could find in my suitcase. Instead of tending to my grumbling stomach, I tried to lull myself back to sleep. As I lay on the bed, I shifted uncomfortably, my hips aching from the constant readjustment in search of a position that could silence the hunger pangs. The emptiness in my belly was undeniable. I could almost envision the tantalizing sight of the steam rising from a bowl of delicious Arroz caldo, lovingly prepared by the jerk outside my room. The aroma of the fragrant chicken, ginger, and the hint of salt wafted through the air, tempting my senses.

"Ah! Damn it!" I exclaimed, my frustration growing.

I turned over, feeling a pang of self-pity. If only Fiore w