FenixArdiente

I went out for a walk along the trail without imagining who I would meet. I never thought a walk in the country would end like that, and I still find it hard to tell the story.

My friend promised that night would fulfill a fantasy I had only dared confess to her. What I never imagined was how far we would both go.

Every night I closed my eyes and returned to the same image. I knew it was wrong, but curiosity proved stronger than any guilt.

I didn’t choose all three of them at once. It happened gradually, until one night I discovered they were messaging each other to get rid of their rivals.

I was curious and a little scared, but when I knelt in front of him I knew I wasn’t going to back out. That afternoon I learned something new about myself.

The noise was coming from the gym. Samanta thought thieves were inside; what she saw through the half-open door left her breathless and changed how she felt about her mother.

She was leaning against the wall, looking at her phone, in a black dress that suited her far too well. She wasn’t smoking. She was just waiting, and I still didn’t know for whom.

I decided the night before, while he slept: the next morning I would begin, alone, a routine I had imagined for years but never dared to maintain.

He was pretending to wait for someone at the entrance when the three of them approached laughing. One asked if he was free that night. I had no idea how far it would all go.

When I left them alone at the hotel bar, I only wanted to give them some privacy. I never imagined she’d go upstairs with another man while I waited below.

I went upstairs to see why the girl in the back room was screaming. I never imagined she’d drop the towel and ask me to look, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I thought I was the most disciplined man at the faculty. Then she leaned against the empty classroom door and made it clear she knew everything I hid.

I go out to the bus stop without underwear, not to go anywhere, but to find someone who will look at me the way he looked at me that Thursday in March.

Damián arrived every Friday with wine and the smile of an exemplary husband. Tomás slept happily on the other side of the wall, unaware those noises were the only truth they had left.

I never get involved with clients, I told him. But his body was already pressed against mine and my own voice sounded like a lie as I closed the garage gate.

I opened the door wrapped in a towel, still wet, convinced it was a package. It was him, with flowers in one hand and a smile that promised nothing innocent.