I Tended the Wounds of the Stranger Who Defended Me

That afternoon the sky had turned orange and red, and I was sitting alone on my usual bench in the park across from my building. I’d spent weeks handing out résumés in the mornings and killing the afternoons there, watching people go by. Couples, mostly. That was what hurt the most to look at.

My name is Lucía and, if I’m honest, that afternoon I was sinking into one of those spirals of self-pity you know all too well. I have a sense of humor, I’m generous, I don’t consider myself stupid. I’m a little curvier than magazine standards allow, but I’ve never thought of myself as ugly. And even so, I kept wondering why no man ever looked at me, why I kept sitting there alone afternoon after afternoon on that bench.

I was so lost in my own head that I didn’t see them coming. Two guys planted themselves in front of me, blocking the sun, what little of it was left.

“Hey, beautiful, come with us. You’re gonna have a good time,” the first one said.

“Yeah, before you break the bench,” the other laughed.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” I shot back, trying not to let the tremble in my voice show.

“Look at the little slut, getting feisty,” the second one spat.

I felt that cold drop in my stomach, the one that tells you nobody around is going to move. And then, out of nowhere, he appeared.

He was a man who went jogging through the park almost every day. I’d seen him pass my bench a thousand times, always in the same running shirt, always focused. We’d never exchanged a word. That afternoon he stopped dead a few feet away and came over.

“Come on, guys, leave the girl alone. She’s not bothering anyone,” he said, with a calmness that surprised me.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, smartass? The chick’s coming with us,” one of them answered.

“Look at him, in Lycra. He looks like a condom with legs,” the other cackled.

“Either you leave her alone, or I’m calling the police right now,” he warned, pulling the phone out of the armband on his forearm.

What happened next was very fast. As soon as they heard the word “police,” both their faces changed and they jumped him without warning. They didn’t give him time to react. They knocked him to the ground, ripped the armband with the phone from him, snatched my purse away with one yank, and ran off through the trees.

***

When I looked up, night had fully fallen and the park was empty. He was still on the ground, trying to get up with a grimace of pain. I knelt beside him.

“My name’s Lucía. Thank you so much for what you did, but you didn’t have to put yourself in danger like that. Look at what they did to you.”

“Hi. Andrés,” he said with a half-smile, reaching for his back. “In my head this ended a different way, I promise. God, everything hurts.”

I looked around. There was nobody to ask for help, no open bench, nothing. I lived right across the street, so I didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll help you walk and we’ll go to my place. From there we’ll call whoever we need and someone who can come get you.”

I got him up as best I could. He put an arm over my shoulder and, slowly, we crossed the street to my building. My apartment is small and, I confess, it was a mess: stacks of books on the floor, clothes thrown around, the bed unmade. I took him straight to the bedroom and helped him lie down. He fell onto the mattress like a rag doll, exhausted, bruised up and scraped in a few places.

“I’m going to call the police. Do you want me to get an ambulance? Should I call a relative to come pick you up?”

“Don’t call anyone, seriously. The police won’t do much, and I live alone. My family isn’t from here,” he said. “If anything, I’ll take a taxi later. I don’t want to be a bother, I can patch myself up at home. Being a surgeon has to be useful for something,” and he let out a laugh that ended in a groan.

“You’re not a bother at all. If you want, you can stay here tonight and tomorrow, when you’re better, you can get a taxi.”

I ran to the bathroom, grabbed the first-aid kit, gauze, hydrogen peroxide, and came back. I took off his shoes and socks carefully, and then, very slowly, I helped him pull off his shirt. A firm, sculpted chest appeared in front of me, covered in bruises and a few scratches. I soaked a piece of gauze and started cleaning the scrapes while he clenched his jaw.

I ran the damp gauze over his whole chest, unhurried, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingers. Then I moved the chair and sat beside his legs to tend to his knees. And there, I admit, I couldn’t help looking. The running Lycra left nothing to the imagination, and every time I lowered my eyes to his knees, my gaze drifted a second too long. I swallowed and tried to focus on the wounds.

“All right, that’s done,” I said, getting up abruptly. “I’m going to make us something for dinner. Do you like ham and cheese sandwiches?”

“You don’t need to go to any trouble for me.”

“It’s no trouble. Do you like them or not?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

***

In the kitchen I put the griddle on and started making the sandwiches, but my head was somewhere else. No matter how hard I tried to think about dinner, the image of Andrés lying in my bed wouldn’t leave me alone. One thought led to another and, suddenly, I realized something: he must be incredibly uncomfortable still wearing those sweat-soaked tights after the beating.

I left the dinner half-finished and went back to the bedroom. Andrés was reclined, looking curiously at the mess in my room.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling the heat climb into my cheeks. “I thought you might be uncomfortable in the Lycra. I brought you a sheet so you can take it off.”

“The sheet is great, it’s a little chilly,” he replied. “But I’m not taking off the pants, I’m not wearing anything underneath and with the back pain I can barely move.”

“Relax. With the sheet nothing shows, and I’ll help you pull them off from underneath. I won’t look, I swear.”

“No, that’s asking too much. You’ve already done plenty.”

“No, really, we’ll do it in a second.”

I draped the sheet over him and slipped my hands underneath, searching for the waistband of the pants. I was red as a tomato. I slid the Lycra down his legs, tugging slowly, until I got it all the way off. I shot to my feet, a bundle of nerves.

“I’m going to finish dinner,” I said, almost out of breath. “I’ll wash your shirt and your pants, they’ll be dry tomorrow.”

And I ran out. In the hallway I leaned against the wall, overheated. It had been a very long time since I’d felt like that, since my body had been boiling in that way. I took a deep breath and tried to go back to the kitchen like nothing had happened.

***

When I was done, I brought the two sandwiches and a glass of water on a tray. I pulled the chair up beside the bed, set the tray on top, and before I left I grabbed a nightgown from the back of the chair and a blanket from the foot of the bed.

“I’m going to sleep on the sofa in the living room,” I told him from the doorway. “If you need anything, just call out. The light switch is right behind you, within reach, so you don’t need to get up.”

“No, thanks, I don’t feel like the TV,” he replied. “How can I possibly thank you for all this?”

“You’re like this because you defended me. You don’t owe me anything.”

I left the room, went to the living room, and spread the blanket over the sofa. I took all my clothes off and put on a long purple satin nightgown, one of the ones I hardly ever use. I ate dinner in front of the TV, changing channels without seeing anything, trying not to think about the man in my bed. It didn’t work.

I stayed reclined for a good while until I remembered the tray with the plate and glass I’d left on the chair. If Andrés moved in his sleep, he could knock everything over and get a fright. I switched off the TV and headed toward the bedroom without making a sound, determined to tidy up without waking him.

I pushed the door open quietly. And froze in place.

Andrés had one of my panties between his fingers, toying with them, and beneath the sheet a hard-on was visible, lifting the fabric like a tent. When he saw me, he dropped them straight to the floor.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he stammered. “They were by the bed and… I…”

I said nothing. I felt my nipples harden against the satin of my nightgown, my breathing speed up. Instead of leaving, I moved to the bed, knelt beside him, and before I could think twice, brought my face to his and kissed him on the lips.

He kissed me back at once. I slid a hand under the sheet and stroked him slowly, feeling him hard and soft all at once, while our tongues searched for each other. I traced his full length with my fingers, from top to bottom, drawing a circle with my fingertip over the tip. He slid his hand down my back to the hem of my nightgown, slipped underneath, and caressed my ass, squeezing hard. We kissed like we’d spent years waiting for this.

I lifted my head and, without standing up, shifted until I was facing him. I pulled the sheet aside like someone unveiling a gift and started running my tongue over him before taking him into my mouth. I sucked him slowly, setting a rhythm, while massaging him with my other hand. Andrés moved his hips slightly, lost in it, letting out a restrained moan every time I sped up.

I took the nightgown off over my head. My body isn’t perfect, I know that, but that night, with his gaze traveling over me, I felt like the most desired woman in the world: tanned skin, firm breasts, the curves I had cursed so many afternoons on that bench.

I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. At first I didn’t let him in; I just rubbed against him, sliding forward and back, feeling how every movement heated me up more. The tension was unbearable for both of us. I couldn’t take it. I slipped my hand between my legs, positioned him, and lowered myself slowly, feeling him fill me centimeter by centimeter.

I started moving unhurriedly, enjoying every rise and fall, letting my moans fill the room. He clenched his teeth, trying to hold on, while I came once, and then again, gripping his bruised chest. Until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“I’m coming,” he gasped, digging his fingers into my hips.

I felt him finish inside me, and I collapsed exhausted onto his chest, both of us breathless, quietly laughing at how absurd and how perfect it all was.

That night we didn’t call any taxi. We fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, his hand on my waist, my head on his shoulder. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t fall asleep wondering why I was alone.