I Crossed the Border to Work and Fell in Love with the Landlord
I accepted the room he rented me without suspecting a thing. Three weeks later I was already planning my new life with him, while my husband still called me every night.
I accepted the room he rented me without suspecting a thing. Three weeks later I was already planning my new life with him, while my husband still called me every night.
When I moved to the capital I thought I was only looking for work. My roommate taught me something else: that men look at what they shouldn’t, and one gesture is enough to prove it.
I climbed the stairs barely able to walk, my dress reeking of the whole night. I had no idea my mom was awake, waiting for me in the hallway.
I never said this out loud. This is one of those things: what my cousin planned with me that January, without my realizing it until it was too late.
For years, Romina had imagined her mother while making love to her boyfriend. That night, with wine loosening her tongue, she could no longer keep it inside.
When she opened the door in that short dress and that smile loaded with alcohol, I knew the night wasn’t going to end the way she’d planned.
The elevator stopped on the eighth and he got in. I had my last pesos in my pocket and the certainty that something was going to happen between us that morning.
I closed the laptop, stepped under the water without thinking about anything, and when the sponge brushed my breasts, I knew that shower wasn’t going to be like the others.
I get home, strip naked on the couch, and lose count. It’s my routine, my secret, the only thing I truly need at the end of the day.
I was alone, the heat was unbearable, and lukewarm water was running over my skin. Then I got an idea I’d been imagining for months and had never had the nerve to try.
It took two days to arrive, and for those two days I could think of nothing else. When I finally opened the box, I knew that night I was going to know myself in a new way.
I warned her that if I didn’t like it, I’d let her out at the next corner. She smiled, reclined my seat, and told me to close my eyes for a second.
My roommate was asleep when he knocked with a bouquet of freesias. I opened the door in a sweater and barefoot. That night I promised myself I’d never let another man into my bed.
Every morning is the same: I open my eyes with my body on fire and the bed in disarray, knowing no pillow can soothe what I truly crave.
I got into the car with my heart in my mouth and told him, almost without thinking, that I finally understood what a woman feels when she’s on her way to give herself up.
I was sixteen, the house was silent, and a word had sat in the margin of my notebook for months. That night, at last, I locked the door.
Caro was six years older than me, with a life that seemed perfect and a secret she meant to take to the grave. That night, she decided she couldn’t take it anymore.
Half an hour ago I opened my email with my legs already restless. I wanted to know how many had jerked off thinking about me. There were more than I expected.
It all started with a picture on my phone. Ten days later I can’t get out of bed without thinking about when I’ll get to touch myself again.
Every so often I’d type her name to see if I could find her. She never showed up. Until that morning, when the first result was her, exact, unmistakable.