Forbidden

I recognized his face at the traffic light and knew that work trip would not end like the others. All I needed was an excuse to knock on his door at night.

Every night she invented a new excuse on the phone while he waited for her in the room upstairs. She knew that sooner or later everything would explode.

I ran back at my grandfather’s request, and halfway up the stairs, a half-open window showed me what I never imagined seeing my mother do.

Everyone hated her before she returned to the neighborhood. I only drew her tattoos from my side of the wall—until she decided to make me pay for being her muse.

That morning, Nora had an hour left before they came to pick her up. She tightened the black skirt in the mirror and realized the price of the debt would be paid by her.

I only needed a bathroom that hot afternoon. What that old man at the garage did with his phone left me trapped and at his mercy for days.

I left home in an ordinary dress, but underneath I was wearing something only he would see. I knew what he was going to ask for, and I had already decided to say yes.

When Marisa caught me breathing hard and staring at her legs, she didn’t get offended: she smiled, leaned close to my ear, and told me it wouldn’t end there.

Every morning she watched people from her café table, never imagining that a man in a suit was studying her back—or the silent arrangement he was about to offer.

When he got out of the van with that smile, I knew the broken boiler would be the best excuse fate had given me in years.

At midnight I went to the bathroom and the half-open door revealed something I never imagined: my mother, whom I thought was asleep, wasn’t alone in the shower.

I dressed up for the first time, got in the car with the other two girls, and crossed half the province without knowing that night would teach me to endure contempt with my head held high.

That morning I woke with one fixed idea in my head, and for the first time I didn’t push it away. What I did alone is still hard to confess aloud.

When I came back to my daughter’s house still trembling, I knew the days I had left alone with her husband would change everything.

Everyone hurried past his kiosk so they wouldn’t have to hear his filth. One summer afternoon, Dalia stopped for an ice cream and didn’t know how to go home anymore.

She packed modest clothes and a body tired of waiting. What she found at her friend’s home changed her forever, though she never dared tell it.

When she opened the door in that black lingerie and that cold smile, I knew there would be no talk tonight: only orders, and I was ready to obey every one.

I agreed to help him organize his new house out of pity. I never imagined that each bet would leave me with less clothing and more eager to lose the next one.

At 6:53 p.m., the intercom buzzed. After three weeks of waiting, she was suddenly there—serious and elegant, ready to fulfill every one of her conditions.

I was twenty-four and thought I knew my desire, until her hands guided mine over her oiled skin and I realized that afternoon would change everything.