Lovers

I pressed her shirt open against the wall in the vestibule, kissed her neck, and knew I wasn’t going to ask her to stay, even though I was dying to.

I had never taken my blouse off outdoors. My pulse was racing and my hands were trembling, but something in me needed to know what it felt like for a stranger to be able to look at me.

Eight years had passed since the last time I undressed in front of that camera. That night I turned it on again, and on the other side the same man was still waiting for me.

The son of a bitch had used her own body as inspiration, and now she was trembling in front of the screen, not knowing whether what she felt was anger or desire.

I stepped into the shower to wash away the day’s exhaustion and ended up sitting on the floor, the stream between my legs, whispering your name.

When she let the robe fall, I understood that my perfect neighbor was hiding far more than anyone imagined, and that night I no longer wanted to turn back.

I hadn’t slept well in six weeks, and her scent was still on the sheets. That morning, in the café on the avenue, I learned what it costs to lose someone who still smells like yours.

It’s two in the morning, I can’t sleep, and I’m alone. The heat is brutal, the bed is burning me, and my mind starts drifting to names and bodies I thought I’d forgotten.

I was going to wait for him on my knees wearing the new set. What I didn’t imagine was how far I’d go on my own, in front of the mirror, before he arrived.

I didn’t go to the beach to swim. I went to remember her, inch by inch, until the memory became so real my body answered on its own.

It’s three in the morning, the sheets are brushing my naked skin, and your memory won’t leave me in peace. I confess what I do when you’re not there to do it yourself.

She stood beside the bronze sculpture in a black dress that seemed in love with her body, and she looked at me without shame, as if she already knew what we would do that night.

For six months, we had the house to ourselves, and the contract that bound us became a routine neither of us wanted to escape.

I waited at the bus stop with my heart racing, knowing that the moment his car appeared we’d stop being mother and son and become something else.

Six months of freedom ended with one call: the father was coming home. And under the same roof, they’d have to hide a fire they no longer knew how to put out.

For weeks I chose the dress, the perfume, the lingerie. That night he would walk through the door and finally see me the way I’d always dreamed he would.

I slept in his bed when I was scared. The night I found him crying over me, I understood what I felt for my brother was beyond return.

I still felt the echo of the night before between my legs when I entered their room. My daughter slept like an angel and all I could think about was doing it again.

When the landline rang that afternoon, I never imagined the call would lead me to a downtown hotel, two men desiring me, and a version of myself I never knew existed.

Yesterday I slept with my ex-wife, and it was by far the sanest thing I did all week. What happened the other four days is not something I should be telling you, but here I am.