What I Heard from the Nephew Who Came to Live in My Apartment
The headboard of his bed was hitting the wall at a steady rhythm, and I, awake in the dark, could no longer pretend that it didn’t affect me.
The headboard of his bed was hitting the wall at a steady rhythm, and I, awake in the dark, could no longer pretend that it didn’t affect me.
For weeks I’d been pretending not to notice his looks, his legs spread on the sofa, the bulges he made so obvious. That night I came home early and stopped pretending.
When I went into the bathroom and found the flowers and that card, I knew that summer would mark me forever, though I still didn’t know how it would end.
I left home wearing the red thong and my heart racing: my uncle never called me in on a day off, and I already knew why.
When the apartment was empty, I opened my mother’s drawer and became someone else. That afternoon, a shadow in the window changed everything.
Three months alone with her daughter and a cold bed. When a message offered her a summer away from everything, she never imagined two men would be waiting.
I had spent months preparing for Adrián, but it was another man who taught me that night what it really means to give yourself over.
When I put my hand on his chest and didn’t take it away, I knew that afternoon wasn’t going to end like the others. He was twice my age and smelled like cold beer.
When the door opened, I was still pressing his briefs to my face. He looked at me with a smile that wasn’t angry, but something much worse.