He carries me to the couch and tucks me in under the blanket just as he did earlier, making sure I feel comfortable by his side.Perhaps hedoescare for me.The thought fills my head, stealing my attention instead of the movie.
—
I keep thinking back to the bathtub, how he had picked out my favorite book and favorite drink like it was nothing, how he had lit up candles and how he gently moved his hands over me while washing my hair. And for a second, I forget that I’m not supposed to be here with him. I forget that I’m not supposed towantmore of it, that I am not supposed tocrave him.
But the way he makes my shoulders relax, makes me feel safe and steady despite everything... The feeling doesn’t leave me alone. Instead, it settles deep in my soul.
I’m sitting beside him, still placed on the couch as darkness falls outside. His veiny hand lies on my thigh, gripping me like I belong to him.
The things he said about Matheo makes me question the past six years of my life and the odd relationship I’ve had with him. I’ve always thought he was the kindest, most genuine person around me, the one I could trust no matter what.
But what if I’m wrong?
What if everything Brian said is true, and I’ve been looking like a fool this whole time, being used only to make someone else feel pain? I shudder. I don’t want to believe it, I don’t want to believe the man sitting next to me. It can’t be true.
But it shakes the story, the memories. Things that haven’t always made sense, now fall into place on it’sown. How easily Matheo gave in the second he saw me, how he has done everything I’ve ever asked him. He didn’t care that he was my bodyguard, he did it anyway.
I thought it was love, I thought heloved me. Maybe I was wrong. Had it all been to make his brother jealous?
Love is not letting go of all your duties to please someone else. That way you’ll lose yourself, you’ll find yourself stuck in a spiral you have no idea how to get out of.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand before the tears have a chance to fall. I don’t want to cry, not in front of him, not again.
“What are you thinking about, babydoll?” His voice vibrates next to me.
I hate how he reads me like an open book, how he sees me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. But at the same time, it feels good.It feels good to be seen without having to explain every little thing going on inside me.
My first instinct is to lie, to hide my thoughts and keep them to myself. But that will only bring punishment later. And I don’t want more of it. At least not today.
“I keep thinking of Matheo and the past six years. I keep rewinding every minute I’ve spent with him, trying to find the behavior you’re talking about, any signs that what you’re saying...” I need to take a deep breath, “is true.”
“Why don’t you trust me?”
“Because the situation is confusing, you must understand that. I’m still learning to see you as yourown person, and to not think of him every time I see your face. It’s not easy, but I am trying.” I feel terrified as I tell him the truth, not knowing how he’ll react.
“It’s been a lot,” I continuedespite the worry inside me. “I’ve been taken from my home and everything I know, my routine, my hobbies, everything I turn to when in need. I have had to endure more anxiety than I ever thought I’d experience. I thought I was about to be taken by some old man who would torture me... “ And just like that, more tears flood down my face.
“I would never let that happen.”
“But I didn’t know that! I felt so lost,” I cut him off.
“I told you everything would be okay.”
“But I didn’t know!” I cryout.
“Thank you for being honest,” he says, squeezing my thigh gently. “I’m used to it, though, looking just like him, I mean.Everyone around me compares me to him, seeshimwhen they look atme. And even though everything inside us is so different, we’re still so alike. At least on the surface. It’s not easy waking up every morning and seeing my brother when I look at myself in the mirror. His face haunts me every awake second, sometimes in my sleep too.” He looks over at me before continuing, his eyes heavy with sadness.
“I met you first, when we were just children. But I’m sure you don’t remember it.”
I tilt my head, indicating for him to continue. At the same time, I place my hand on his.
“My mother and I went to your place, she knew your father. But our families weren’t enemies back then. I saw you, you were just five and I was seven, but I remember it so vividly. I remember how you held your father’s hand, you were shy, barely wanted to introduce yourself. But your father forced you to.” A deep breath leaves him.
“I remember thinking you were adorable, and I never forgot your name,” he confesses.
“I don’t think I remember it, I’m sorry.” I usually remember things easily, having them all stored in my mind. But this one, I don’t recall.
“Then we met again, shortly before my mother died. We were teenagers. I was seventeen and you must’ve been fifteen. I remembered you from when we were younger, and I was curious to see what you looked like now. Then you stepped into the room where I was sitting with my mother, and I forgot how to breathe.” He chuckles to himself. “I couldn’t get you out of my head after that. But after that day, everything changed.”
