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They swam at the first beach they found on their way home, getting muddy on that same beach.
And they still had the most amazing flight of their existence ahead.
They arrived back in their neighborhood around seven in the evening, and Alex suggested going to his house first so they could shower. Priscila didn’t want to arrive home looking like that—mostly because she didn’t want to explain it to her family—and since Alex’s parents and brother weren’t in town, she accepted.
Priscila had never been to her neighbor’s home. There were books everywhere: on the various shelves in the living room, in corridors, on the stairs... She was surprised by how many books they had. She could smell the paper, and she loved it.
She had always admired Alex’s parents and their profession. For her, journalism meant always being ready for action, at the heart of the news, traveling, going to events, interviewing important people; she didn’t know what she loved most about it, but she knew something for sure: she felt a strong attraction to their job—almost as strong as the one she felt for their youngest son. She was so fascinated by the idea that she’d already chosen it as her future career; in a few weeks she would be starting her degree in journalism at the University of Elche—the closest to home.
Up on the second floor, Alex showed her the bathroom and offered her a clean towel; he would take a quick shower in the other bathroom. She knew the one she was in was her neighbor’s, she had no doubt. It smelled like him. And she even smiled when she opened the bottle of cologne on the sink, recognizing Alex’s scent.
As Priscila took off her clothes, looking at everything around her, she heard the unmistakable sound of a tap being turned on. She sat on edge of the bathtub and couldn’t help thinking that right then, Alex must be naked. Excitement ran through her body. They had never gone further than some innocent caresses, but she was aware of what a girl and a boy could do together; she was seventeen, almost eighteen.
Okay, she would take a cold shower to turn down the heat.
When she came out, a towel around her body, Alex was waiting for her—sitting on his bed in only a pair of shorts, his hair still wet. And just like that, the benefits of her cold shower evaporated. Alex’s too.
Because Alex had also been thinking about Priscila.
Without thinking what he was doing, he got up and walked over to her, wrapped his hands around her waist and kissed her fiercely. She reciprocated with equal intensity, touching every inch of him, delighting in the smoothness of his skin, in his scent.
Without really meaning to, they lay down on the bed and stripped off what little clothing they had on.
And—without really meaning to do that either—they made love for the first time. This was the flight they’d been waiting for. A flight that left them wanting more, that was so special; a flight Priscila saw in turquoise. The color of her neighbor’s sheets, of the Vespino—the turquoise that colored that summer.
When they collapsed tangled on the bed, it was already dark; the room was pitch black, since there were no streetlights under Alex’s window. The boy got up and turned on the bathroom light, left the door half-closed and returned to Priscila.
“Here’s my second secret,” he told her as he hugged her on the bed. He was wary, afraid she might laugh at him. But there was a bigger part of him, the part that won, that was sure she wouldn’t. So he told her. “I’m afraid of the dark.”
Finally. He had said it aloud. And a huge weight lifted off him. That was Alex’s greatest fear: darkness. And his greatest shame too, because an almost-twenty-year-old guy wasn’t supposed to be afraid of the dark, or at least that’s what he’d learned from the world around him. But he couldn’t help it. The dark made him shrink, devoured him, turned him into the helpless, frightened eight-year-old who slept alone at night after watching scary movies with his brother and friends.
Alex had a hard time opening himself up one hundred percent, but he was doing it with Priscila, step by step, letting her to know who he really was. She never demanded anything from him; it was Alex who let go. And, as he would say, “It was fucking comforting.”
For Alex, being with Priscila became a physical and emotional need. He wanted to spend all day, every day with her; talk to her; let himself be known, for the first time in his life.
And he did so. He gave her parts of himself, one by one, until he had nothing left to give. Until he’d given her everything.
The dawn is not that bright
Alex
“Fuck,” I exclaim when I realize what I’ve just done.
Shit! Fuuuuck!
All I can see is the fucking blue duvet with its yellow stars. On Priscila’s bed. Now that the rush of climax is fading, my body has dropped on top of hers, my head buried in the mattress. This room. Again. Four years ago, I spent countless hours up here. I used to come to her bedroom, looking for her and the memories of her, her invisible presence. I was like a fucking junkie, needing his daily dose. And drugs are evil.
So is Priscila.
What the hell am I doing here? What’s wrong with me?
When she told me she was only going to stay in town for eleven and a half weeks and then she’d go back to Boston, I felt like shit, like she was leaving me all over again, even though we hardly have a relationship at all now. But it was like she was the one calling the shots (again) in our non-relationship, and that pissed me off. Really pissed me off. Because like fuck was she having the last word again. There’s no bloody way she was the one deciding again, having the upper hand over me again, leaving me here again, thrown away like I’m worthless. Like she did four years ago.
No.
I’m not Priscila Cabana’s puppet. I won’t be that twice in my life, it’s not an option. That’s why I wanted to have the last word. And the only way I could think of to do that was by fucking her. Damn, Alex. You are an ace at making decisions.
I allow myself to look at her for one more second before getting off her. I’m starting to feel her skin against mine, and I can’t allow that: no drugs, not even a whiff. Because I understand the need for them, the addiction, the hook that lasts forever. Because until now, while we were having sex, I’d told myself she was just another random girl, even though my subconscious knew she wasn’t. I’ve trained it so well: no feelings. But now that we’re so close and the ecstasy of orgasm has passed, I’m afraid I’ll falter. I’ll weaken. So the best thing I can do is get the hell out of here, but... too late. I’ve already seen her.
