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“Or a sadist, depending on your point of view,” he sighs dramatically. “All right, your turn!” he points, and I turn to him.His eyes narrow, investigating me, as if I had nowhere to run.Seeming unwilling to take that nonexistent risk, his hands grab my waist and pull me until I’m sitting on his lap, with his legs between my thighs.
“I thought the idea was for us to talk...” I whisper, touching our foreheads.
“And it is...” His voice immediately goes hoarse as I rub myself in his lap. “Fuck, Antonella!”
“What?I was behaving, it was you who started it!” He squeezes my hips tightly, holding me in place and preventing me from grinding.I moan, enjoying the brutality, and he moves his head from one side to the other.
“Spit it out!” I exhale hard.I really think that talking more than I’ve ever said about my parents is the biggest waste of time, however clearly Marcos disagrees.
“My parents were never loving or caring, I was just another piece of their perfect family look, Marcos.When I got pregnant, all they saw was the possibility of a stain, that’s all.They were ready to clean me up, except I wasn’t dirty, not because I was pregnant.”
“How did this happen, Antonella? I mean, I thought it might have been a lack of information, of contraceptive methods, but that certainly wasn’t the case.” My eyebrows rise without having control over them.
“If we talk about how I got pregnant, we’ll have to talk about why you need a marriage to retrieve something you shouldn’t have lost in the first place,” I propose and, reacting exactly the way I expected, Marcos looks away.
“We’re negotiating now?”
“You started it, husband.” His eyes come back to me.
“You hate that word, don’t you? Do you hate having gotten married?”
“I don’t hate that word, Marcos…” I sigh.“That’s definitely not what I had in mind when I asked if we could talk. There was a time when I wanted this, when I hoped that at some point in my life, certainly not at twenty-one, I would find someone who would understand, accept and love who I am enough to make me believe that we could work out in the long run.I was young and foolish at the time, but it was a good way to think...” He listens to me carefully.One of his hands leaves the grip on my hips and rises to my neck, his fingers rise and fall slowly in a tasty caress, I lean to the other side, giving him more space.
“I’ve never had this illusion, but it does seem like a good way to think, a different way to be free…” He surprises me.
“You remember...” I notice, when he mentions the conversation we had the day Isabella had the accident.
“That’s a hard day to forget...”
“Impossible seems more accurate...” Laughs and, this time, does not stop.I raise my hand, touch his cheek and lips.
“You look unbearably handsome when you smile, Marcos…”
“Only when I smile?”
“Unbearably? Yeah!All the rest of the time I can define it as absolutely.”
“Absolutely?” I shake my head, agreeing.
“Why did you lie to me, Antonella?”
“Are we talking about this now?”
“Try me...” He asks, and I laugh.
“Handsome isn’t the only thing you know to be unbearable at, by the way…”
“Don’t tell me it was out of fear, that doesn’t suit you.” He won’t let me get away with it.He frowns, and his words do not sound accusatory, they sound conciliatory. “I haven’t seen it before, but now there is flashing neon everywhere!”
“All right, maybe it wasn’t fear, but would you have married me, Marcos? Would you have kept the proposal if I had said that I have no vocation for submission?”
“We may never know...”
“I couldn’t take the risk, you know?” I bite my lip, wondering whether or not I should allow the revelation that was about to leap out of my mouth to slip out.Admitting to someone other than myself that I’m a terrible mother is a different kind of intimacy, one I can’t take back.I decide not to, and the silence that is established between us is oppressive.
“What are you hiding, Antonella?” he asks, realizing that I will not say anything else.
“Exactly what I’m not telling you.”
