Page 73 of Through My Window
Raquel laughs. “What are you doing?”
I take it off and put it on her, buttoning it up. My shirt fits her so well. “Lie down, you’ll get over it if you get some sleep.”
“No, I’m not sleepy.” She puts her arms across her chest like a spoiled child. “Tell me a story.”
“Just lie down.”
“No.”
She looks determined. I force her to lie down, and I sit next to her, leaning my back against the headboard.
“Tell me a story,” she repeats. She sticks to my side, running her hand across my abdomen, hugging me, and I let her because it feels fucking good to have her beside me. I caress her hair, deciding what to say.
She’s not going to remember this tomorrow. The freedom of being able to tell her anything motivates me, and I start talking. “Once upon a time there was a boy who believed his parents were the perfect couple, that their home was the best in the world.” I smile to myself. “A very naive child.”
She gets closer to me, her nose brushing against my ribs. “And what happened to that child?”
“The boy admired his father, he was his pillar, his example to follow. A strong, successful man. Everything was perfect, maybe too perfect. The father traveled a lot for business, leaving his children and wife alone.” I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “One day, the boy came home early from school, after getting an A on a difficult math test. He ran upstairs to show her, he wanted her to be proud of him. When he entered her room . . .”
White sheets, naked bodies.
I push the images out of my mind.
“The boy’s mother was with another man who was not his father. After that, everything dissolved into meaningless explanations, pleas, and tears, but for the boy it all sounded so far away. The sense of his home, of the perfect family, vanished in front of his eyes no matter what his mother said.”
I stop in the hope that Raquel is already asleep, but she’s not. “Go on, I want to know what’s next,” she says.
“The boy told his older brother, and they waited for their father to get home to tell him. After a lot of arguments and empty threats, the father forgave her. The two children watched their father bow down, forget his pride, and cry inconsolably in the darkness of his study. That strong man looked weak and wounded. Since that day, their father has tirelessly reminded them that falling in love makes them weak. The boy learned not to trust anyone, not to get attached to anyone, not to give anyone the power to weaken him, and so he grew up hoping to be alone forever. The end.”
I look at the girl next to me and her eyes are closed, but she still responds. “What a sad ending.”
“Life can be sadder than it seems.”
“I don’t like that ending,” she grunts. “I’ll imagine that in the end he did meet someone, and they fell in love and lived happily ever after.”
I burst out laughing. “Of course you will, Witch.”
“I’m sleepy.”
“Then sleep.”
“Ares?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think love is a weakness?”
Her question doesn’t surprise me. “It is.”
“Is that why you’ve never fallen in love?”
“Who said I’ve never been in love?”
“Have you?”
I sigh and look at her. “I think so.”
Her breathing has become light, and her eyes are closed. She’s finally asleep. I smile like an idiot, watching her. Seeing her sleep fills me with peace.
