The contract
-Good.
I respond in a direct and concise audio to the fifteenth message that my friends sent me through the group. For a week I have been dodging every single one of those questions that make me feel uncomfortable. How do I feel? Let's just say, if a steamroller had crushed me four times in a row and then backed up to finish flattening me, compared to my current moment, I'd be the prettiest rose in the palace. But, as grief likes to enjoy its miserable presence, my state of mind resembles that of a tramp from the worst neighborhood, from the worst nation, who has been attacked by a plague of locusts and spat out by a dozen rats. And all this, of course, without forgetting the steamroller on its way back and forth over my back.
I go to the kitchen to get the cookie jar. I would have preferred the whole cookies, but since there are none left, the crumbs at the bottom are my best consolation. I shove the flour powder into my mouth, dodging the door to her room. Pants, T-shirts, morning caresses. All his belongings remind me of what I will no longer have. I miss him so much that the emptiness I contain is a gap of immense steps with the protective railing collapsed. My tears skid in free fall down my bottomless heart. I chew and sleep savoring the salty liquid of new abandonment. Nurtured feelings imprisoned in the depths of my self-improvement return like sinister ghosts enveloping a psyche that was thought healed.
Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
In the universe of idiots, I am the one who wears the crown. The brainless ingenue who did not distinguish the original truth from the photocopy.
Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
The light gray water of the coffee mixes with the remains of Krispis next to the bowl of cereal. A couple of knives, three forks and some plates come together playing an impossible tetris. The spoons embarrassed by their excessive use inside the chocolate ice cream jar are hidden. My reflection in the glass highlights my decrepitude. I am another piece within the tetris drowning in the stagnant waters of the sink. I am the nastiest spoon in the background. The ugly one in the living room loaded with hotties, the dumb one in a smart contest, the wooden leg in the small-town reggaeton contest, the...
-Who!
The bell insists relentlessly. On the other side is a deaf or dying person.
-I'm coming! They won't even let you regret your filthy life.
-Hello? -They shout on the other side as I think about where the hell I left my keys.
-I'm coming!
It must be Anthony's pizza. And I told him very clearly that I wasn't hungry.
-It's for today!
-I'm looking for the keys! -I squeal as I hit my pinky finger with the crossed chair before reaching the door. Fuck!
-Call your mistress," the female finger twitches, shooing the air as she rummages through her huge purse.
-I beg your pardon?
-In this country nobody knows how to speak your language? I said call your mistress or the landlady or whatever the hell you say in Spanish.
I lean against the door frame not knowing if I'm crazy or very drunk. The latter is impossible. And not because I wouldn't have felt like losing my senses under the curative effects of alcohol, but because I haven't left the house for a week. The riskiest thing I remember drinking was milk about to expire, the syrup from an empty can of peaches and the butt of a bottle of flat Coke. All of them dodgy concoctions, but 100 percent Zero Zero .
-I'm late," he says, showing me a cell phone with a case covered in Swarovski crystals.
-The visit I was missing.
-I'm looking for Sofia Reyes. Is that you?
-Since the day I was born. Although now that you mention it, maybe not.
-I don't know what you're talking about. And I really don't care.
He wrinkles his nose before stretching out his arm, shooing away a fly and walking in. Apparently the fly was me. I take advantage of having her back to look at her openly. The wretch is as beautiful from the front as she is from the side.
-What do you want.
I try to hide my bare foot behind the other one. It doesn't work. The second foot is also barefoot. With the chocolate ice cream lick I can't do much either. I have it parched and planted in the middle of the plush mouse's face. In front of his impeccable pantsuit and shirt I am a beggar in socks, starving and lying in the doorway of a collapsed building. The chill of shame creeps up my feet. My situation could not be more pitiful.
-My name is Dana.
-I know who you are. I close the door, sighing my misfortunes.
-Then you'll know why I'm here. He speaks as he takes a couple of folders out of his bag and spreads them on the table.
-You make yourself at home. Don't stop for me.
He looks at me sideways emphasizing my flawed virtues. I am the cockroach he would step on with his heel. The mosquito in a stagnant swamp. The...
-These are two copies. You must sign here and here." He points to two huge crosses with his pen.
-What is it?
-Contracts. Signature.
-He sent you? -The voice sounds so pitiful that I feel sorry for myself.
-These papers should have been signed days ago. If you don't Blake will lose everything.
The way she mentions his name, that confidence that denotes hours in her bed makes me sick to my stomach. It stirs my wounded inner wounded wolf-woman. And that's not right. Not right at all. A sentimental orphan is a wounded animal that should not be provoked.
-You have not answered me.
Safety returns to my bare feet.
-I don't need to take orders. I know how to do my job.
-That means no.
I breathe a sigh of relief and my sanity scolds my idiocy in love. I look at the pen and the crosses she stabs with her Red Flash Coral One Gel nails.
Those papers are the end of what I still feel as mine. I have rage and sorrow in equal shares of concentration. That lady abandoned me to later give me, in a will, the shares of her charity. Meanwhile, my brother, struggling as if he were a starving man unable to buy his three cans of caviar a month. And, as if this were not enough, he did not come to my rescue. A week without appearing with sword in hand ready to fight for our love. He said he loved me, he said he wouldn't lose me, he said... I was worth it.
I accept the pen. I scribble as best I can on each of the papers.
-What is that folder?
I rest my hand on the contracts I have just signed, looking at the yellow plastic square.
It is a one-year trial contract. It should have been signed last week.
-I thought I heard you say these were the ones that should be signed," I press the papers under my wide open palms.
-Blake wrote them without my approval. When I saw that you wouldn't sign it, I wrote this agreement more in line with your characteristics. In this document you release yourself from any relationship with the family and you state for the record that Blake owns the entire interest of the Agency. You reject your actions and cede to him dominion over those of the spoiled brat.
-Spoiled?
The red-haired beauty tries to take the papers from me, but I hold them back without much effort. What can I say, I grew up in public school trying to pass math. Illegal document retention is my specialty.
-His sister Mariam," he says, looking at me, his fingers digging into the papers. You don't know her. She's an interested party who keeps meddling in your life. From now on she will have to live off his charity. If you'll excuse me, I must go.
He tries to take the papers from me. He can't.
-And you say that the document in the yellow folder was written by Blake?
-He thought of a temporary contract. If within a year you did not wish to continue in the agency, you would have the full right to sell the shares to the nanny, in the meantime, both of you would have the same number of shares. It was a clause written by his parents during his lifetime that he wanted to reflect in this contract. Stupidity. Blake deserves to keep everything.
-What about your uncle?
-Simon? He won't be able to do anything. Once the contracts are filed with your signature on the records, everything will belong to Blake. Your mother was not well advised. Here I say very clearly that you do not meet her requirements for inheritance.
-There," I point to the yellow folder, "Blake writes that I do meet the indispensable requirements.
The redhead stood as straight as if a stick had just been shoved through the darkest part of her body.
-You've already signed," he says, looking at the sheets under my fingers.
One day I will have to learn to read before I sign. I once filled out a discount coupon without looking at the fine print. I spent a year trying to unsubscribe from telemarketers.
I can't do this to Mariam. She was so good to me. She helped me with shopping, she made me laugh, she said she would love it if I was her sister, she treated me with affection. I'm not going to let this crazy woman get away with this.
-Did I tell you that I learned to defend myself? I didn't have a mother.
-I beg your pardon?
I pick up the contract and tear it into hundreds of little pieces. Then I pounce on the yellow binder, taking it straight to my tits. Right between the ice cream stain and the mouse head.
-You may go. I will bring the signed copies myself.
-You have already signed.
-Those pieces? -I look at the floor. I don't think they're any good.
-You asshole!
-Look how quickly you've got me. Now go away.
-You are a...!
The door slamming deprives me of hearing his loving dedication.
Quick shower with a few kilos of eye shadow remover and blah. In front of his office with his chest stuck in his larynx.
-Miss Sofia, how nice to see you. Mr. Blake told me you had a terrible flu. Come in, I was waiting for you.
-To me?
Rocío opens the doorknob with her free hand.
-Sir, Sofia is here," he says, placing the tray in his hands.
Blake, who until then had been concentrating on the computer screen, looked up, staring at the center of my forehead. His dilated pupils are incandescent coal. If it weren't for the fact that I'm the wronged party in the story, I'd say he was furious with me.
I dig my fingernails into the folder. I feel like the criminal before the gallows. All the courage I concentrated when I was on my way melted before the ardor of his gaze. I expected to find a young man repentant of his lies. By now he should be kneeling in front of my boots. The straight neck and strong arms look more like a wolf than a fearful lamb. This is not as expected.
-You should take care of yourself, Miss Sofia. The weather is very changeable. If we go on like this we'll run out of planet -Rocío speaks while Blake, already standing up, comes closer until he almost collides with my feet. But standing, not kneeling," she says, "Can I get you some tea with honey? Honey is very good for the vocal cords. Do you feel thinner? I'm sure you've had a fever. I'll get you some cream cakes that bring even the dead back to life.
-Thank you, but I won't stay long.
-Poor thing, I'm sure she's weak.
-Rocio, close the door," the low command echoed over the kind woman's bun.
-Of course. I hope you get better soon, Miss Sofia. Flu is the worst.
-Rocío...
-Yes, sir. I'm leaving now.
-Now!
-Of course. Of course.
My fingers cramp up from clenching the contract. I fix my interest on the well-vacuumed carpet. I don't have the courage to fight his intense gaze. The heat of his breath reaches me and incinerates my heart. The beating of his chest approaching mine forces me to focus my gaze on the hardness of the floor. The bricks of my impenetrable wall become dry sand fighting the desert storm. The resentment I have nurtured over the past week fades before his burning gaze. I want to cry with helplessness. To scream at him that I love him like I've never loved anyone and I need him to fight for me. To fight for us. Let him flood me with silly justifications until my grieving heart forgives him of his unwarranted lies.
-I want to speak first.
-I didn't say anything.
No. It has not.
The few millimeters that separate us are approaching.
Reaching up he strokes a strand of my loose hair. With crab steps I nail the table to my buttocks.
-Please... -There are times when words are superfluous and others when they are lacking.
I find myself in a drowning need of seven watering cans full of affectionate phrases. I need them. They urge me. I cannot allow their caresses to erase the clarity of the explanations.
-I hear you," he says half an inch away from my face.
-This morning your lawyer came to see me.
-Dana?
-He brought me two contracts. One of resignation and one of continuity.
-Two?
He moves unsteadily.
-She decided to write a second agreement and skip the one you wrote.
He walks away giving me his back as his best profile.
I smile victoriously.
I'm not going to say that I like to see him suffer, but I do like it a little bit. It is the small quota of perversion that those of us who die of love possess. We like to see in the small expressions of jealousy the practical demonstration of feelings. No, I'm not a psychopath, I'm just a lover who madly seeks to feel sure of the extent to which she is loved.
-You say he wrote another contract? -The arms at the sides are cold columns.
-Yes, and I have accepted.
Blake turns to face me directly. I cling with my hands to the table behind me to keep from falling. The wolf has turned into a bear. The vein in his neck stiffens, throbbing.
-What did you sign? -I am not able to answer. His fury unsettles me. Two were the steps it took for her to come closer and cling to my elbows. Sofia, what did you sign!
- you wrote. I will do it for Mariam. She doesn't deserve to lose everything.
Blake's neck relaxes. The hands, which until a moment ago were holding me, slide down, reaching for my shoulders.
-Relax, you won't lose your agency. That's what you wanted, isn't it?
-I love you. Even if it takes me a lifetime to convince you.
-You like to say what you don't deliver.
-I beg your pardon?
-Nothing. I'll stay for a year. You and Mariam can move on later.
I move to release myself from his grip. I am furious. I can't tell any of our feelings apart. First I thought I perceived his desire, then his anger, now his sorrow. I can no longer stand this feeling of being on top of a jelly floor in which I sink without recognizing whether I am disgusting food or a delicious dessert.
-My mother kept my blood payment and I saved your sister. We are even.
-Are you going to blame me for what my parents did when I was four years old?
-No. I blame you for not telling me the truth the first day. For waiting for your uncle to attack me. For making me feel like I was a worthwhile, important girl instead of...
-If I had been honest you would never have given me a chance. I know perfectly well how much you are worth. You're the one who doesn't believe in your ability.
-You already have the contract, you don't need to wear the silk monkey.
-Do you really think it ends here? Do you think I'm going to let it?
-Your debt is paid. You owe me nothing.
He tries to come closer and caress my face. I take three more steps away. His touch is too hard a test for my broken heart. I don't want his caresses, I need his fight! I want to see him fight. Tear his clothes. To hear his words plead to have me by his side.
-My mother asked me to find you before she died. Loving you was not her imposition.
-Love me? Dogs are loved, cats are loved, I even knew a woman who loved her iguana.
Tears push behind my pupils. And see I strictly asked them to please don't show up.
His arm reaches out to drag my hand toward the base of his heart.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
It chimes again and again with deafening force.
I close my eyes. The desire of desire is soiled with the mud of my permanent doubts. I want it to be true. I want it so much that fear takes hold of my very little courageous fibers. I cannot suffer another abandonment. I don't have the strength to take another mortal blow.
-My mother abandoned me, your mother gave me away, a year ago my grandmother... I don't have the strength to continue fighting....
He says nothing. The silence tears me apart. Why doesn't he say everything I need?
-In a year I will sell everything to your sister. She doesn't have to worry about anything.
-Are you doing it all for Mariam? Are you sure?
-What do you mean?
-I'm saying that no matter what I say, you won't listen to me because it won't be enough. Your past won't let you.
-I don't know what you're talking about.
-You know perfectly well. I have opened myself to you. I'm tired of proving what we are, yet your doubts intensify at the first of the storms. Yes, I lied. And I would do it again because it's the only way to reach you.
-I hate that you lied to me!
-What you hate is knowing that you love me and that you have to give yourself away! You want guarantees. You're looking to cover the risks of getting hurt and I can't give that to you.
-Why can't you be trusted!
-Because I love you more than you are willing to accept. I could have given you the papers and gone back to Baltimore, but I didn't because I fell in love. Because I want to spend every stupid minute with you, even if I don't think we'll ever be able to.
Tears stream down my face.
-Why do you say that?
-Because you are still the child waiting for her mother to come back. Because you don't accept that it wasn't your fault. If you don't love yourself you will never be able to accept how much I love you.
-Sofia! -Anthony appeared, slamming the door against the wall.
I can't face it. I can't. I start running with a choked and confused heart. I don't know what he says. I don't... I don't... that's not true. It's not!
I run at full speed. Behind me male voices flood the hallway. I don't want to look. I have to run away. Escape to a faraway place with many shells where a big and immense one hides me. Trembling, I press the button a thousand times until the elevator door opens. I go to the bottom and drop to my knees. The pain is as great as the truth that hits my forehead. She was my mother. She abandoned me. No mother abandons her child. They want above all else. Except that her daughter... is not worth it.