Chapter 35 No More Lies
No More Lies
Coco
We don’t know our people. It’s better if we accept it. We don’t know them like we believe we do, for better or worse.
I think this now, as Marín and I are tangled in the sheets, kissing. I woke up clinging to his arm, like I was afraid it would disappear in the night—what happened yesterday, the desire, him.
It’s eight thirty in the morning, and we’ve both had our phones off since yesterday.
The world has ceased to exist, and I’m sorry, but I don’t care about anything, even if I do care a lot about the people who’ve been trapped in there in a switched-off phone.
Maybe Gema got her first kiss. Blanca probably spent the worst night of her life saying goodbye to someone who I don’t know if she loves.
I don’t understand anything. We’ve probably abandoned Loren like he’s worse than a cigarette butt, each of us so wrapped up in our own shit. And then there’s Aroa.
But who cares?
We haven’t said anything since Marín opened his eyes and found me staring at him.
I’ve never had the opportunity to see how he wakes up.
The way his almost-golden eyelashes quiver and his pupils shrink, letting the sea of his unparalleled eyes pour over everything else.
That sleepy smile. Those raised eyebrows, which seem to say, Why are you looking at me and not kissing me?
The dimples. Shit. The dimples and his chin.
Now the kisses are starting. On his chin.
On his cheeks, which I’m sure he’ll want to shave soon.
On his puffy eyelids. On his mouth, which greets me with the best kiss of my life.
Just woke up and he tastes good…better than good. It’s too good to be real.
And we kiss, we kiss with no intention of it going further. We look at each other too, as if we’re asking ourselves how this is possible. Four days ago, I was important to him, but it didn’t involve sex. And now the big change isn’t that we’re having sex; it’s that he’s made me his.
And I’m thinking I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. These kisses are mouthfuls of fear. He’s trying to hide it, and I’m swallowing it and digesting it for him. I wish I could at least understand what’s scaring him so much.
He strokes my cheek and smiles. A scared smile, even if he doesn’t know it. I mimic him.
“That was the best day of my life, but”—my heart is pounding when I hear him whisper—“we have to get back to reality.”
“And what does that mean?”
“We should turn on our phones and…go back to the campsite.”
“What are we gonna tell Aroa?”
“Since when do we have to explain ourselves to anyone? If we don’t even know what to tell ourselves, Coco, how can we give answers to anyone else?”
Him. He’s the only one who doesn’t know what to tell himself. I know exactly what I want, and it’s him—he’s for me and I’m for him.
“We have to say something.”
“You slept here. That’s it.”
“I’m sick of lies,” I say.
“That’s not a lie.” He flips onto his back, pushes his hair out of his face, and swallows. “Not saying anything until you’re ready isn’t lying, Coco. It’s…making things easier for everyone.”
I had always thought Marín loved fearlessly.
He was never scared with me. He didn’t care that his friends thought he was nuts when I moved in with him when we barely knew each other.
“She could be a crazy cunt,” “What if she robs you?,” “Maybe she wants to kill you and make human sacrifices to Satan with your blood.” He didn’t listen to anyone.
He gave me a set of keys to his house, a room where I could move in, and he made his life wide open to me. What’s he afraid of now?
* * *
He invites me to have breakfast on the beach.
The intimacy of the kisses when we woke up has died down, and now we’re both quiet, circumspect.
It’s normal, I guess, after such a frenzied day.
If I think about it, I’m a little embarrassed too: I practically devoured him yesterday.
I asked him to shove his cock in so hard it would hurt.
I begged him to pound me, and I came on the first thrust of our fourth fuck.
He came inside me, on me, in my mouth. And he’s Marín. It’s weird.
“It’s weird,” I say to him, stirring my coffee so the sugar will dissolve.
“A little,” he admits. “But it’s a nice weird.”
“You seem a little distant.”
“I’m just going in circles in my head. We’re going back to Madrid today, and…a lot of stuff has happened.”
“I know.”
“Blanca and Gus have been hooking up for almost a year.” He grimaces at me. “How does that make you feel?”
“We weren’t together when they started.”
“Yeah, but he’s your ex. And she’s your best friend.”
“Should I ask Aroa the same thing?”
“It’s different. Aroa was never your best friend. She’s always been…a free spirit.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s actually not that different. I fell in love with you without meaning to. I guess the same thing happened to Blanca.”
Marín doesn’t seem to agree, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just nods, his gaze lost out over the ocean. It’s not that hot yet. And we still haven’t turned our phones on.
“We should go,” I say. “I want to talk to her. Last night, if they ended…whatever they are, she’ll be destroyed.”
“And you want to console her?”
“I want to understand it, and I’m sure she’ll want to explain it to me too.”
“Wait until you get back.”
“Does Aroa know?”
He presses his lips together and swipes his hand under his nose.
“I didn’t think so, but the other night in Mandala…
when we were leaving, I saw Blanca and Gus in a corner.
I didn’t know how to cover it up, but it definitely couldn’t be explained by ‘they’re friends.
’ They were arguing, she was shaking him, and she seemed really upset, but when he tried to leave, she grabbed him, and she seemed…
She seemed like she was begging him. I pulled Aroa into that corner where you found us so she wouldn’t see, but she told me she already knew. ”
“Did Blanca tell her?”
“No. Blanca only told me. Loren knows because…he caught them.”
“He caught them?”
“He caught them in the street…coming out of a hotel.”
I blink. Fuck. Lovers—it sounds so sordid. I feel uncomfortable.
“Why did you and Aroa break up?” I decide to ask.
“Isn’t that too much information after just a couple of days? Maybe we can relax and talk about that a little later.” He rubs his forehead. “My head kinda hurts.”
“You’re being really weird.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I am.”
“Is it because of me? Did I do something to…?”
“No.” He furrows his brow and smiles at me.
“Coco, what’s happened these past few days is…
incredible. I never… Well, I’ve never experienced this.
And it’s with you.” He nods to himself. “I know it’s you—you change everything you touch.
And you know what is the worst lie that we can tell ourselves?
That love doesn’t change us. It does. Forever.
Let me get to know this dude who almost vomited up his heart when I saw you this morning. That’s all it is. And…pieces.”
“Pieces?”
“Pieces. They have to fit together. And you have to…well, you don’t have to do anything, but I’d appreciate it if you can understand that there were things without solutions even before all this…and I don’t know if we’re helping or making them even more difficult.”
“I don’t understand.”
He grabs his coffee and takes a sip. He takes a few coins out of his pocket. “You will. Let’s go?”
* * *
No. We don’t know people like we think we do.
Our parents, for example, were people who had nothing to do with us for years.
They had their own dreams, lives, hopes, and obsessions, and we showed up and turned ourselves into the center of everything—and like gobbling monsters, devoured everything they had left to dream about.
We were probably the best thing in their lives, but we accept that we’re also the great nothing that consumed their pasts.
And if they, our parents, can keep one side completely separate from what we know of them, how could our friends be any different?
I’m surprised to see Aroa sitting on the patio as we approach.
It’s barely ten in the morning, and even though the campsite is cranking into motion, everything is quiet on our site.
Except Aroa is giving off an energy that’s pretty far from the peace she says she feels when she finishes doing yoga at dawn.
I don’t know if I ever really knew my friend or if she was selling us something she wasn’t.
She doesn’t get up when she sees us, but she seems grimly satisfied, like she gets pleasure from the pain of knowing she wasn’t wrong.
When we’re close enough, we see that she has her bag and her sleeping bag next to her.
She’s already packed, and I can guess why.
If there were any doubts, they’re cleared up pretty quickly.
“You’re a shitty friend.”
I blink. I was expecting hostility and the need to defend myself, but not like this, mostly because Aroa’s not like this. Or at least she’s never shown it in front of me.
“First of all, calm down,” Marín demands. “She’s not used to your unhinged attacks.”
“Unhinged attacks? Now you’re both going to gaslight me into thinking I’m crazy, right? Where are you two coming from at this hour? Because you didn’t sleep here.”
“That’s none of your business, in any way, shape, or form,” he replies again.
“How about you let my friend,” she spits, “speak for herself? Or did you fuck her so hard she swallowed her tongue?”
“This isn’t what it looks like.”